Nobody Wants to Work

Forced return to office

Unreliable public transport

Commuter traffic

Killer distances

Tons of duties

Hardly any benefits

Experience needed

Sending applications

Unresponsive recruiters

Internal hires

Throwing into the void

Serving a system of slavery

The Modern Medieval Age

Serfdom.

Tied to the land.

Cannot move away.

Once bound by law.

Now bound by pay.

The king's forests.

Reserved for recreation.

Closed to commoners.

A role replaced,

By country clubs today.

The church.

Propaganda of the state.

Telling the people

Who to serve,

And who to hate.

Taken to an extreme,

By media mainstream.

Feudalism,

Paying tribute,

To lords of the manor.

Now landlords and executives.

The clock turned back,

To a modern medieval age.

Farewell to the Blue Bird

Farewell to the Blue Bird.

sorry about your nest.

To find a new platform,

is next year's quest.

Hashtag games were great,

Scenes we'd like to see,

wordplay,

other things I sought.

Especially at the office.

It's a lot more fun,

if you don't get caught.

Met plenty of writers,

Took part in great chats,

and it was fun to meet

The authors' cats.

Then came the Muskrat,

the billionaire twat,

with constant demanding

of the "X" rebranding.

He wants me to pay for it?

I ain't giving him shit.

Who saw my post?

Just a bunch of spam bots,

and the occasional chat host.

Nazi bans revoked,

and hate speech stoked.

I've grabbed my coat,

jumping this sinking boat.

I might be back,

if the nest changes hands.

Titan, Shanksgiving,

maybe we'll get lucky,

With the next hullabaloo.

Until then, I'll see you,

on the place where

the skies are blue.

The Society of All Work and No Play

"Work hard. Do your best."

"Earn some Brownie Points."

"Sincerely Loved And Valued Employee."

Schools condition it.

Managers demand it.

Prices enforce it.

It's all a lie.

Victorian values.

Long dead, but exhumed.

Still rotting.

They say that "Laziness is a sin."

They can get in the fuckin' bin.

It's a society of all work and no play.

To preserve the masters' wealth,

we must sacrifice our health.

I'll contribute to that.

The rag's in the bottle.

Pass the lighter.

A Troubled Brow

A day of celebration, 

to mark a coronation.

When many face desperation,

It's a cause of consternation.

Burdened by the cost,

of a gift we never asked for,

To elevate a patriarch.

A family rotten to the core.

Food banks are closed,

Users have to wait.

While an inbred toff blocks,

Separating church and state.

A time for the royals,

to rejoice and ensconce.

But be careful;

One of them's a nonce.

Time to clean house.

Scrap this archaic institution.

Replace it with a more,

democratic constitution.

The future monarchy

Should be confined,

To fiction and fantasy.

To Be a Brick

My dying wish.

Is to become a brick.

I know, it sounds weird,

Perhaps even sick.

But I want my ashes mixed,

Into a brick.

Engrave it with a message

Insightful stories:

"This is Skeff, he says

'Fuck the Tories'".

I could be part of place,

that I hold dear.

Somewhere that loans books

Or is selling beer.

Maybe one journey.

How about London?

Pay a visit to 10 Downing,

Or 55 Tufton.

Their front rooms look nice.

Better than this locker.

Society's a Prison

Society's a prison,

Run for profit.

In which we're born,

Without permission.

It breaks your back.

Bleeds you dry.

Paying bills,

Until you die.

School is conditioning,

Gears for the machine.

Using mark schemes,

To kill your dreams.

Ready to work,

In the machine.

Up at dawn.

Enough coffee,

To endure the drive.

Making a fifty.

Earning a five.

Want to make art?

Enjoy life?

Tough shit.

No time for that.

In the machine.

Want to work less?

They'll raise your bills.

Living in fear,

Of losing it all.

Want to take, not toil?

The masters do.

And not  want you to.

Try it anyway,

Go to prison.

What's the difference?

Society's a prison.