One side is Nazis
And we’re still having this debate?
One side is Nazis
And it’s Antifa you hate?
One side is Nazis
They ain’t here to play it cool.
One side is Nazis
Blowing dog-whistles and playing the fool.

One side is Nazis
And it is violence they preach.
One side is Nazis
It ain’t nothing to do with freedom of speech.
One side is Nazis
They’re looking to end some lives.
One side is Nazis
It’s happened countless times.

One side is Nazis
No matter how they change their name.
One side is Nazis
No matter how they hide their game.
One side is Nazis
And if they think you pose a risk -
One side is Nazis
Your name will be at the top of their list.

One side is Nazis
Their views are open and clear.
One side is Nazis
Let them talk, see what you hear.
One side is Nazis
And we’re still having this debate?
One. Side. Is. Nazis.
And it’s still Antifa you hate?■

Karl Howarth is an Anarchist, writer and customer service veteran based in South East London. Follow him on Instagram for images of his cat (and occasionally a poem) by clicking here.
Image courtesy of Rhi Bowen, whose Instagram can be found here.

I've got a fire in my belly,
It what makes me scribe,
It's looking for justice and fair play,
It's what keeps me alive,
It's like a burger in a bun,
Topped with a scoville relish,
This fire in my belly,
Is hard to extinguish.

I wear my heart on my sleeve,
My emotions are raw,
When I hear of injustice,
It's like throwing on petrol,
This feeling I get,
Seeps from every pore,
This passion I feel,
Is hard to ignore.

When I hear of acts of racism,
I burn up inside,
To me we are all equal,
A feeling I can't hide,
I've got a fire in my belly,
That rages hard and strong,
It's mission is to ensure,
That right overcomes wrong.

Some people have money,
Some people have not,
But the gap is increasing,
By tyrants and what they plot,
We've got poverty stricken children,
With a stunted education,
Who'll have to work hard all their lives,
To make the best of their situation.

Politicians with no morals,
Who people seem to trust,
Send families to food banks,
Which turns my stomach in disgust,
These people line their own pockets,
Who should hold their heads in shame,
They thrive on people's suffering,
We all know their game.

Now we all have a fire,
We all have a belly,
We all have an opportunity,
To end this inequality,
We now live in an era,
Like no era in the past,
To make a difference to human lives,
A difference that will last. ■

Swansea based Punk Poet The Uptown Portrayer was established in 2017, and has been gigging hard ever since at Ska and Punk Festivals and supporting benefit gigs.
You can find him on Facebook.

Renowned for delivering an honest brand of poetry that resonates, and tackling subjects such as inequality, social issues and racism head on. The Uptown Portrayer Punk Poet also highlights the struggles of music venues, and displays a passion for live music, whilst also showing a compassionate side with originals based around friendships and compassion for others. Having recently recorded a verse from the poem “No Robot” with South Wales punk band Tenplusone on their latest album.

Image © m.mphoto

Shite. Is there any other word for it? Pishing it doon, get soaked by some prick in a shitey BMW and a midlife crisis and within pitting distance of the open air pish house they call a bus shelter. My intended destination.

Lucky me. Can’t drive so here I am. The dirty polythene shelter, despite the obvious smell of ammonia, is keeping me somewhat dry at least. Might as well check the timetable I guess. Not that I actually believe its accurate. Nah, fuck that. I’m just trying to keep warm. Mah room has been bloody freezing the last fortnight, radiator is probably fucked. And this is hardly doing me any good.

Let’s see. Racists scrawl, fitba stickers and oh advice suggesting that I should be getting a taxi, and there it is the times. Shouldnae have bothered. Just shite. That taxi shite was pissing me off. Like anyone can actually afford a taxi round here, can barely get the bloody bus. Honestly fuckin…

I turnt about. Some auld boy came up to the shelter and brought me back to the bus shelter. He asked me the time before lighting up. I wish I had mah earphones. The auld guy seems an alright sort but I can’t be arsed dealing with anybody. Besides what happens if it transpires he’s a cunt. Then Ah might git stuck with said cunt. Aye, misanthropy is the wey to go.

