Beyond this

It was from the beginning

hard to be human; 

to exist in peace 

between the angels 

and the beasts.

In the West we found 

our way to live – in freedom 

under the law, within nations.

But, by Christ, there were always

complications, from the day Constantine

was acclaimed emperor in Eboracum,

to when we built our own empire –

the biggest, the British.

Then the EEC, transmuting into the EU,

and ‘ey up, ooooh, not sure about this,

but it’s here for the foreseeable. Errr, wait!

Some posh Tories aren’t happy, so we must

give The People their say 

to leave or to remain.

Summer of 2016. The Brits, 

by a slim majority, vote leave,

starting a most uncivil war, 

producing much fatiguing detail,

family feuding, and that world first –

a form of Machiavellian politics

that proved to be boring! 

2019 dawned, bringing bad deals

bad feeling, bad dancing,

and the sea off Dover becomes

too much of a channel for many.

Humanity. It feels more global,

like we’ve now gone beyond nations.

It’s complicated, but there is one

thing that needs to be done quickly

regarding Brexit. Let’s do it.

Let’s call the whole thing off!

© Stephen Regan

Brexit: Theresa May facing no-deal revolt after cabinet meets

Stephen's poetry has appeared in: Envoi, Best of Manchester Poets Vol 2 anthology, The Quality of Mersey anthology, Reach Poetry, Killing the Angel and Dove Tales.  

https://stephenreganwriter.com/ @StephenJRegan

Funhouse

Welcome to the funhouse!

Here is our first exhibit:

two lists of names of almost

identical length. We call this

a Decisive Referendum Victory.

In here, please; you will see

a scatter of green benches, a few

elderly persons sleeping. This is

the place where all our laws are scrutinised;

the Upper Chamber of Parliament.

We won’t show you the Lower Chamber;

you can hear from outside

that the noise is far too bestial,

the level of language too primitive -

it’s Prime Minister’s Question Time.

These gleaming towers along the river

are the homes of bankers, a race

or people who love to steal your money

but cannot be prevented because

they are so rich and well-protected.

Here there are knives and blood

and people crying out in pain and despair,

some in beds, some in uniforms -

no no, it is not a torture chamber,

it is the National Health Service.

See that jolly policeman? Oh dear,

he has knocked a boy down by accident

and the boy has turned quite black

with regret at all the trouble

he is causing. Please don’t stare.

Please please: don’t  stare.

© David Punter

Theresa May offers MPs Brexit delay vote

David is a poet and critic, and has published many poems before in, for example, PN Review, Encounter, The Rialto and elsewhere. I have also published six poetry pamphlets. My blog is davidpunter.wordpress.com