Joe Golden

Joe Golden Poems

Brooding, the Devil studied his troops
Lying immobile outstretched in groups.
De-energised on Hell's burning plains,
Demoralised by unending campaigns.
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The Best Poem Of Joe Golden

Westminster And The Devil

Brooding, the Devil studied his troops
Lying immobile outstretched in groups.
De-energised on Hell's burning plains,
Demoralised by unending campaigns.
The Devil's work remains unceasing,
As mans' vices are forever increasing -
Ever alive to ways of vexing the Creator
By striking blows at the great Dictator.
Their Master fretted over their lessened zeal,
Rejecting the idea of another appeal.
Inducement was futile by mere speech -
He needed an approach to truly outreach.
Firing up their zeal was the Devil's aim,
For woeful results only he was to blame.
In a twinkling he divined what was amiss -
His present approach had been remiss.
Absent was that crucial ingredient -
A regime to keep his troops obedient.
What was lacking are creative commanders
Who wouldn't stand back as mere bystanders.
They'd be pro-active and being aggressive
Conversion rates would be more impressive.
He envisaged leaders who embodied immorality,
Whose urgings are pursued with liberality.
‘But where to find them? ' the Devil sighed,
‘I must have them! I won't be denied!
The command material I have in mind,
Are those accustomed to being maligned,
Dismissing criticism as ill-informed aspersion
Shamefully directed against their person.
But I believe I know who fit the bill
Who'll serve me with their proven skill.
I mean the senior politicians in the UK,
Who have the credentials they daily display -
Mastering how to speak tongue-in-cheek
Where absolute truth requires a minor tweak,
Being resolute when their interests are at stake,
Concealing that they're really on the make.
Such figures would boost my campaign
And restore morale in my domain.
No longer would our response be fragmented
In a manner that makes me so demented.
My new leaders will add their proven expertise
Tho' I'm loath to concede there are no guarantees.
They'll have a free hand to brew their knavery
Especially with acts that are truly unsavoury.
The time is right to focus on my selection
As UK politics are beset with dejection.
BREXIT has conjured up a dramatic division -
Both sides blaming the other of muddled vision.
Strong words have been voiced on the divide -
But like Him, I'm not taking anyone's side.

My mandate demands I grasp the nettle
And source Ministers of the right mettle.
It behoves me to do the best for my forces -
Conscripted from unmentionable sources.
I'd previously explored UK's political elect
Whose prowess I'd diligently checked.
Results were mixed and inconclusive,
A decisive result being sadly elusive -
Tho' two figures stood out showing merit
Who boasted a disdain their issue would inherit.
Cameron and Osborne were ripe to be recruited -
So earnest in delivery, but ultimately unsuited,
Since, like others of their ilk, tho' it seems unjust,
I couldn't warm to them nor really trust.
I.D.S., and May too, showed traits just right,
But their opaque theories gave me a fright.
It produced nothing but aggravation -
A futile quest and much frustration.
But all that's history and recall is blurred -
Drawing a line under it is my option, preferred!
I plan to re-visit that blot in space
To mingle again with the human race.
As before, I'll be unseen and soundless,
Inklings of failure? Simply groundless!
On this fresh mission I'll be more focused -
And leave neither stone nor misdeed unnoticed'.

The Devil cast himself into the void,
Man-made debris being obstacles to avoid.
He scorned navigation by artificial satellite
As he winged his way at the speed of light,
No signs were needed to point journey's end -
The land mass where he would start to descend.
Polluted air would show him earth's position,
As eagerly he sped, hell-bent on his mission.
He approached the UK at the Northern point
Where two home nations are in conjoint,
The one mustering every opportunity
To shatter centuries of political unity,
The other not seeing it as a portent -
Hoping the matter will be overtaken by event(s) .
To pass the time he composed odd rhymes,
Till his antennae picked up Westminster's chimes.
‘Journey's end' he thought, ‘no time for dallying.
Au contraire, it's a time for rallying.
Back home my boys are expecting results -
As my previous efforts brought only insults.
They claimed I wasn't wedded to my mission.
That I, ‘The Prince of Darkness', lacked ambition.
With my honour at stake, I must raise my game,
My exalted prestige I have to reclaim.
It's crucial I return with prospects truly high,
So I can look Beelzebub straight in the eye'.
Westminster was verily the Devil's destination,
Celebrated for its mastery of obfuscation.
To the House of Commons he followed the signs,
To appraise those who make the headlines.
To his joy, a rowdy session was in full flow,
Members fighting to land a killer blow.
Passion all round was clearly apparent -
With some Members it was truly aberrant.
Harsh words were thrown and cheeks pinked,
With oaths muttered in tones indistinct.
BREXIT was the issue causing the steam -
Of minuscule relevance in his regime.
Since his last visit, he noted the changes -
Fresh officials, but the old barbed exchanges.