Fuck me. It’s too cold. Freezing mah bollocks off. Maybe it’ll snow soon and I’ll get off work for a bit. Speculative thinking but a boy can dream. Some dream too, getting away from work for a few day.

There. The 101 is actually about here. I heard they were closing the depot. I’m lucky to even be on a bus these days. There’s bugger all here theses days but then again there’s a co-op opening soon, better watch out we’ll be at risk of gentrification soon. Maybe I’ll leave.

And here we are. The doors struggle open and I do my best to ignore the driver while scanning mah ticket. I get my way to a seat, wading my way through the water which has collected in the aisle of the bus and is sloshing about. Maybe they’ve got a leak, wouldn’t surprise me. They’re ancient things, everybody is fucked if we crash. Thankfully I got myself a seat by myself. Some cunt once sat on m on a bus, unintentional but still. They could’ve apologies or maybe even acknowledged it. I don’t know. How the fuck does that bother me?

I don’t even mind being one busses most of the time but Christ when they’re bad, they’re bad. Between school weans, screaming weans in prams, people shouting on the phone. It’s all shite. I once saw a guy get on a bus just to do a pish and then got off immediately. Clearly he forgot that bus shelters were just as good.

I’m just gonna switch off. At least its pretty quiet. Maybe I’ll catch up on the backlog of sleep that I’ve been meaning too. Actually fuck that. Somebody will probably take my spleen. Can you actually harvest spleens? I don’t know. Christ mah heid is morbid.

No like my surroundings help. It’s grim. Maybe I’ll actually leave some day. Who hasnae said that though? And here we are thousands of souls who are dammed to stay here. Is it actually that bad though? Or am I just blinkered? Guess you can never see the full picture when you’re so close. Maybe I’ll piss off to some island.

I miss the sea. There’s just something about it. For some folk it constrains them, boxes them in but I always think it makes the world much bigger. I miss the days of being at the seaside as a wean. Getting soaked cause you couldn’t resist jumping in the sea and then getting a pokey hat, normally after terrorising your folks. Then you get older and realise how grim these seaside town actually are. Imagining yourself actually living there…

A girl just got on the bus. Well she tried. Forgot her student card and that’s her out on her arse. Gave the driver a right earful. The driver could have a bit of actually possessed an ounce of empathy but I don’t envy him. He’s got a shite job. Has shite bosses. Shite pay. And then has to put up with the rest of the shite. Mind you some bastarding bus driving prick closed thi door oan mi ance, utter prick. Ach fuck it.

Nearly here. Get aff an get oan. Nae else to be done. Ah start to make mah preparations to get aff the bus, alit the bus. At least that’s what some folk say. Shite. Who actual has tae say that? Pricks. Ah ring the bell and thi bus trundles tae a stop. That’s mi. Negotiate mah wey doon tae thi front. Hope tae fuck thi bastard actual stops the bus. Thay’ve goat form.

Wi trundle tae a stop. Ah thank the driver, mair oot ae habit than actual sinceritie. Ah step aff an that’s mi… ■

Lodaidh MacUilleim is a student from Scotland currently living in Glasgow.
He occasionally writes things as well as having been in a number of bands.

OTHER SUB/VERSE/IVE WORK

A Poem by The Uptown Portrayer

They advertise in the papers,
They advertise on TV,
They target vulnerable people,
Aged about 16,
All from impoverished backgrounds,
Show unity,
Do not sign the dotted line,
Of the military.

Don't be a government puppet,
See things as they are,
Wars are manufactured,
by people who do not care,
Governments aren't effective,
At creating industry,
So they establish an alternative,
Based on hate and greed.

Young cadets are trained to think,
Your country need you,
To play in all their games,
Something I can't construe,
In a false environment,
Get yourself a trade,
Unfortunately in civilian life,
Little chance I am afraid .

You say you don't trust governments,
Nor trust them on war,
These days there a distraction,
Of inadequacies I'm sure,
With unemployment and homelessness,
The highest that has been seen,
Surely these are the priorities,
The thinking is obscene.

Creating terror in our country,
Arms trading makes you sick,
Where lives mean nothing,
And more security risks,
Everybody stand tall,
Act with integrity,
Do not sign the dotted line,
Of the military. ■

Swansea based Punk Poet The Uptown Portrayer was established in 2017, and has been gigging hard ever since at Ska and Punk Festivals and supporting benefit gigs.
You can find him on Facebook
.

