Round Britain Cruise 2012

Isle of Mull
Dark is the sea,
Dark are the skies,
Dark are the hills.

Bleak is the story
Of clansmen at war
Till Jacobite end.

Dark is the music,
Dark the saltire,
Dark all your ruins.

A land once deserted,
Cleared of your folk,
But some now return.

Today you have hope,
Your language reborn,
Your younger ones stay.

Dark was your land,
Dark was your life,
But now it is bright.

Iona
A special place of holiness
Colonised by woolly cardigans
Corrupting an ethnic origin.

Macbeth and Duncan lie,
Lending strength to legends
That ripple round ancient mounds.

Viking pillage killed so many,
But they have not learned,
For in the abbey
Palestinian propaganda
Sullies the silence,
A Christian Trojan Horse
For Islamic attack on a
Wall that forestalls
Infiltration through an
Unrecognised frontier.


Scilly Isles
Blue bay of boats bobbing
Slightly in a subtle sea,
A promenade of pensioners,
Circling slowly, sitting, snoozing.
So Scilly slumbers.

From High Town to Old Town
We walk to Wilson’s grave.
Here Harold rests, his journey
From Huddersfield to Huyton and
Downing Street ended here.

Mental decline’s sad ending
For our brightest leader,
Who won his fight to keep us from
America’s Asian catastrophe,
But thought it unrecognised.

Cruise moaners
They’re fat and ugly.
They sit and moan
Exalting previous boats,
Damning this,
A long black list.

“We’re not impressed!” they say.
“If we’d have known, we’d have
Turned round on the motorway.”

“Pity you didn’t” we whisper.
and wish we’d added,
“Learn to enjoy honest
Value for money and bonhomie.”
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