05-25-2013, 06:20 AM
Now with sound.... well possibly ......
<script type="text/javascript" src="newaudioplayer.js"></script>
I've tried to smooth out some of the bumps and and give a bit of attention to the metre of this. If I can work out how the hell to get it from my kindle to the site, i have done an audio as part of my new improved editing process
(thanks Milo). I would specifically like some help with punctuation and metre on this one. I have read it out and then listened back and tried to put the punctuation right ...but I'm not so great at this ...so if anyone has the will power I would appreciate some feedback in relation to the audio read / text read comparisions. (I want to improve my reading ear if this makes sense 
)
'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.
The slothful dole fed indolence of plebeian ire stirs,
striking out at “Her!” One they never knew. She served
from her own reserves, flint faced to bribed requests.
Shiftless chisellers who don’t and won’t work, mire her rest.
She, forced back the gauche demons of destruction, curbing
crazed union demarcations and nationalised shifts of sleep.
'One out all out' sheep, dole led to a steel striptease. Unperturbed,
the corpses lay unburied, piled up like garbage in the streets.
Britannia held hostage by bailed out skivers on tax payer time,
Downing beer and sandwiches like tools. Blackouts on the fourth day,
of the three day week, illuminated by a lightening strike, strong-armed
by a flying picket, ably armed with clubs. Fuelled by a sympathy vote.
The foam flecked lefty knows none of this, with his plagiarist
cut n paste Grauniad* blog …they weren’t born. They list
with tedious predictability, vacuous, pre-programmed, PC hate.
Spouting cute one-liners they never bother to investigate.
A pox on those who sowed corruption and wrecked our industries.
Their red vomit stained the souls of work men’s feet, side
swiping them into closed shops and end stopped ease. In-grafted
pustules – bourgeoning boils of Nationalisation, needful of lancing.
In an earlier age, old judge Jefferies took those usurpers with intent
and sent them off on a one way trip. No lesser coup d’état
demanded by men sat and camped out; unlit lamps of malcontent.
Ballot-less they were stripped, undermined by a policed coup-de-graz.
The options? A socialist slide into Trotsky's arms, that well
known evil empire! …Or, amputation and cauterisation
to save the remains of a once great nation. Two trees dwelling
under one sky. A red wood and an iron banded oak of determination.
A new feed of millennium pinko’s and “I need” snivellers are rising.
Claiming, not charity but entitlement to breath and breed.
Compulsory giving squeezed from the “I so deserve” tube. Gift aid
with menaces; a constant drip fed, blood let into bleeding heart liberals .
.
Agape’s charm is lost to both. No gift for those who think an easy life is owed
by right, as opposed to owned through work. These dues un-thanked;
the hated worker serves the state six months before their freedom day.
meanwhile, hard luck drips from plump cushioned lips.
St Paul was right "don't work don't eat" - No lack of tough love in real love.
We’ve misplaced Norman’s bike. It, lies sad and crushed in Brighton rubble.
Now much needed, as unfettered Blairite brats, squander taxes yet unborn.
The scourge of un-earnt greed is let loose; short sold along with the gold.
Always on the make, the penniless, political student hack, discipled in gold top
greed, from low fat skimming they spread their whey. Spinning special
words, of the finest cut and craft, they ask: Ask…what can my country do for me?
A well oiled one point seven million speech, about nothing, to no one in particular.
For Sarah and Gordy; together forever, for free, off shore – how sweet!
We know those un-taxed speaking fees will hardly meet their simple beach life
retreat. What hope to find prudence in the mile, if honesty is out of style?
So down the greasy pole we go from Speaker’s chair to benefit cheat.
One spirit at work in them all - avarice for wealth and stolen ease.
If ignorance is bliss then socialists are all a happy lot.
Original post
There have been quite a few voices representing the political left, but not so many speaking for the right..so I thought i would take up the challenge. Here is a voice well to the right of Genghis khan
'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.
The dole fed indolence of the plebeian slothful ire stirs,
striking out at “Her!” One they never knew, who served
from her own reserves and did not serve mammon’s gain.
Shiftless chisellers who don’t and won’t work mire her rest.
She, forced back the gauche demons of destruction, curbing
crazed union demarcations and nationalised shifts of sleep.
'One out all out' sheep, dole led to a steel striptease. Unperturbed,
the corpses lay unburied, piled up like garbage in the streets.
Britannia held hostage by bailed out skivers on tax payer time,
Downing beer and sandwiches like tools. Blackouts on the fourth day,
of the three day week, illuminated by a lightening strike, strong-armed
by a flying picket, ably armed with clubs. Fuelled by a sympathy vote.
The foam flecked lefty knows none of this, with his plagiarist
cut n paste Grauniad* blog – they weren’t born. They list
with tedious predictability, their vacuous, pre-programmed, PC hate.