Renouned for delivering an honest brand of poetry that resonates, and tackling subjects such as inequality, social issues and racism head on. The Uptown Portrayer Punk Poet also highlights the struggles of music venues, and displays a passion for live music, whilst also showing a compassionate side with originals based around friendships and compassion for others. Having recently recorded a verse from the poem "No Robot" with South Wales punk band Tenplusone on their latest album.

A Poem by Victoria Pearson

They said the riots were the start, but they were wrong.

It started with the whispers. A susurrus of discontent, at the school gates, in the allotments, in the streets.

They met in libraries and parks, made plans to protect the vulnerable, and keep every belly fed. They planted seeds of hope and potatoes of defiance.

No longer supported by the system, they supported each other. They locked together like a shield wall, so when the time came to strike, they were unbreakable.

The cry rang through the streets; "No Gods,  No Masters, We Aren't Sheep To Be Led"

They said the riots were the start, but they were wrong.

It started with solidarity. ■

Victoria Pearson lives behind a keyboard somewhere in darkest Toryshire with her husband, her four children, and her dog. She writes very strange stories.
You can read them on her website or watch her talking complete nonsense in real time on Twitter.

A Poem by Patrick MacLeod Cullen

We live at the beginning of the end,
my friends and peers and I,
our children and our parents with us,
looking into the future of a burning world,
our pockets empty and our souls alight.

Our dreams of our future echo each others',
in a strange, broken hall-of-mirrors,
with cottages and cabins and huts and homes,
gardens and allotments and cupboards full of food,
dogs and cats and goats and chickens in our minds.

Few are our dreams of riches beyond compare,
or fame, or even acts of heroism and glory,
rather, now, as Tasmania burns and America freezes,
as storms grow and grow, as the deserts expand,
and the billionaires gold-plate their pizzas...

...for us, our dreams are of nights by a fire,
a place to live, and be free, work that sustains our spirit,
and loving company, to share the grief and joy,
to hold close as the water rises and horror creeps ever closer,
bringing the desperate and the frantic and the dead. ■

Patrick Cullen is an anarchist, parent, and poet. He lives in the Midlands with his partner and their six rats.
You can find him on Patreon and Facebook.

A Poem by The Uptown Portrayer

The overworked and underpaid,
Have zero hours, treated like slaves,
Money for the 1%, low wage causes resent,
The workers’ rights have been removed,
No compassion very cruel,
It is the Tory way,
Social depravity.

No money for people to spend,
So this country cannot mend,
No hope for the unemployed,
Ambition is destroyed,
Neglect is there for all to see,
Bringing the country to its knees,
It is aimed at you and me,
Social depravity

Because there is no work to do,
Become a MOD recruit,
Forced to go into a fight,
Participate in greed and hate,
We know the right wing love a war,
You wonder who the terrorists are,
Surely there’s a better way than,
Social depravity.

Between you and me they drive a wedge,
The country’s living on the edge,
Social housing in decay,
Essential funds taken away,
Cost of living through the roof,
Only goes to prove,
A right wing philosophy is,
Social depravity.

The NHS is on the floor,
People die in corridors,
Badly run soon privately own,
Everything is upside down,
More homeless people on our streets,
In the doorways, at our feet,
In a so called democracy,
We’ve social depravity.

They won’t just go and let us be,
What we do has to be screened,
To keep us all under control,

Our movements are patrolled,
Their paranoid of what we’ll do,
What repercussions might ensue?
Is this the way that we should be!
Social depravity. ■

Swansea based Punk Poet The Uptown Portrayer was established in 2017, and has been gigging hard ever since at Ska and Punk Festivals and supporting benefit gigs.
You can find him on Facebook
.

Renouned for delivering an honest brand of poetry that resonates, and tackling subjects such as inequality, social issues and racism head on. The Uptown Portrayer Punk Poet also highlights the struggles of music venues, and displays a passion for live music, whilst also showing a compassionate side with originals based around friendships and compassion for others. Having recently recorded a verse from the poem "No Robot" with South Wales punk band Tenplusone on their latest album.