Albion - Book III

i.

We've spoke of pow'r élite and underclass,
so what of this our Nation's middle class?
The coupon clipper, so they used to be,
but now what of the service industry?
The av'rage wage, so thirty thousand pounds;
The av'rage house 300K - astounds.
Dependent middle class - so better named.
Have they an asset? Are they unashamed?
And their consumption is conspicuous,
and how they draw a line 'twixt you and us.
One would so rather turn one's eyes away,
and not inquire into which beast they flay.
In spite of class, a brethren rule this crew,
the gossip - noun - to gossip - verb, so too.
How they the two of them insinuate,
and if, step out of line, control one's fate.
With communication intercepted,
the snide remark, were not unexpected.
And who is it, controls this mass of gen,
why ladies, over cups of tea, not men.
And if the cup of tea discovers scant,
they may apply a social lubricant.
And thus they may against insinuate,
and once they start, it is perhaps too late.
In battle of the sexes seems quite fair,
that women have their weapons, their affair.
One speaks of diff'rent roles for diff'rent sex,
and if in women's realm, it doth not vex.
The nod of head, the wink, the nudge, the look;
is one perhaps a bookmark in their book?
So gossip's pow'r, don't underestimate,
though seems that some have made mistake that's great.
And that would be admitting of their crew
such persons as don't quite fulfil their due.
One makes a guess, one cannot quite be sure,
but nonetheless, the gen, no longer pure.
So searching for the actualities
one does not know of the realities.
The first to so admit one's ignorance,
and in this verse, it's led a merry dance.
One does not understand the wheretofore,
one does not understand why this, the chore.
And as one searches for causality
one finds oneself cast further out to sea.
Where is the sense? Where is the rationale?
And none the reason one could find, or shall.
You have your so called life lie, each and all,
and so mine is to be to verse a thrall.


ii.

And now we turn to Nation's middle ranks,
they are not us, and we not they; give thanks?
Who are these folk, and what doth them instruct?
It seems they show no criminal conduct.
This mass - the mean - the mode - the median -
not upper class, also not plebeian.
And in which Lands on earth, such multitudes?
And what their stance, and what their attitudes?
Had one a pence for ev'ry one of them,
one could afford a diamond diadem.
They multiply - it seems there's more each day.
In life at large do they so hold the sway?
They do not seem to have a gen'ral will,
what some find grand, there's others find as ill.
Their media doth them opinionate,
which views with deeds, at times the two aren't straight.
Thus each so tends to have utopias,
so too has each, their own, panaceas.
And given space to vent such views online,
they will wax lyrical, each on cloud nine.
And given chance to get their name in print,
you'd think the world at large bore their imprint.
The gen'ral misconception that is shared,
that things will change as soon as they are aired.
What's sure about this mass, is they aspire,
would do most things, if salary were highèr.
Although some claim to act for soc'al weal,
inspecting this, it seems some have some deal.
Remuneration for some public rôles
as well as fêted worth, some wealth controls.
For some of them, so their reward, deferred,
in later life for them that have not erred.
Despite the failings of some's oversight,
the buck it stops, nor upper grades in sight.
Who are these managers that do not fail
when what they manage seems beyond the pale?
And each of them, a president in wait,
so each prepared to wield the pow'rs of State.
And so it could be better done like thus,
if only those in pow'r would hark to us.
They've read a book, 'discovered' an ideà,
the answer's simple, and the answer's clear.
One needs but dot the i's and cross the t's,
the plan's amazing in simplicities.
One does not mean to be undue amused,
perhaps correct the stance, to be confused.
Let us rephrase, remove it of its frills,
one does not know quite how to solve world ills.


iii.