Spouting cute one liners they have never bothered to investigate.
A pox on those that sowed corruption and wrecked our industries.
Their red vomit stained the souls of workingmen’s feet, side
swiping them into closed shops and end stopped ease. In-grafted
pustules – bourgeoning boils of Nationalisation that could not be lanced.
In an earlier age, old judge Jefferies took those who arose with an intent
to overthrow and sent them off on a one way package deal. A coup d’etat
demanded by men sat and camped out, with unlit lamps of malcontent.
Ballot-less they were stripped and undermined by a policed coup-de-graz.
The options? A socialist slide into Trotsky's arms , that well
known panacea of equality! …or, amputation and cauterisation
to save the remains of a once great nation. Two trees dwelling
under one sky. A red wood and an iron banded oak of determination.
A new breed of post-sixties pinkies and “I need” snivellers are creeping
in, claiming not charity, but entitlement, to breath and breed.
Compulsory giving squeezed from the “I so deserve” tube. Gift aid
with menaces; a constant blood letting for red hearted, liberalisation .
.
On both sides agape’s charm is lost. It is no gift to one who thinks that easy
life is owed by right, as opposed to owned through work. These dues
un-thanked; the hated worker serves the state six months per annum
before their freedom day, whilst hard luck drips from plump cushioned lips.
St Paul was right "don't work don't eat" - No lack of tough love in real love.
We’ve misplaced Norman’s bike. It lies sad and crushed in Brighton rubble.
Now much needed as unfettered Blairite brats waste money from taxes, as yet unborn.
The scourge of un-earnt greed is let loose; short sold with the gold.
The penniless political student hack is on the make. Greed birthed at the top
exampled down to the lowest grade grain fit for the mill. Spinning their special
words of the finest cut and craft, they ask, Ask…what can my country do for me?
A well oiled one point seven million speech about nothing, to no one in particular.
So down the greasy pole we go, together, forever for free, off shore for Sarah
and Gordy – how sweet! We know those un-taxed speaking fees will hardly meet
their simple beach life retreat. So, what hope to find prudence in the mile, if honesty
is out of style. The same spirit works in them all, for stolen ease not earned.
If ignorance is bliss then socialists are all a happy lot.
* The Guardian a UK national newspaper (Of renowned for typos – nicknamed Grauniad).
<script type="text/javascript" src="newaudioplayer.js"></script>
I've tried to smooth out some of the bumps and and give a bit of attention to the metre of this. If I can work out how the hell to get it from my kindle to the site, i have done an audio as part of my new improved editing process
(thanks Milo). I would specifically like some help with punctuation and metre on this one. I have read it out and then listened back and tried to put the punctuation right ...but I'm not so great at this ...so if anyone has the will power I would appreciate some feedback in relation to the audio read / text read comparisions. (I want to improve my reading ear if this makes sense )'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.
The slothful dole fed indolence of plebeian ire stirs,
striking out at “Her!” One they never knew. She served
from her own reserves, flint faced to bribed requests.
Shiftless chisellers who don’t and won’t work, mire her rest.
She, forced back the gauche demons of destruction, curbing
crazed union demarcations and nationalised shifts of sleep.
'One out all out' sheep, dole led to a steel striptease. Unperturbed,
the corpses lay unburied, piled up like garbage in the streets.
Britannia held hostage by bailed out skivers on tax payer time,
Downing beer and sandwiches like tools. Blackouts on the fourth day,
of the three day week, illuminated by a lightening strike, strong-armed
by a flying picket, ably armed with clubs. Fuelled by a sympathy vote.
The foam flecked lefty knows none of this, with his plagiarist
cut n paste Grauniad* blog …they weren’t born. They list
with tedious predictability, vacuous, pre-programmed, PC hate.
Spouting cute one-liners they never bother to investigate.
A pox on those who sowed corruption and wrecked our industries.
Their red vomit stained the souls of work men’s feet, side
swiping them into closed shops and end stopped ease. In-grafted
pustules – bourgeoning boils of Nationalisation, needful of lancing.
In an earlier age, old judge Jefferies took those usurpers with intent
and sent them off on a one way trip. No lesser coup d’état
demanded by men sat and camped out; unlit lamps of malcontent.
Ballot-less they were stripped, undermined by a policed coup-de-graz.
The options? A socialist slide into Trotsky's arms, that well
known evil empire! …Or, amputation and cauterisation
to save the remains of a once great nation. Two trees dwelling
under one sky. A red wood and an iron banded oak of determination.
A new feed of millennium pinko’s and “I need” snivellers are rising.
Claiming, not charity but entitlement to breath and breed.
