Two poems written in 2015 at HMP Highpoint after reading Owen Jones’ book called the Establishment. There is little new of importance for me in the book, although I did find it well written and easy to read. I was struck throughout by the feeling that Owen Jones himself is so much part of the Establishment that he decries – a fact which has, indeed, given him the ability to write and be published. Personally I am more concerned by merely inherited power which interferes with, or is gained outside, the democratic process. Hence my references to republicanism and tribalism.
On the Establishment I is free in form – as if translated from the classics. The second is much more in my usual style and should be read with a driven rhythm.
On the Establishment I
O Guardians of the Golden Gates
Hold hard against the hungry hordes
Pushing at the portal of power
Lest the excluded enter the Establishment
Let those qualified by birth
Be brought before their brethren
Lest the holy be hindered by the humble
For they shall become our Masters
Let those qualified by faith
Prostrate themselves at the altar of acceptability
Lest our church chastise the Chosen
For they shall become our Chaplains
Let those qualified by might
Show the strength of their submission
Lest they reflect upon rebellion
For they shall become our Guardians
Let those qualified by wealth
Be accredited by accountants and actuaries
That the Masters be richly rewarded
For they shall become our Financiers
Let those qualified by education
Elucidate their erudition
Lest our leaders lack lucidity
For they shall become our Experts
Let those qualified by creative merit
Consent to be censored
Lest the consensus be contested
For they shall become our Communicators
Let those qualified by election
Be revered by all, regardless of affiliation
That they create credibility for the Masters
For they shall become our Legislators
Let those that transgress
Due to disregard of these directives
Be imprisoned in perpetual purgatory
That the population be appraised of our power
Let there be beauty beyond the Gates
And let the people perceive progress
That we may better conserve our status
Unperturbed by universal suffrage
Let the writer of these words
Be unique among our number
That he may manipulate the message of the Masters
Let him profit from poetic and literary licence
On the Establishment II
The Masters meet within the Gates
The horde outside impatient waits
For a glimpse or glance of the ruling class
Establishment Elders before them pass
Wending their way to weave their words
Into the text that may be heard
By the Masters in the Meeting Room
That deliberate on others’ Doom
They decide on how the future’s planned
In every town, in every land
What can be thought, what can be said
What can be bought, what can be paid
They recompense for service versed
They penalize the private purse
And humiliate the many men
That live their lives to be like them
The Masters of the Universe
Plunderers of the public purse
Let harangue the humble human herd
That hang upon their every word
Who cannot count the tax they’ve paid
Nor can they touch the wealth they’ve made
Desire may drive them to distraction
Pure envy pushes them to action
But their actions bring just minor change
Analysis falls beyond their range
They sadly seem to stimulate
The system they should surely hate
It matters not to some above
What those below may know or love
Their lust for power propels them on
As a mirage to the hangers-on
The mirage is by media mounted
That all may be by crown appointed
If not unto the Meeting Room
Then through the Gates, beyond the gloom
This poor pretence that denies the fate
Of most that stand outside and wait
The pursuit of power penetrates
Those it tries to emasculate
But, wait, we hear dissenting voice
That makes awake fair freedom’s choice
Those outraged by this status quo
That refuse to follow the ebb and flow
That accept to row against the tide
That fight against the class divide
That think all men should equal be
Regardless of the majority
Republic! Raise your rational head
That might by right might soon be dead
That birth build not a power base
That good be seen in gentle grace
Burst wide the Gates, reduce the fear
The time of freedom now is near
When humankind will see at last
The need to break with our tribal past