There was a time, possessed of stocks and shares,
and thus allegiance with financ'al cares.
So pow'r élite did win their loyalty;
through loss and gain, expressing fealty.
But now that savings, less and less extant,
how win their dues, so they do not recant?
One does not catch the mechanism here,
one does not comprehend how they endear.
Their favour's won, of that we can be sure;
what is the baited hook, what is the lure?
Could it be cards, and gratitude deferred;
would any wing it, on that so absurd?
They have employment, so it seems to one,
they have a penny spare, they have some fun.
Their clothes and cars, they state that they've arrived,
it's sure the case that they are not deprived.
Although one ne'er invited through their doors,
one thinks that their abodes are plush indoors.
Do they all work in 'service industry'?
Its aim, to screw ten pence from you and me?
One's asked of some, and some cannot explain,
how they can turn their work into a gain.
These 'services', one does not comprehend,
apparently they're on the upward trend.
One asked one wise 'What are these industries?',
'All else' was the reply, if so you please.
Insurance brokers? Energy supplies?
The dating App? Delivery franchise?
Comparisons? The ways to save a pound?
A ticket for the train? True love is found?
To do your hair, and then a manicure?
The tourist trade? The holiday brochure?
Activity that makes a profit here,
but to rely on it may cost us dear.
What were to pass, had none of us the cash?
Could we our mode of life entire rehash?
As each so works on her or his CV,
and due employment seen as certainty.
The advantage that we won't relinquish
is that our mother tongue, English English.
Somehow this speech has got the upper hand,
and but to speak it well, you're in demand.
It seems boil down to one cheap language trick,
that which to foreigners, it must seem sick.
With English language's monopoly,
we have a door, a lock, we have the key.
Controls communication, and worldwide,
seems doublespeak, all Nation's left outside.


iv.

And yet again, the math, it don't add up;
to buy a house, and then to eat and sup?
How to succeed in paying mortgage dues,
and balance credit cards, what is the ruse?
A family? So do both parents work?
So can they too afford to drive a Merc?
There's places where these people swarm like flies,
both where they live and where they soc'alize.
They're loud and too they're rude and too they're brash.
one does not know from whence they get the cash.
And so, what games are played behind closed doors?
Perhaps a group of them, perhaps there's scores?
One thing that they despise is poverty,
the lowest rung in their ontology.
The more they hate, the more that they begrudge,
and from this stance so few of them would budge.
The pow'r élite, some have, but will not share,
the middle classes want poor live on air.
A tidy step from what they would espouse,
were you their soc'al media to browse.
They would not give the beggar fifty pence,
but justify their holiday expense.
At least, one gets this gist, from what's observed,
and doth return their cant, which seems deserved.
What age do they untie the apron strings?
And do their parents grant them Devil's wings?
A deposit, and then to int'rest, slaves,
who wish on family with assets, graves?
Not realising that the N.H.S.
a better game, doth play with death at chess.
The assets, swallowed up in nursing care,
some chirping fledglings left without a chair.
And all the while, advancing their career,
whilst their morality doth disappear.
None questions why and how they make their gain,
ignoring what for others, might cause pain.
So, if it makes a profit, is it good?
Is so these people's ethos understood?
And for an extra zero on a cheque,
would they expose their lives to utter wreck?
These aren't the upper echelons of State,
or those financ'al movers whom are great.
These would seem those whom at the beck and call
of those, they would do anything at all.
And these through noncommittal soc'al force
adopt their acts from those above, from source.
They seem an aspect that is here to stay,
and whose importance one should not downplay.


v.

Dependent is the word that springs to mind,
it fits them well, one thinks that you might find.
They have adopted attitudes and cares
that fit the glove of pow'r and its affairs.
Perhaps they demonstrate, once in a while,
but nothing actuates that seems worthwhile.
These bleating sheep are held within a pen,
or babies with a rattle in playpen.
They seem deceived, in that they call the shots,
while all the while, ignored, and tied in knots.
Their representatives contort their will,
and they do not discern the ancient drill.
And so they write their letters of complaint,
one time in fifty, someone hears their plaint.
And they ignore that nothing changes much,
and champion the fall of such and such.
They laud that they've inquiries brought about,
despite the fact that they've no legal clout.
So each, they think the pen is mightier,
and yet to wield it, not their métier.
The exposé, or the accusation,
the one thing they think will rock the Nation.
They see not few will draw conclusions here,
and clans endure, if members disappear.
Their one asset: their mortgages and homes;
you'd think they occupied a hall with domes.
The upper echelons have two or three?
What is it that the middle class don't see?
That if you sell, you've nowhere left to live,
the balanced situation has no give.
What the allegiance for a price on deeds,
just as the natives fell for glass in beads.
Why do they think that they've security
so soon as they are granted property?
What would occur, so were the price to fall?
Would their ensue a proper Nat'nal brawl?
And one still hears of those who fantasize
of cashing in upon their home, their prize.
In aging years to sell and then invest,
and move abroad and live off the int'rest.
And so, good luck to them, and their pipe dream,
their five per cent, not what it used to seem.
And where and how, to guarantee their health?
It's free at home, abroad it takes some wealth.
And who is it would sever all their bonds,
to move to place they need put out new fronds.
And do such people have a certainty,
or are they in a state of reverie?


vi.

