BURN DOWN THE JOBCENTRE PLUS

for RB

Burn down the Jobcentre Plus
The Jobcentre has to burn
They've got no jobs for none of us
The Jobcentre has to burn

Burn down the Jobcentre Plus
I'll get the matches and petrol
Burn it quick without a fuss
I'll get the matches and petrol

Burn down the Jobcentre Plus
Burn those bastard machines
They've got no jobs for none of us
Burn those bastard machines

Burn down the Jobcentre Plus

I'll get the matches and petrol

Burn it quick without a fuss

I'll get the matches and petrol

Incited by this article: click here

THE TEMPERATURE AT WHICH PAPER BURNS

for the Freedom Bookshop

At 451 fahrenheit or 450
or a little higher or a little lower
paper combusts. Though its contents

may send the thermometer gun
racing up through russet, cerise
to white. Paper burns fast and fires

can come quickly out of control.
If a bookshop were to burn
the metal stacks would buckle

under the pressure of the words
burst into scalding smoke,
scorching the walls, refusing to choke.


Read more about this: here

ASH

The nursery was plagued
with white and black flecks
on the tender skins.
They had not hardened to bark.
The fingers had shed their leaves
and the limbs had shrunk.
Stumped to obscure shapes.

They tried burning the bodies,
but the disease spread flies
through the forest
of sparks and smoke.
Everywhere foxes and rabbits
squealed from the spiral.
The charred witness of the trees.

AUTUMN

for CR

I heard it from trees, burn leaves

gold through bronze into ash.

Whatever was gifted was burnt,

the flames silvering birches

with white heat, blackened elms,

a willow unwept in a cowl

of firecrackers. Come dawn, charred

limbs reach through the gunsmoke.

A fox bark coughs among embers.

CLINKERS

for DM

Old poem riddled
dead ash in a cooling hearth —
unloosed strange cinders.

FIVE SHEFFIELD MONOSTICHES

Sheffield is a cave for the tide to boom and creak in. It echoes. Echoes.
*
Sheffield woke the Kraken with a spit of fire from Vulcan's crucible. It burns.
*
Sheffield burned a brewery that bombed, thirsting liquor up Moorhead. It flows.
*
Sheffield was a flood that drowned children and teapots, smashed doors and tibias. It kills.
*
Sheffield ghosts itself in phantasmographs and cinematography. It is double exposed.

UNTITLED

NHS staff have been warned to expect

storm weather and floods. Tsunamis

of alcohol related hepatitis will burst

through the automatic doors in A&E.

They have been told to be underprepared

like the police for the fallout of Friday night

violence in city centres. Blood will come

like a flood. A riot of scalpels and syringes

held to the throat — Give us your money,

you bastards, or we'll burn you. The Fire Brigade

are on strike. 999 is a disconnected number

and nobody gives a shit if you die.

In Westminster MPs stand on the roof

catching fivers in nets. The bonfire of services

turns ash into cash and the unscorched snatch it.