Intro by Steve Cook

I thought it would make a nice change to to put my thoughts into verse. The following  poem  bears the title “The Man Who Killed England” when aimed at a Brit audience and “The Man Who Killed America” when aimed at a U.S. audience. The first line is also varied slightly according to the  target audience.

Last night America died in my sleep;

Her cry for help was tangled in my dreams.

Smothered by their folds, held baby-like and weak,

I may have stirred but was not woken by her screams.

And when dawn broke with dismal light I woke

To winter’s paean hung upon the barbs of her defeat,

Her wilted rose by blight of bare-faced liars choked,

Her people strangled by their own elite.

From a thousand tiny wounds of small neglects,

The talents of her people frittered all away,

Asset-stripped and sick with tax and debt

Did she expire in slow inglorious decay.

A million lenses framed her agonized demise,

Snapped each and every knife-twist of her pain,

Freeze-framed, re-wound and then in some archive

Each mishap stored from whence reviewed again.

Fine-etched the small components of her death I knew,

Slept through but studied after the event,

In armchair ease with dull detachment viewed,

Like a soap or sitcom scripted for lament.

It seemed to me she got the rough end of the script:

Good people never should be written from the plot,

But the moving tape records and serves its writ:

No rewinds change the truth of it one jot.

Commercial breaks and sitcoms came and went,

Like prosy time-released each to its slot,

But the tape ran on until all life was spent

And just before the end it seems that I dozed off.

But slumber carries with it its own curse,

That he who sleeps is doomed at last to wake

And there the TV waits to tell the worst

Of what he tried to miss but never could escape.

I watched each documented exposé – I did my bit –

That mapped each sorry twist of her decline

And somberly agreed how bad was all of it,

That something should be done while there’s still time.

How dutifully I watched each televised debate

Confirming it was all some governmental wrong

And what could anybody do but wait

For some new messianic nut to come along

And fleece the flock with fey agendum hid

Behind “solutions” that always honest men bear ill,

Who – while he tighter nails our coffin lid –

Sees his coffers and psychotic dreams fulfilled.

I paid my tax and (honest) never broke the law

And drove with care along the middle of the road

And if I could I would have done much more

But the medication then kicked in and so I dozed.

Somehow I missed the better part of this glum tale,

The diagnostic why’s and wherefores of our plight,

Or perhaps we citizens were spared the odd detail

The “who” and “how” kept out of sight

For fear that we might make sense of it and wake

And understanding fill us with its power,

So that energized we might stir and then re-take

From feral hands the febrile stem of the nation’s flower.

Men of ill intent usurped the offices of state

And so the state ere long was organized for crime

‘Gainst we for whom their scams did seal the fate

Of a nation pushed, not fallen, to decline.

Yet every one of us ne’er less did play our part,

For where we dare not look does evil bloom

And the sum of all our blind eyes turned grew vast

And for the spread of evil obligingly made room.

The collective irresponsibilities of folk in truth

Do government’s tomfoolery comprise,

For where from decency they hold themselves aloof,

Entrusting it to criminals, it dies.

Behind each sorry aspect of this mess there lies

Some criminal self-serving with intent,

For good men’s efforts never would contrive

To snare good men in such predicament.

For evil to take root and win the day

Alone requires that good men all do naught:

They sleep or wait or look away

And so forfeit the battles they never truly fought.

I would have fought of course, I always planned

To rise and join the fray.

I hope you will forgive I lived life second-hand;

I thought of it but my armchair barred the way.

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Please visit Steve Cook

The alternative version of this poem, “The Man who Killed England” is published on UK Reloaded

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