Like peacocks, what they would not do for show,
and like Narcissus, over self do crow.
It seems a well refined and cherished look,
which one must study, line and sinker, hook.
One doth presume they emulate TV,
and what in films they follow, watch, and see.
But this remains presumption, by and by,
as to decode their means, one doesn't try.
To such as one, they seem so uniform,
they seem like wasps, identical to swarm.
They drip with cash, their clothing has no tear,
except designer wear, which just don't wear.
Seems find it hard to walk ten yards or stop
without the use of this or that as prop.
The smart phone held aloft, used on the tube,
with no reception, what's their interlude?
And so they march, each lady has a bag,
what is inside, or is the make a brag?
What is the worth of it, of this, their kit?
And what of such import, a mold to fit?
And what's the cost, to arm oneself as such?
Do others so regard it as a touch?
And mark the make of lipstick, make of phone,
such marks to indicate you're not alone?
For one who pays no note to TV ads,
one misses out on this or that, the fads.
One does not grasp how advertising works,
or what the int'rest is in bitsy perks.
The clothes don't make the woman beautiful,
the jeans and scent don't mean the man can pull.
It seems communication's at an end,
and thus the makeup, not the soul, a friend.
For want of conversation, drives one mad,
or has the world moved on, one is one's dad?
And so the smartphone, more the minutes spent,
than with reàl people, if you see what's meant.
So, are they territorial, these beasts?
They move in groups, and too they have their feasts.
Soc'al exclusion seems a mark they show,
they would not hark a poor man's tale of woe.
One does not differentiate, but they?
They do not seem to note a shade of grey.
One would converse, were they to so admit,
as we are each and all God's souls, to wit.
It seems that they themselves as us exclude,
and that of them is more than slightly rude.
So thus, if their foundations, not too strong,
may find themselves alone before too long.


vii.

So where and whence obtain their means, this brood?
Does something seem to happen, which is lewd?
Or do they tread the straight and narrow path?
And us, not them, whose failing with the math?
So are they honest, upright, should we laud?
Should those below, the middle class applaud?
It's true, they seem to have a private life:
a man; a house; a car; a job; a wife.
It seems they never once step out of line,
they don't kick off, and thus their conduct's fine.
Their bars and pubs, they seem homogenous,
and thus with other types, need not discuss.
Are they an asset to this Nation's wealth?
Young and upward mobile, in all good health?
Do representatives so tune their line
to so agree with those who have what's fine?
Doth media some match its dire output
to match each rank of these, each step of foot?
But should one criticize, the question here,
who pulls the strings, who is the puppeteer?
Do they the line of least resistance take?
The pow'r élite, not them, who's on the make?
Are they but worker bees who feed the queen?
And thus, as such, they don't deserve our spleen?
So should one query what it is they do?
They are the pawns, the endgame's not in view.
One does not understand their busyness,
and thus against them, one should not aggress.
Said otherwise, one does not wish accuse,
as we ourselves cannot self disabuse.
Thus they can keep their pretty noses clean,
and little of their matters we can glean.
One doth suspect that something is afoot,
and thinks that time may show de'creased through'put.
If we leave them, and they leave us, alone,
then years may tell what's shrunk, and what has grown.
What's mark'd is one statistic on TV
(though half of all statistics, false, you see):
those thirty years in age have half the dough,
of those now forty just ten years ago.
And though once asked (seem play with water wings)
when do they now untie the apron strings?
Doth the progression that we postulate
so mark a trend with which they're not au fait?
So as they mull their sweet, alike to bees,
there seem to us, not them, some mysteries.
Or their foundations, solid as a rock,
and these, our adumbrations, just ad hoc?


viii.

