“Get on with it!” say Brexiteers, That phrase, gravel in my ears, As one more factory shuts up shop A few more thousand lose their jobs Amid the lies that they would prosper If immigration disappears, The truth is there, but they don’t hear As we tie ourselves up in knots “Get on with it!” They say; our nation’s auctioneers, But the way ahead is not clear Except that we'll all be worse off And more of us won’t have enough; Revisiting depression years, Get on with it? “Get on with it!” the endless round, As government debates confound Both the best and the worst of us On every side of this circus, As leaders’ arrogance astounds, Our creaking democracy found Cold, abused, hungry, gagged and bound, The response offered by leavers: “Get on with it” The majority lost not found In archaic schemes, rules for clowns That sway countries and media, Though eyes are now on Westminster It’s corporations that are crowned Get on with it? “Get on with it!” say Brexiteers, But no workable deal appears, Meanwhile, vital services rot, People, made homeless, later robbed Of any chance of a future As we betray our teenagers Steal children’s potential careers And up the climate chaos odds. “Get on with it!” Say those scared, yet still unaware They’re selling our protections off, Imperfect though they were, to bluff Self-governance that never was, Nebulous words as deadlines near, “Get on with it!” “Get on with it”, get on with what? With the Brexit of the lynch mob Or the one that mimics Norway? The ‘hurry-up’ crowd never say Though they are so rarely quiet, There is no wand to whisk away The social ills of the U.K, Or falsely recalled yesterdays, Brexiteers scapegoated Europe, Get on with it? Get on with what? National decay? Alienating minorities? We've no constitution to cope With destitution beyond scope Of those four words of mockery: "Get on with it!" Not "How?" or, ever, "What comes after?" Nor "What is it?" "What's wrong with it?" Not, it seems, "What's wrong with us?" Never "What's stopping this?" No truth in Brexit For Brexiteers; No real plans At all; None. Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
Tag: Climate
Madame Dictator
Madame Dictator, have you not heard
Your deal was voted down historically
And yet you resurrect the interred
Proposal repeatedly, delay after delay
Burning our security & democracy away,
Your office not conferred
By any political majority,
You do not listen to a word
From any, except, perhaps, the ERG
Who need an ECG
To find out if they have a heart
Because they seem intent
Only on ripping us apart,
But you, Madame Dictator,
Like a modern Bonaparte
Say you hear
But you do not!
Stirring up terror
By running down the clock,
Perhaps it’s said best by Andy Serkis;
Your attitude to this rambling failure
Akin to Gollum’s with his ‘precious’;
A gold that deserved the fires of Mordor
But instead you throw our futures in
To that furnace, knowing it will make this nation so much poorer
As the homeless line the streets and food bank ques get longer,
And the extremists get stronger
And injustices reign – those you said you’d bring to order
Yet you disengage to build walls of fire at our borders
And, as for climate change …
You focus only on Brexit
But do so without debate
Hushing up all the elected
Tying nation states up in red tape
More than
Two years!
Two years
And more!
In a cabal of your own
Prescribed parameters,
Your negotiations
In closed door deliberations
And perambulations
As you ignite more tensions
With another deadline gone,
I have literally lost count!
Every time you tell the Commons
There will be later debate
Then roll the calendar on;
The dates for meaningful votes
Eternally postponed,
Except that historic one
Where the deal was trodden on,
The same deal you resuscitate,
All the while that lie ‘secure and stable’
When there’s nothing on the table
And security service cutbacks
Coincide with terror attacks
And there is legislation against
Generations told to go back
To the commonwealth after decades of life and work in the UK,
So, just because they are black
You citizens to go away,
And now, will more Europeans face the same?
I visited Yalswood, while you were Home Secretary,
Children and women fearing their fate,
Caucasian guards, all black and ethnic minority
Detainees – I thought, mine is a racist state,
My friend was denied vital medicine
They took my prints before I could go in
The package of essentials I left
Was only passed on after five days,
She had to fight for legal representation,
Hers not an uncommon story,
I’ve known others, one girl just fourteen,
Britishness part of her identity –
Her humanity you refused to see,
How dare you, in self-righteous glory
Proclaim you understand democracy
If you can’t see their lives matter!
Now,
Your promises in tatters;
When you said you’d listen,
See how skilfully you didn’t,
Your cabinet found in contempt
Of our disjointed constitution,
This is wrong! The is so very wrong!
This is becoming authoritarian
And very, very, very dark!
You have polluted
“Safe and Secure”
“Meaningful”
“Democracy”
“Listening”
“Vote” –
All convoluted
By you
Until the words stick in my throat –
And you call this your mission;
To re- enforce your indecent proposition
After the worst historical democratic defeat in the entire history of any Westminster government!
All you are reinforcing are the fault lines of division,
And, for the record, I’m not impressed by Corbyn
So, please don’t read this as propaganda
For a weakly lead, anti-Semitic opposition,
Though I will state I’m firmly left of centre
This is less about sides and more concerned
With the slide towards totalitarianism,
Only idiots will say it is because you’re a woman,
Though they do, pouring on scorn
For all the agelessly wrong reasons,
As they try to make you dance,
Or comment on your complexion,
In this alone I come to your defence
Yet my complaints could fill a lexicon
From your term feeding hate in the Home Office
Displaying a personal distaste towards migration
To this cutting off of deliberation in Parliament,
It’s not gender defining each subverted action
So, I will not hold back because I’m a feminist;
I will call you Madame Dictator,
A title not up for discussion
Unless you decide to govern better
And return the dignities you’ve taken.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
Lies in Old Westminster
The fault lies in old Westminster;
more corroded cogs kaput
as tarnished chains sever
each link they constitute,
The fault, lies in
plain blinkered sight;
acrid smoke screens
our house alight,
The fault
a caldera;
lava churns our vaults;
The fault? Lies in old Westminster.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch
My Least Favourite Things
(Here’s one I wrote a few years ago, to the tune of The Sound of Music – My Favourite Things)
Homelessness rising and people frost-bitten,
Unnourished bellies, cold hands without mittens
Transnational big businesses pulling our strings,
These are a few of my least favourite things,
Terrorists funded by Oil and Arms Dealers,
Refugees blamed by Daesh and all our leaders,
Bombers that fly with mass death on their wings
These are a few of my least favourite things,
Violence increasing as prejudice slashes,
Divide to rule rhetoric gluing eyelashes
Icy white winters mixed up with our springs
These are a few of my least favourite things,
Chorus:
When the cuts bite, when the lies sting,
When we’re feeling sad
We unite against our least favourite things
And then we won’t feel so bad,
Misinformation as our climate is cracking,
Secretive deals to enforce lethal fracking,
Opportunities passing as poverty clings,
These are a few of my least favourite things,
Racism, ableism, gender exclusion,
Media Moguls spreading confusion,
Insipid homogeny dominating
These are a few of my least favourite things,
Public services given to corporatisation
Making us wonder who governs our nations,
Vulnerable patients charged for their slings
These are a few of my least favourite things,
Chorus:
When the cuts bite, when the lies sting,
When we’re feeling sad
We unite against our least favourite things
And then we won’t feel so bad.
Antonia Sara Zenkevitch