Chancellor Hammond was on his feet,
Burdened with the Nation's balance sheet,
Forging new markets being the aspiration -
Anticipating conflict but worth the perspiration.
Rebuttals are mounting of options considered -
Doubting if solutions can ever be delivered.
‘Clearly' the Devil mused, ‘it's a war of attrition,
Should the House ever achieve its ambition'.
The Devil's grip on finance being minimal,
A lapse, in context, was hardly criminal,
But he felt that with support in the right quarters,
The UK ship would survive the turbulent waters.
A barrier is that foes dwell on events remembered
Of past misdeeds and countries dismembered.
But the Devil was stoical at the general discord,
As he appraised those he might want on board:
‘I don't want officers who are prone to gaffes -
And pass the buck to subordinate staffs.
Anyway, Phil's ruled out despite initial appeal -
Any measures introduced he'd try to repeal'.
The Devil fixed on Boris whose articulations
Synched with his animated gesticulations.
‘He's for me! ' the Devil opined with emotion,
‘In Hell his zeal will ensure early promotion.
His charisma, I'm sure, will recompense
For those occasional glitches in common-sense.'

Nearby sat the PM, handbag at her side,
Impatient to launch a withering broadside.
But who to aim at with so many competing
To hold the floor with their pompous bleating?
Mrs May studied the Members of the gathering,
Ear cocked to the incoherent blathering:
‘They'd better back me: and give me their trust.
I'm a pliable PM - tho' prone to combust! '
She then interposed, causing some to quiver,
Others to quake as up their backs crept a shiver:
‘I'll waste no time - I'm going to be candid,
Without a good deal the UK will be stranded.
The visionary dream that I've unfurled
Is my plan of our place in the new world.
Foremost, trade deals will be our endeavour,
Freely negotiated with whomever and wherever.
And now that I've got your attention,
There's another item that I really must mention:
I want our borders better guarded,
Since apathy risks our being bombarded.
There's a need to establish tighter controls
To plug all the creative loopholes'.
The Devil viewed her aim on immigration
Constituted an unholy aberration:
‘Theresa's a dear, but our policies differ,
Her rules on flexibility are considerably stiffer.
Hell welcomes all - rejection brings a cost,
Without daily intake my power base is lost.
But I warm to her style, her magisterial ways,
Her delivery of a cutting phrase -
Loftily dismissing an opposing assertion
Without resorting to threats or coercion.
But she's not for me, the more I reflect,
She's a body I'd lack the courage to correct'.
A timeworn figure then rose to his feet,
His mode of dress so gloriously downbeat.
Corbyn it was, that tireless campaigner
Revered as the Opposition's chief complainer.
The Devil braced himself for his address,
Hoping for brevity and he wouldn't digress.
His prayers turned quickly to dismay
As his principles Corbyn began to convey.
The Devil concentrated with all his might
To the utterances which sounded so erudite.
He tried hard to follow every phrase and thread -
But failed to fathom a single word he said.
‘As a leader', the Devil felt, ‘he shows no fire;
He's more likely to extinguish than inspire.
I'll look elsewhere and up my stakes -
For other aspirants who have what it takes'.
The Devil mulled over the state of his mission,
Still upbeat about bringing it to fruition,
As his thoughts drifted to where ambition
Is regarded as a hereditary condition.
The name Trump sprang into vision -
An unfearing man not prone to indecision:
‘I've watched his progress with dismay.
Certain his engaging points would outweigh
What his detractors call extreme reactions,
But which to me are just petty infractions.
A pity Donald is there in the States,
And I'm in the UK by Westminster Gates,
But if I have a further sourcing mission
I'll monitor him with a view to acquisition -
Tho' I acknowledge a frisson of doubt,
As sooner or later there'd be a big fall-out.
My fear is that with Don on my payroll
He'd stir up the troops and be out of control'.