The final act that seems to grease the cogs,
gossip's gossip, and how the mind it fogs.
Is this an English speciality,
that's hid but from our Nationality?
Some live and visit, but they can't decode,
how others, over them, they seem to goad.
Their savvy nouse, it has the upper hand,
and makes of them the ever winning band.
And if it's whispered, so behind one's back,
it's one against hyenas in a pack.
You see, the key, that one is not aware,
one can't defeat, however good one's flair.
Of course the matter that one can't respond,
they have sly capital, one has no bond.
Though can't be sure that this the case, at all,
or do they mark, and celebrate one's fall.
A step that's out of line, a fall from grace;
one need be careful where one shows one's face?
And the coincidence that one has marked,
one cogitates on what that one has harked.
And so one waits for one to say it plain,
as just insinuations, seem as vain.
One bides one's time until they say j'accuse,
as 'till it's said, one says one doesn't lose.
And is this but some paranoia's stance,
some fantasy, some vision's trip, some trance?
One's learnt to live with ambiguity.
Each coin has two sides, simplicity.
And thus, so were it true, or were it not,
until revealed one knows not what one's got.
Is it a game of brag, each bluffing well,
until one pays to see; there's naught can tell.
The case that some, they keep hands close to chest,
or is it not a game, this not some jest?
It's said in German, lies, they have short legs,
but what of pelting innocents with eggs?
In games of hearsay, best to not take part,
as once you've started, there's no change of heart.
As plain as can be said, it is a vice,
which with an honest life, one cannot splice.
Let them partake, of this, their idle chat,
as curiosity, it killed the cat.
Regardless, let you have your slanders, all,
it's your forté, so let it be your call.
So when it comes to gossip, it is plain,
the subject and the object are the same.
And so one tries to rise above the tide,
ignoring what, if anything's implied.


ix.

At every point their talk insinuates,
and so one marks them well and marks their traits.
They point their barbs with people not in view;
so do they have the same in stock for you?
It seems to be a case of us and them,
and if you're in you'll hear them folk condemn.
And each, they have their diff'rent ways and means,
of penetrating these or those smoke screens.
So many masters of psychology,
prepared to try each opportunity.
One chance remark, and an assumption made,
upon on which, some others, may be swayed.
And some will try to draw you on a point,
thus to obtain a view that's out of joint.
Discourse doth change into a war of words
us driven hither, thither, as in herds.
The times they put such words into one's mouth,
confused, one doesn't know one's north from south.
One needs to be politic'lly correct,
as they each sentence with their knives dissect.
They know of saying nothing, through and through,
and all the time they still can needle you.
Perhaps such folk, are in minority,
and it is but mischance to meet, you see.
And do they say that she or he said that?
And then with other's try creating spat?
One's tried it with them - 'You said yesterday...'
The rage, the scorn, the absolute dismay.
It seems as if it is a one way street,
no privacy, yet you must be discreet.
Who are these folk, and do they have a club?
And if they do, it seems we've got a snub.
One would stay clear, but seems they've moved in fast,
and too the quantity of them is vast.
We have suspicions as to such of these,
although we will not share, if you so please.
So many types of gossip in this Land,
how could one soul this evilness withstand?
They'd need to think on ev'ry word and deed,
achieving stasis, not then to succeed.
It seems a Hydra, once it has one head,
your reputation, it's as good as dead.
In circulation, passed by word on tongue,
from such incarceration, never sprung.
And even lady Justice, She is blind,
She harks to spoken word, so to confined.
But mark, She hears both sides in the debate,
and does not prejudice; thus may prove fate.


x.

And this, this crew of gossips, left and right,
what do they know, what is not hid from sight?
Do they possess a file of dirt on all,
expecting each upon their sword to fall?
What sources dark, and black, and underhand,
so at their bidding do they all command?
Or is this death by thousand paper cuts
reserved for those who brave, who have some guts?
These folk, they think to climb inside your head,
but what if snide remarks one doesn't dread?
And if they laugh behind of others' back,
may laugh until they have a heart attack.
The English laugh, so often a guffaw,
and laughing at, not with, so marks a bore.
Uh uh! Uh uh! It knows rigidity,
it is a plague upon society.
And English humor, if the joke repeats,
some laugh the more, each writhing in their seats.
Others' misfortune is some's stock and trade,
from other strands of humor, seems we've strayed.
So if the gossip knows one's once not trim,
repeating track doth make more mirth, not dim.
Creating what's so called a standing joke?
Upon which they may laugh until they choke.
It can't be chance - seems give their game away,
regardless, 'tis or ain't, this will not sway.
One doesn't feel one struggles in quicksand,
were they to say it strait - response: 'Yeah and...'.
Some do not see it's water off a back,
because their minds and thoughts, they have one track.
It seems some's addled senses in a thirst,
to follow fools in folly - that's the worst.
'Tis said that sticks and stones may break one's bones,
but words will never hurt - so hark these tones!
And thus if it exists, 'tis idle dross;
though shalt not lie, and each must bear his cross.
Of course, this all could be conspiracy,
and but an overactive fantasy.
Or have some led some soft and sheltered lives,
and never to disturb bees in their hives.
The ambiguity is there, no doubt,
and may produce a funk, not sorted out.
Uncertainty, it comes in grades of worth,
and if you can't be sure, then where's the mirth?
Do others of the standing joke partake,
although on other side, their bets do stake?
One doth not comprehend the counter-strike.
Can they of their position say the like?


