A STORM OF STARMER by David Erdos

 

A STORM OF STARMER

Hope's still the aim, even as the apparent illusion continues.

For even a bad impression of freedom is no freedom at all

On torn days in which we can still see the threads stitching

An unsteady climate, and beyond those threads one string

Puller, wrenching plump puppets to dance and deny truth's

Full say. Finally, now, there is hope; housed in the new Labour

Leader, who, while part of the system has gracefully entered

The stage that the blonde behemoth has smeared, with his

Buffoon's bulk wrecking order, through the regurgitation

Of ordure, as his offal like words stain air's page.

But now, from our long stalled stillness, a storm, equably

Summoned by Starmer; a 'hurricaned' Lear from outside

To batter this ungovernable fucking Fool on this Heath,

Which he clearly believed was his right to both urinate

And excrete on, sending us rain and contagion, if only

In terms of bluster and buff and deceit. Watch the Primed

Ministers Questions and see how this bloated bore avoids

Language, as if (as Burroughs said) it' were a virus whose

Purpose was to actually expose ignorance. Or to bring

The truth out like boils, which Sir Keir Starmer soon lances,

Returning Johnson's desperate attacks like a grand fencing

Master, spinning the sword swiftly skywards to splice

And surround dark's pretence. Politicians, as we know,

Never answer the question. Johnson believes himself expert,

In this nefarious art and sly game. But this is nothing more

Than the shield that the bully hoists in the playground

When they are caught, blocked, or, challenged: the strong

Are supposed to catch the weak: not today. For now, this sad

Stance has been provoked into motion. Starmer asks questions

And seeks their answers too, gimlet eyed. He won't be perfect.

Who is?  But in the chaos cloud sent to claim us, he at least

Twists the tendrils of corrupted words for truth's prize.

We currently live in a world when we are well aware

Of deception and where these Oxbridge Oxymorons

Are deciding for us how we live. But now a fresh rain

Starts to fall, as Starmer anticipates the spent acid

And turns the sky's teardrops for where we are now

To flood gifts that will in time, if there's hope

Re-order the banks that enclose us to allow a new river

That will first have to trickle and weep like a Brook

And people a place where the staining of souls

Will not happen. And where the people without them,

Will slide at last into chasms, which only those

Born for fire will now where to locate or to look.

After the confusion, clear sense retains the selfsame

Shine of clear water. Wash us clean, Storm.

Replenish. And despite the various Cummings

And goings rush and rise to remind us to try

In some way to safely return what they took.

Which is decision and truth and not the bind

Sent to blind us. Now that Starmer storms.

Johnson stammers. Meanwhile, his bald puppet

Master will start to sharpen his strings.

Each lie hooks.

David Erdos September 8th 2020

For more poems from David Erdos visit The Corona Diaries collection 

David Erdos is an actor, writer, director with over 300 professional credits. He is a published poet, playwright, essayist and illustrator. He has lectured on all disciplines in theatre and film for leading performing arts colleges, schools and universities around the world. His books include EASY VERSES FOR DIFFICULT TIMES, THE SCAR ON THE CLOUD, OIL ON SILVER, NEWS FROM MARS, CHANGING PLACES WITH LIGHT (penniless press) and BYZANTIUM with the photographer Max Reeves. He is a contributing editor for The International Times and maker of documentaries all over the world. David’s work has been acclaimed by many leading figures including Harold Pinter, Heathcote Williams, Alan Moore, Andrew Kotting, Chris Petit and Iain Sinclair in whose recent book THE LAST LONDON, David features. He can be reached at David.erdos@sky.com.

David Erdos

©    David Erdos has asserted his moral rights as author of his work and has full copyright.