Let's Dive In Front Of Aeroplanes (or, Oh No, Look, Another Sixth-Form, Jejune Bit Of Doggerel About "The Bankers")

I snuck the spy at four London Evening Standard articles. Four. 
Warning us, their grim-of-teeth uber-plebian readers, 
That our casino bankers might very well leave these shores, 
For we're all turning into entrenched and bitter, sixth-form, banker-bashing bores. 
The traders, they cry, in stunned bafflement and dismay: 
Why are we so hated so, 
Why, we chose ourselves as the chosen ones back in the day...?

And double-bubble you public-sector-hectors, 
And all you construction workers out on your ears, 
And all you ne'er-do-wells saving so-called meaningful lives, (yeah, right).. 
It's so about time you all realised, the casino bankers that you affect to despise, 
Are really.. 
Really.. 
Oh, you know.. 
Do I need to spell it out? 
Oh no, please don't ask me to spell it out. 

Look, 
They have feelings too you know, 
More so than you average Janes and Joes. 
Wake up and smell their cocaine, 
(But don't sniff it: 
There's your predictable sense of entitlement again..) 
Or, 
Woe betide: 
They might very well fly away, 
Never, ever, to return again, 
- So the Evening Standard says. 

So, let's dive in front of aeroplanes. 
Let's stop the brokers flying away. 
Let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Don't let them take off, 
Dont let them get away! 

Let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Let's give them some big love;
We must see the error of our ways. 
Let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Or they wont allow us to 
Bail them out again. 

Casino bankers love.... 
They posssibly love their children. 
Casino bankers enjoy... 
Giving a little corporate giving to charity. 
Their altruism is completely peachable. 
Mercenaries. 
Oh look, there you go again.. 

Casino bankers love free-enterprise (tax-subsidised), 
Casino bankers feel misunderstood: 
Just because I'm a tree, doesn't mean I'm made from wood, right? 
Casino bankers feel your pain, 
As if it's 
In Spain. 

Cynic! 

They're leaving on a plane, 
We must stop them now, 
We'll never see their likes again. 
But if they choose to go, 
Despite our pardon, 
Let's hope the pilots, 
Are not trained by Air bin Laden. 

So let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Or these misunderstood altruists will get away, 
Let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Or the free market tarzan won't allow us to.. 
Shhh.. 
Bail them out.. 
Again. 

Shhh..

Withdrawn Haiku

Bovine consuming -
horses mooing in -
burgs of slush-Burger.

Wrongly labelled Spaghetti Bolognese:
Labelled Italian.
At least, that's what I think they mean.

"Gourmet Dishes of the World" for ninety-nine pee.

[The burghers so hungry:
I could eat thirty percent horse - with a glimmer]

Wrongly labelled hormones:
Labelled Italian.
At least, that's what I think they mean.

For Hindu Sagittarius's - capital H capital S - of the world,
It's especially painful,
And doubly ironic.
Indubitably.

Don't move:
There's a penguin sat next to you.
And it doesn't have sat-nav.
In other words, it's there because it wants to be.
Should I call the RSPB, 
Or should I call the RSPCA?
I never can remember in times like this.
Or should I just call a cab?

You might say:
But how would the penguin pay?
And would the RSPB call the RSPCA
to RSVP a carriage confirmation for Penguin?

Well, for a start, that's probably not its name.

Now, where were we?
No, no,
This element is not haiku:
There are too many syllables -
And they're all in the wrong order.
Wrongorderlyoraretheyin.

Never would I write
a haiku about penguins -
they aren't Japanese.

It must have slid in:
You have a penguin-friendly window sill.
They know, they know..
They've been doing this for years.
My imaginary friend knows someone who has written a book about it.
And she should know:
She herself being an imaginary penguin -
And she definitely didn't imagine that!

I'm not slagging them off:
If I was a penguin..
(I'm not by the way. 
So..)
I'd be exactly the same:
I would never gainsay myself,
In the altogether,
Everfornever:
A Spice Girls hit on a parallel earth.

Pound Shop Ashimmering In Rainlight

My local pound shop casts back lost souls
anciently flung from the death-throes of rock n roll,
This one place, still, I clang my faith;
One pound firm, behold the grab-pack toothpaste.

Cartons in eastern curlicues,
Cruiser consumers bruise switch-back queues,
Swashbuckler toddlers' lance party foam
as the security man scrolls his mobile phone.

The frying pans keep fresh six weeks,
The perfume blooms shriek their facsimile-wish.
She towers her pylon labelling Polish fare,
Beautifying the aisle she seems to floatinglyfloat right there.

Then a tannoy announcement,
As my ear buds plug in..Icelandic ashimmerings..
Icelandic ashimmerings..bedazzling a..
Till-service-requesting:
Iceberg chords gush aloft a drama of glitter and shade..
A pram-prang stage-left segue shape-shifts the nightingales' glade.

Wafers of waves,
I'm in my pound shop daze:
A translucent snowflake flu-zen-euphoria;
A bottleneck shoegaze.

The tree lights still wink in a Christmastime February,

The Belisha beacons blink rainlight softlysoft outside.