Rip Bulkeley

Rip Bulkeley

Rip Bulkeley recently edited Rebel Talk: poems from the climate emergency, which is published by Extinction Rebellion Oxford and can be ordered from all good bookshops. 
Callout: A Fish Rots From the Head
Saturday, 15 January 2022 12:04

Callout: A Fish Rots From the Head

Published in Poetry

This is a callout for a quickfire anthology, to be called “A Fish Rots from the Head”. It will be published online later this month by Culture Matters.

We're open for submissions of verse, prose and images satirizing not only Partygate but the entire cesspit of misconduct that has been the Johnson government.

Anything goes, from limericks to parodies of the classics, from original cartoons to flash fiction to Photoshop to Youtube clips. Text, artwork, music, whatever: but bear in mind that brevity is the soul of wit.

Please send a maximum of 2 submissions in DOCX or JPG format by - or better still before - the deadline of January 24th to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it., and cc the submission to This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it..

Britain in 2021
Monday, 20 December 2021 10:55

Britain in 2021

Published in Poetry

Britain in 2021
after Shelley’s ‘England in 1819’

by Rip Bulkeley

An old, bad, foolish and decaying state,
Riddled with racism from empire’s core;
Maltreated refugees, war’s graduates,
Drowning to reach inhospitable shores;
Food banks crowded with families desperate
From poverty; inflation set to roar;
Help services undermined by private cash
While decimated by the plague’s full brunt;
Women and children daily abused, smashed;
The disabled dying from neglect by official scum;
Tower blocks terrified of joining Grenfell’s ash;
Zero hours slavery; the homeless trashed -
Such evil ways unjustly smothered drums
Shall one day summon us to overcome. 

 

Anthropocaust
Monday, 06 September 2021 10:12

Anthropocaust

Published in Poetry

Anthropocaust

by Rip Bulkeley

Cassandra never smiled. Devastation,
though future for others, was her constant
reality. En route to the death camps
people were still together, had luggage,
and could try to look forward. Even after
being stripped and selected, there may
have been distractions, conversation;
but oven fodder did not smile.

Our delusions are the disgraceful
mystery of these times: wars, festivals,
work, murders, pets, vaccines, shopping,
charities, music, and so unbelievably on.
Meanwhile the human vehicle is colliding
with signposts, shedding fenders against walls;
its tyres are fiery Catherine wheels. But we,
the passengers, turn inwards to shut out
the calamity we have long invited
and do not intend to overcome.

The climate campaigners offer comfort
to some who despair, suggesting they turn
away for respite with the fantasies of life.
It comes naturally from those who must
self-deceive about the power of governments.
But no wonder that so many others
are still preparing for fulfilment,
falling in love, making homes,
and sharing their enthusiasms
for every variety of sport.