Blimp deflator: Letting out the gas

Bearded man reveals terror bomb ingredients

Posted in britain, poetry by Blimp deflator on February 24, 2013


The bearded man
in the next flat
is making a bomb.

Thinks I can’t hear him
muttering his incantations
as he mixes
the baking soda and birdseed,

his dirty nightie
flapping on the clothesline,
sending semaphore messages
to the training camp
in Bhuggah Bazaar.

Greets me in the corridor
with a sidelong glance
and a twitch
of his singed eyebrows.

But we all know
that next week,
decked out in suit and tie
and gripping the rail of the dock,
he will plead not guilty,

will swear to Almighty God
that his moth-eaten canary
was the sole beneficiary
of all his endeavors,

white knuckles flashing
for a second
beneath black skin.

Alan Ireland

The headline on this post must have attracted the attention of spooks throughout the English-speaking world. Hello, spooks. How has your day been? How is your program of surveillance and entrapment going? Railroaded a few more Muslim patsies into the slammer? Well done! The price of freedom is eternal vigilance . . . and a little waterboarding now and then. But let’s not worry too much about that. The gloves are off, right? Now’s not the time to be fastidious. Not when the future of “civilization as we know it” is at stake.


Well done, Dr Satan

Posted in poetry by Blimp deflator on August 31, 2009

Bound and gagged
by academic protocol,
the Faculty is forced to watch
while Satan graduates
as Doctor of Philosophy,

delivers his oration
in a cultivated Texas drawl,
his cloven hooves incongruous
in cut-price cowboy boots
from K-mart.

How persuasively he speaks of God,
of freedom and democracy –
the ballot box
that bites the fingers
as one’s paltry vote is cast.

He lectures, too, on Reverence for Life,
his twitching hands
an inch above imaginary Colts.
Then ‘Bang!’ he says.
And smirks: ‘You’re dead.’

Alan Ireland

Tagged with: , , , ,