xi.

Thus one admits that one is ignorant,
and that our knowledge, it is poor and scant.
And all of this is but hypothesis,
which the said actualities may miss.
Is this all but a tale of fantasy,
that's built upon the rock of fallacy?
And is the argument that is advanced
one that the actu'l point has only glanced?
The tale that's told, seems to be fantastic,
and what is said, perhaps impolitic.
It is for you to be the judge of that,
were you to separate the lean from fat.
And is there sense within this World of ours,
which certainly for most, no bed of flow'rs.
Must we the why and wheretofore construct,
while wraiths the seconds from our lives deduct.
What is the meaning? Why do we exist?
The only certainty - Death's iron fist.
So thus it seems that some have found their way,
as carnivores, with others as their prey.
And this, our World, is organised top down,
plutocracy, to give the thing a noun.
And mark there's some in our society
who don't invest in ev'ry lottery.
It is the matching of expenditure
without the wish for more, which so doth lure.
One cannot say that one has mastered yet,
although towards that goal, one takes a step.
The vast majority wish to partake,
and each on lotteries so place their stake.
So nothing can't be purchased, it is found,
from love, to cars, to fame, to sacred ground.
The phrase that springs to mind, that money talks;
it laughs, it sings, it dances and it walks.
But 'tis the love of money, not the thing,
that gives and grants the evilness a wing.
Though it is not one's place to judge these folk,
as ev'ry beast of burden bears its yoke.
The advertising's slick, and takes one in,
they are not fools, some lose and some they win.
Perhaps one has to read between the line,
and even if you do, it's not all fine.
You see, the small print catches each and all,
and by its strictures, even great will fall.
And thus to operate in this morass
one needs the skill to walk on broken glass.
The passed up option, live a life apart;
a useful phrase - turn on, tune in, take part.


xii.

Each life is spliced with other lives at large,
as ideologies, not hosts, take charge.
The lumpen masses cannot stand their ground,
as in this war, as cannon fodder found.
So one might take this stance, view this the case,
as we 'advance', that's we, the human 'race'.
And does it serve, to view the thing as such,
and damn oneself with pessimistic touch?
We're living through apocalyptic times,
and does it serve to note who sinks, who climbs?
If one can so identify the cause,
it may result in closed, not op'ning doors.
What good is consciousness, caught in a trap,
but worse, it makes one bitter of each scrap.
So better, dreaming of a hopeless dream,
than in one's situation, writhe and scream.
And so to wish ahead for better times,
the while one scrapes together, nickels, dimes.
One names the thing 'conceptu'l memory',
that blanks averse to ideology.
Or better said, 'wishful amnesia',
that hopes things die, having an idea?
Assemble these for each, each lives a lie,
'till Death dispose of each, each by and by.
One's lie is verse, one is the first to say,
and in this lie, one perseveres each day.
But it is not a lie, it's authorship,
with worth that might survive the double dip.
Or is it both, is it dichotomous,
one branch a minus stroke, one branch a plus?
One thing's for sure, it isn't common found,
and us and them have little common ground.
There may be few of us, or only one,
along the way we've had a little fun.
What we depict, and thus what you behold,
is but the half of that which could be told.
So as this Nation falls from grace, spectate,
and humbly in this verse but commentate.
Were our predictions but to prove a lie,
first to admit that we had gone awry.
With nothing else, we are to verse a slave,
one can be sure this won't create a wave.
With the last time they thought outside the box,
confined to working how to fix their stocks.
So what is on their list to fiddle next,
it's plain and clear the Nation should be vexed.
Such satire may return their laughter's due,
but they continue with their autocue.

© Copyright 2016,
Mr Robinson.