United Kingdom Anarchoblogs

Homage To A GovernmentNext year we are to bring the soldiers homeFor lack of money, and it is all right.Places they guarded, or kept orderly,Must guard themselves, and keep themselves orderly.We want the money for ourselves at homeInstead of working. And this is all right.It's hard to say who wanted it to happen,But now it's been decided nobody minds.The places are a long way off, not here,Which

Mr Bleaney"This was Mr Bleaney's room. He stayedThe whole time he was at the Bodies, tillThey moved him." Flowered curtains, thin and frayed,Fall to within five inches of the sill,Whose window shows a strip of building land,Tussocky, littered. "Mr Bleaney tookMy bit of garden properly in hand."Bed, upright chair, sixty-watt bulb, no hookBehind the door, no room for books or bags -"I'll take it."

AfternoonsSummer is fading: The leaves fall in ones and twos From trees bordering The new recreation ground. In the hollows of afternoons Young mothers assemble At swing and sandpit Setting free their children. Behind them, at intervals, Stand husbands in skilled trades, An estateful of washing, And the albums, lettered Our Wedding, lying Near the television: Before them, the wind Is ruining

Money Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me: 'Why do you let me lie here wastefully? I am all you never had of goods and sex, You could get them still by writing a few cheques.' So I look at others, what they do with theirs: They certainly don't keep it upstairs.By now they've a second house and car and wife: Clearly money has something to do with life - In fact, they've a lot