In the house that’s built upon a hill,

There lives a

Man for whom the truth’s a bitter pill.

And so he

Blurts out every thought within his mind

And hopes that

All of us will be deaf, dumb and blind.


He wants to claim our very heart and soul,

That makes the

Mind so very easy to control.

He doesn’t

Care much for an objective truth

And hungers

Night and day for his eternal youth.


If the language doesn’t suit his needs,

He’ll simply

Switch across and use the Twitter feeds,

And if his

Spin should ever be confused with lies,

Then watch him

Hint the doubters may be foreign spies.


If you don’t like what he wants to do,

Then maybe

Next election vote for someone true.

Of course that’s

If such a person really wants to run

Or else we’re

Stuck with fools whose brains are underdone.


Stephen Tomkins
1 November 2017


The Department of Truth

You don’t know we exist
But, I gently insist,
We can change your whole view of the world.
We have been here for years,
With your hopes and your fears,
While our spin on the news is unfurled.

Through social media too,
We have been here for you,
So you’ll be in no doubt what to think.
We don’t want you to stress,
There’s no need for duress,
We can update your views in a blink.

Though our opinions we spread,
Once they’re seen, heard, or read,
They’re accepted by most to be fact.
And if you should disagree,
You’ll get no help from me,
With the Truth, I’ve long made a pact.

Stephen Tomkins
20 January 2017

Derided Nations


Not that long ago, in the great scheme of things,
A group of Prime Ministers, Presidents, Kings,
Concluded the world could be far safer place
If they frequently met and discussed face to face
The problems and issues that each of them felt
Could only by unified measures be dealt.

And so, they created a wondrous place
Where each could speak freely, without losing face.
They haggle and barter and argue and then,
Reach an agreement, start over again:
One of the Big Shots disrupts with a veto,
Sinking all Progress, just like a torpedo!

Despite all our talk and our self-exaltation,
We’re only attuned to the wants of our nation.
And so, they continue to meet in New York,
With pomp and with grandeur and barrels of pork!
Hope for the future? It seems, not a lot.
For better or worse, they’re the best that we’ve got!

Stephen Tomkins
21 September 2015