Compulsory giving squeezed from the “I so deserve” tube. Gift aid
with menaces; a constant drip fed, blood let into bleeding heart liberals .
.
Agape’s charm is lost to both. No gift for those who think an easy life is owed
by right, as opposed to owned through work. These dues un-thanked;
the hated worker serves the state six months before their freedom day.
meanwhile, hard luck drips from plump cushioned lips.
St Paul was right "don't work don't eat" - No lack of tough love in real love.
We’ve misplaced Norman’s bike. It, lies sad and crushed in Brighton rubble.
Now much needed, as unfettered Blairite brats, squander taxes yet unborn.
The scourge of un-earnt greed is let loose; short sold along with the gold.
Always on the make, the penniless, political student hack, discipled in gold top
greed, from low fat skimming they spread their whey. Spinning special
words, of the finest cut and craft, they ask: Ask…what can my country do for me?
A well oiled one point seven million speech, about nothing, to no one in particular.
For Sarah and Gordy; together forever, for free, off shore – how sweet!
We know those un-taxed speaking fees will hardly meet their simple beach life
retreat. What hope to find prudence in the mile, if honesty is out of style?
So down the greasy pole we go from Speaker’s chair to benefit cheat.
One spirit at work in them all - avarice for wealth and stolen ease.
If ignorance is bliss then socialists are all a happy lot.
Original post
There have been quite a few voices representing the political left, but not so many speaking for the right..so I thought i would take up the challenge. Here is a voice well to the right of Genghis khan
'Aroint thee, witch!' the rump-fed ronyon cries.
The dole fed indolence of the plebeian slothful ire stirs,
striking out at “Her!” One they never knew, who served
from her own reserves and did not serve mammon’s gain.
Shiftless chisellers who don’t and won’t work mire her rest.
She, forced back the gauche demons of destruction, curbing
crazed union demarcations and nationalised shifts of sleep.
'One out all out' sheep, dole led to a steel striptease. Unperturbed,
the corpses lay unburied, piled up like garbage in the streets.
Britannia held hostage by bailed out skivers on tax payer time,
Downing beer and sandwiches like tools. Blackouts on the fourth day,
of the three day week, illuminated by a lightening strike, strong-armed
by a flying picket, ably armed with clubs. Fuelled by a sympathy vote.
The foam flecked lefty knows none of this, with his plagiarist
cut n paste Grauniad* blog – they weren’t born. They list
with tedious predictability, their vacuous, pre-programmed, PC hate.
Spouting cute one liners they have never bothered to investigate.
A pox on those that sowed corruption and wrecked our industries.
Their red vomit stained the souls of workingmen’s feet, side
swiping them into closed shops and end stopped ease. In-grafted
pustules – bourgeoning boils of Nationalisation that could not be lanced.
In an earlier age, old judge Jefferies took those who arose with an intent
to overthrow and sent them off on a one way package deal. A coup d’etat
demanded by men sat and camped out, with unlit lamps of malcontent.
Ballot-less they were stripped and undermined by a policed coup-de-graz.
The options? A socialist slide into Trotsky's arms , that well
known panacea of equality! …or, amputation and cauterisation
to save the remains of a once great nation. Two trees dwelling
under one sky. A red wood and an iron banded oak of determination.
A new breed of post-sixties pinkies and “I need” snivellers are creeping
in, claiming not charity, but entitlement, to breath and breed.
Compulsory giving squeezed from the “I so deserve” tube. Gift aid
with menaces; a constant blood letting for red hearted, liberalisation .
.
On both sides agape’s charm is lost. It is no gift to one who thinks that easy
life is owed by right, as opposed to owned through work. These dues
un-thanked; the hated worker serves the state six months per annum
before their freedom day, whilst hard luck drips from plump cushioned lips.
St Paul was right "don't work don't eat" - No lack of tough love in real love.
We’ve misplaced Norman’s bike. It lies sad and crushed in Brighton rubble.
Now much needed as unfettered Blairite brats waste money from taxes, as yet unborn.
The scourge of un-earnt greed is let loose; short sold with the gold.
The penniless political student hack is on the make. Greed birthed at the top
exampled down to the lowest grade grain fit for the mill. Spinning their special
words of the finest cut and craft, they ask, Ask…what can my country do for me?
A well oiled one point seven million speech about nothing, to no one in particular.
So down the greasy pole we go, together, forever for free, off shore for Sarah
and Gordy – how sweet! We know those un-taxed speaking fees will hardly meet
their simple beach life retreat. So, what hope to find prudence in the mile, if honesty
is out of style. The same spirit works in them all, for stolen ease not earned.
If ignorance is bliss then socialists are all a happy lot.
* The Guardian a UK national newspaper (Of renowned for typos – nicknamed Grauniad).