Bedroom Tax protest/poem

Today I took part in a protest outside the office of LibDem's Jenny Willott, after the MP decided to continue supporting the bedroom tax in the face of opposition from the people she is supposed to represent. I had been asked to write a poem about the fact that Jenny had ignored requests from concerned citizens to talk about this, instead choosing to spend time on the much-more important issue of - rubbish. Yes, that's right - apparently the black bags outside our homes, and their collection, is far more important to Jenny than the people currently losing their homes, and being dumped outside like rubbish themselves!

In the end, Jenny did not turn up to her own office, and cancelled her usual Friday surgery. With families being forced to sell furniture to pay the tax, many falling into debt, and still others facing threats of eviction (if they haven't been evicted already), it seemed both cold and cowardly for the MP not to turn up to meet us today. The police were there, as usual, and were very polite and helpful indeed - they are constituents too, after all. This bedroom tax is hitting many of us, and it's hitting hard. And how is Jenny sleeping at night? Well, apparently, very well, as it is a well-known fact that the MP bought an extremely expensive four-poster bed on her expense account - almost £1,800 of taxpayers' money in total, on the bed, mattress, matching curtains, and home delivery.

So... Keep fighting the fight, good people! Picture and full poem below x

Bedroom tax, here’s the facts

People made homeless

Bedroom tax, just like trash

You can’t ignore us

Bedroom tax, don’t have stacks,

We can’t afford it

Our hearts and homes broken

But you just ignored it

Here is the full poem, it should be read in order of columns (1,2,3...). Making columns on Blogger is an absolute pain, so please forgive the fact the type isn't quite straight here... Enjoy!

Lords Prayer

Lord,
I’d become a Christian if I thought I’d see a burning Bush
If I thought You would set young George alight
I’d go to church each Sunday, even weekdays at a push
And I’d pray to Jesus morning noon and night
If only You would push Bush into a fiery furnace
If only You’d engorge George in hot flame
Then I’d become a Christian and I’d make it my own mission
To see other politicians get the same….

I wouldn’t just burn them with Christian zeal
I’d burn them with flames that were red hot and real
Tho I’d like to ignite all the buggers on sight
Instead I would burn them all sleeping at night
If You burn Bush, Lord, there’ll be no deterrent
Each MP, AM and PM past and present
Will die, every hypocrite, thief, whore and liar
I’ll retire to their pyre and expire via fire.

Imagine: Portillo asleep on his pillow
I’d say a hail Mary then make those flames billow
Tony Blair lying there like a babe unaware
I’d pray for his sins then set fire to his hair
Jack Straw like a straw would easily cinder
And Thatcher like thatch would soon catch
Boris a forest of fine human tinder
Paddy Ashdown I’d burn down to ash
David Cameron I guess would prove highly flammable
And Major I wager would too
In Your Name to Pete Hain I’d whisper a parable
Then bid him a fiery adieu
Mo Mowlam has plenty mo’ fat I could burn
Ann Widdecombe some I’d ignite in its turn
And good Gordon Brown in Gordon’s I’d drown
I’d pour liberal spirits on him
His fat filthy body with fire I’d melt down
His illiberal spirit send off with a hymn
These pig politicians and empty MPs
I’m sure I could track down with relative ease
If the UK’s a body then they’re the disease
It’s foolish to fight ‘em, let’s just ignite ‘em
The country would thank me again and again
Dear God and Jesus, please won’t you please us
Forever and ever and ever
AMEN