The Devil spied a body looking most intense -
The Minister entrusted with issues of Defence.
Michael Fallon, sporting white hair and specs,
Was on his feet looking very circumspect.
Grave matters had lately seized his attention,
Generating both alarm and dissension -
His spend plans had rung alarm bells so strident -
Not to mention that little business of ‘Trident'.
But was he a ‘Leader' the Devil had in mind,
Someone that battalions would unite behind?
Would he give his all and share his expertise
Or would he be the one who seeks to appease?
The Devil, ever quick in his decision making,
Pronounced that as regards his undertaking,
He wanted bodies with aggressive command -
Not someone regarded as ‘a steady hand'.

The Devil paused for a moment's reflection,
In this, his own version of Natural Selection.
Some Members would adapt to Hell's regime,

He had to be sure they had adaptability -
As well as the talent of practical utility.
He glanced around to appraise other politicians,
All of them savouring their own ambitions.
He could see them but he was undetected,
His evaluating presence in no way suspected.
Nearby sat Jeremy, carrying the brief for Health,
Promoting policies that are best done with stealth,
Managing budget cuts for the good of the patient,
While insisting he's in no way complacent:
‘Mr Hunt is fraught with a host of tensions
That he has to master with the best intentions,
Recurring headlines over a beleaguered NHS,
Being his wish-list item he'd love to suppress.
But he's off my list since he'd use all his means
To introduce in Hell healthier eating routines.
He'd steer us off our everyday offal,
And preach us the usual nutritional waffle
About over-eating, and taking personal care,
When all Hell needs is the usual charred fare'.

A sparkling gleam impeded the Devil's gaze
As through the windows the sun began to blaze.
The gleam sprang from an honourable bald pate -
The Local Govnt Minister had joined the debate!
Sajid spoke of ‘British Values' in his oration,
Causing in the Devil waves of indignation.
‘I can't have a body espousing such a belief,
That I've found it out now is a blessed relief.
This ideal is contra to everything I stand for,
And something I have never planned for.
All enjoy equal status in my hellish kingdom -
No matter their earthly status and income.

There's just one Chief, and that's yours truly.
I crack my whip and keep them all ruly.
My egalitarian world welcomes all -
But ensures everyone is kept in thrall.
As for Javid and his notion of equality -
In my back yard that's just extreme frivolity.
He's off my list - I've cast him asunder -
I won't be party to such to a blunder'.

The Devil then suffered a distraction
Causing him an anxiety reaction.
Females he could never comprehend -
Mischief and discord they seemed to portend.
These his thoughts as Liz Truss rose to her feet -
The Lord Chancellor, with a smile so sweet.
The Devil quickly studied his brief
Prepared by Beelzebub, his stand-in chief.
His grimace became a nod of assent
After he devoured its pleasing content:
‘So she's got charge of prisons and courts,
With access to lovely scurrilous reports
Of people who commit felonious acts
From seasoned criminals to nymphomaniacs -
The very people comprising my legions
Dispersed across my Netherworld regions.
She's a real leader! She's got the aptitude
For tackling people with real bad attitude.
I'll monitor her to see how she performs-
But I'll ban any moves to introduce reforms! '

The buzz in the Chamber came to a pause -
A moment for Members to rest their jaws.
Damian Green, the well-travelled politician,
Was up on his feet arguing his mission.
‘Jobs for the Old Boys' was his cri de coeur,
Rousing inactive people from their armchair,
Urging work for those soundly limbed ¬-
Spurred on by having their benefits trimmed.
The Devil was enraptured by what he heard,
Though his grasp of it was perforce blurred:
‘I like Damian's style - if he really pulls it off,
My hat, if I wore one, I should certainly doff!
He's what I need for my workforce back home,
Who always complain of this or that syndrome.
He's on my list - I'll have him in my crew -
A Motivator in-chief in my retinue! '
Stirrings were felt in what passed for his blood,
As the Devil appraised Ms Amber Rudd.
Had the Minister known she was under inspection,
She might have sought the Speaker's protection.
But she was unaware, and ignorance is bliss -
That oft used ploy when a body's been remiss.
The Home Secretary was under popular orders
To repel from the UK unneeded boarders,
And so level-down net migration
To preserve the balance within the nation.
‘Like the PM', the Devil said, ‘our aims diverge,
I welcome all, while they seek to purge.
I'll take everyone whatever their nationality -
My entry procedures being a mere formality.
I put to use their skills and abilities-
Including those with earthly disabilities.
As for Amber - I'm somewhat undecided,
My initial thinking may be misguided:
She opposes hate crimes and Terrorism -
Whereas I don't go in for such altruism.
But I'm confident she has what I'm lacking,
Who'll also give me her fulsome backing,
But is she one of my leaders in the making
Or might that be a naive undertaking?
My mind's made up! I'm all for her admission -
Her meteoric rise is sure proof of her ambition'.

