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Applauded by booze bums, misfits, electric kool aid kids, old school hipsters, social pariahs, swanky pants literati, the great the godless, and her Siamese kitty (Rembrandt), Viola spits and howls poetic fire, pulp that pulsates and prosody that burns holes in the page, destroying cup and saucer verse as we know it. A bitch slap for stuffy traditionalists and a wail of protest in the ears of smug fat cats.


Trigger Warning

‘London is a bastard!’
In Leicester Square
Rebel John homeless preacher delivers his sermon
from a makeshift pulpit
outside an ice cream parlour
Some say the wiry long haired  blackcoat
has lost his mind others embrace his chaotic diatribe.
‘Who’s listening to me?’ Rebel John yells
Answers his own question through splintered teeth:
‘There are almost bare-assed cherry sweetie cutie pop teens
grind winding electric-lit side streets
dressed in poly satin shimmer
bosom tops and mini skirts
Everyone stares at them
Right or wrong
Their strawberry cheeked innocence gone gone gone!
They are pointy shoe office-worker shirker’s midday fant-a-fuck
Damson lips pillow pout ages terms and prices
In the shadows you can hear the peppered hiss of Bessim
their thorn tongued Albanian pimp
London is a sly disguise
A bitch! Frankenstein’s mistress!
Her red lick stick wetting up
swinging her ankles from Blackfriars’s Bridge
wiping her clit for business
London  a cloud of crippled pigeons
on a fatherless tower block
An acid attack on a kohl eyed hijabi
Yesterday’s kung po chicken
A pair of period stained grass green panties lying in the street
London you’re a thread of hope to a half burned Syrian refugee
But two whiskey punches on a black afro haired teen
Cold blooded capitalist king
Left me with two limp legs and sick-dick urine
Welcome to the starry lips of commerce
pedalling smooth tongued  scams and misery
London will wed you
to debt for perpetuity
Read a suicide sonnet from the Gherkin
Saw a swiped wallet on the Northern line
And a peeping tom with red- moon eyes
I’m drunk! Drunk!! Drunk!
On your greasy  plate of riches and cunt
London! Fucking London! Choking on a
toilet slurp of English Defence League HATE
A cathedral of broken promises
And wiggly finger pointing  hypocrisy
Royston’s colonial grandpa displays  a
white gloved hand behind the palace window
You’re a bleeding thumb in Whitehall
A parliament of crooks
London! The people trusted you!
Yes you! Bare knuckled wrestling bailiff
defecating on my porch
Stole my home! My rights my sacred ounce of dignity
Socially cleansed jewel of inequality
Just a moped hit and run
A re-used syringe a perforated ear drum
Beware the  river Thames swollen with sewage – the bitter blood of lost souls  and dead fish
London – a cocaine spreadsheet
stapled to Steve the  banker’s pumper dump
I know dirty Keith charges £50 quid a high
Brixton Baz can offer pingers peelers and e-bombs to sweeten the ride
London you’re still a Dickensian hangover
Voguing cabaret singer clowning around outside
The Royal Courts of Injustice
A hot spank on that cross dressing Judge’s lacy pink g string
An anti immigration van spot – checking a ‘Muslim’
looking man
A Downtown Abbey class reunion
Fuckedupedyness in a hipster’s cup
Viceland  rebellion all dressed up
A bloviated dinner guest who guffaws at racist jokes
A golden ladder to paradise
but only for the darling rich-
three spoons of Beluga caviar at the Dorchester
Mouth wide open for  Promenade deals with lawyers and fixers
London how will you feed another crying  bouquet of blacktop babies?
You are the crusted eye of depression when the day stands still
All big talk and promises
An ad man’s bubble wrapped fantasy
A drain of motionless bodies –
Sleeping  on cardboard boxes
London your walls are sighing
There is a non stop train of dissension
Sprouting weedy pockets  of rebellion
But is it enough to change?
Enough to grow a conscience?
London – a beam of silver I once believed in
Now my book of tears
A bowl of nothing.’

One thought on “Bastard London! (A drunken Sermon delivered by Rebel John Homeless Preacher – 4Am July 31st )

  1. Wow ! ” Crying bouquet of blacktop babies ” And “Pillow pouting damson lips ” so many amazing visceral images yes London is still a “Dickensian hangover ” This is a truly epic piece of poetry . The words jump from the page stand on their hind legs and bark right at you . I will revisit this piece many times . Thank you for publishing such a powerful poem .

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