Who's next for the Devil's probing eye!
Who has the motivation to qualify!
The sounds of impassioned verbosity
Then captured his attracted curiosity.
Karen Bradley, it was - up on her feet,
The ex-tax adviser had risen from her seat.
She was waxing on about Culture's rewards -
(So redolent of the House of Lords) .
Not the agri, nor the horti kind -
But that which defines a refined mind.
‘She's losing me! ' the Devil spluttered,
‘I can't grasp the esoteric stuff she's uttered.
In common with most of the UK nation,
I know my place and I know my station.
Curiously, Sport is within her mandate
Covering an agenda designed to frustrate.
Broadcasting, Tourism, Lottery plus the Arts
Also fall to this Minister of multiple parts,
Presumably selected for her dynamism -
Or is that just my fiendish cynicism?
She's so laden with competing priorities
Dealing with charities and sundry Authorities
That I'd best forget this blonde bombshell -
Tho' I feel she'd warm to the challenge of Hell'.

The Speaker rose to his towering height,
Displaying his authority as was his right,
Being deprived of voicing his opinion,
And irked to be seen as just a minion,
He brusquely adjourned matters for the day
Rebutting the Chancellor in the midst of his say.
The Devil was taken with his cavalier style,
Seeing his recruitment would be worthwhile:
‘If he can behave with sublime disdain,
Without feeling the need to explain,
There can only be one finding of fact -
And I'm not a being to overreact:
He ticks the boxes on my specification,
With his priceless gift of causing vexation.
Back home, outlets for mischief are boundless,
With fears of censure positively groundless.
So join me, John, escape earthly restraints,
In Hell, with me, there'll be no complaints! '

The Devil's trip was approaching conclusion,
The passage of time being for him an illusion,
But he recognised the end of the working day,
As Ministers filed out and drifted away
To their homes or where they lay their heads -
Not necessarily their matrimonial beds.
He'd seen the UK's governing administration
Furrowing their brows at the state of the nation.
These, the leaders, creating the laws,
Handing them down for the peoples' applause.
Now the Devil had to make an assessment:
Had his mission had been a wise investment?
His waiting hordes wanted something tangible -
No half measures, dubious and frangible.
If he didn't deliver what he'd vowed,
Their protests would be insufferably loud.
He rehearsed his position - a little fraught
Should his grand plans come to nought
With no new leaders to fire up his legions,
And no fresh impetus in his far flung regions.
Of the Ministers seen, he'd reckoned on six -
Although nothing is certain in politics.
But his negative thoughts give way to cheer
Making his sombreness disappear:
‘Yes, I've truly accomplished my aim,
I've found leaders I can proclaim.
My resolve just then was tested by tension -
Now past, and barely worth a mention!
I sense Beelzebub is feeling unease,
Being left in charge of my Hellish diocese.
Acting-up occurs on the odd occasion
And generally involves coaxing persuasion.
But he'll be pleased at my success
When I debrief on my progress.
I'll tell him six recruits are on their way -
Exactly when I'm not at liberty to say.
Proven leadership is what commends them to me,
Which in Hell will be clear for all to see.
With no constraints on their activities,
They'll be encouraged to take all liberties.
I'm departing now, tho' with some remorse
For omitting a soul I'm anxious to endorse -
Whose autocratic style compels respect,
A man with whom I truly connect.
I'm planning to visit, with great anticipation,
The President of the Russian Federation.

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