ukplc – Readi-Bay

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They rise in suits with polished grin and practiced, empty praise,
Yet many never earned their bread through honest working days.
They mouth the script, they nod on cue, they bend to unseen hands,
And sell the latest polished lie as if it were ‘their’ plans.

They do not steer the ship of state, they merely paint the sails,
Repeating what the masters wrote in whispers, threats, and veils.
They call it service, call it truth, call duty to the land,
But all too often policy is puppeteered by command.

A few still bear the calloused mark of labour, grit, and strain,
Who once could grip the helm of power – and chart against the rain.
Now sidelined in the fading rows, their voices worn and thin,
They serve their towns with what remains – while hollow men still grin.

Yet through the smoke a newer breed begins to find its name,
Condemned by polished party tongues and branded into shame.
They’re called Hard Right by those who fear the loss of bought consent,
While common folk just see a will – to stand – and not relent.

They fight to save a battered isle once proud in bone and breath,
From creeping schemes in velvet gloves that smile the nation’s death.
A slow agenda, dressed as care, has tightened every chain,
And traded hearth and heritage for managed loss and pain.

Since iron rule was undercut by cowards soft and pale,
The wet and meek unstitched the seams and set the course to fail.
The creed survived in altered coats, in blue and scarlet dressed,
A single beast with painted heads – and one command impressed.

They purged the roots, removed the spine, and kept the label bright,
Till only hollow banners marched and called their left turn – right.
They passed the baton hand to hand, same engine, different paint,
And drove the U.K.P.L.C. toward the cliff with every smiling saint.

Near bankrupt ran the battered cart, near sold for foreign gold,
To waiting powers eastward-eyed and patient, sharp, and cold.
They almost sealed the final deed, they nearly locked the gate,
Till one man balked – and would not sign – the mortgage of the state.

He dropped the torch, refused the purse, stepped back from promised gain,
And left the eager zealots there to dance beneath the chain.
They marched it on with moral void and doctrinaire delight,
Believing they would rule the heap once day consumed the night.

They dream of thrones in ash and debt, of comfort bought by lies,
Still trusting those who taught deceit to crown their compromise.
But masters forged in fraud and greed keep no one safe or warm,
They feed on use, discard the spent, and bless the coming storm.

So pensions fade – and fortunes flee – and exiles cross the foam,
Not knowing every border bends – inside the same vast dome.
One prison dressed in many flags, one globe in managed grey,
You may check out whene’er you please – yet never get away.

The problem is, that MOST Politicians are ‘career politicians’ who’ve NEVER done a days work in their lives and OBEY! – ‘Their Masters Voice’ – over all else!

They Vote, Nod & Lie whichever way They’re TOLD to. MP’s are not ‘driving’ policies, they are ‘propagating’ them for their Masters .. There are a Few Grafters, Independent speakers and thinkers, who ‘used’ to have their hands on the Tiller of Power! But now find themselves irrelevant, sitting out there tenure only able to offer help and support to their constituent’s …

Luckily we DO have a new breed coming along who the ‘Uni-Party Masters’ are calling ‘Far Right’ … Which most right-minded individuals just see as RIGHT!Because They are FIGHTING to try and SAVE this ONCE Great Britain (and also The World) from the Socialist/Communist Agenda that fell into place and has been in Constant Power since Margaret Thatcher was stabbed in the back by Her Treasonous WETS! … The New Breed of politicians who are totally subservient to Their ‘Uni-Party-Masters’ … We remember during the last spell of ‘Conservative Governance’ that the Tory Elite who held all of the ‘Strings of Power’ within the party, did away with ALL of the conservative MP’s until Only TORIES were LEFT! To run with the Socialist/Communist Baton as They tried to Bankrupt UKPLC and make it Ripe! For Russia or China to just Walk Right IN and take over.

They! Got to the point where they almost succeeded! But Their latest PM actually had a Conscience! He couldn’t go through with it, and certainly didn’t need the ‘Financial Arrangement’ from his ‘Masters’ … SO! – He handed over the baton to an ever-willing bunch of Idealists who form the ‘Momentum/Labour Party’ .. THEY! Have no morals, ethics or honesty in their make-up. Following their Master’s Decree 100% Is all They’re interested in, because they will then reach their Utopia – An Oligarchy, where THEY Think! They will be Kings/Queens of the PILE!! .. They Think! The Monster will THANK them and keep them in the Financial Comfort They have been Promised!

Problem with THAT! Is! – They were told LYING is acceptable, so they LIED at every opportunity. – Their Masters are ALSO LIARS and these degenerates who are driving Us ALL into Bankruptcy will simply become Victims! Of KARMA! – And Serve Them RIGHT! – So it doesn’t matter if They STOP Our Pensions, because as a ‘Socialist Oligarchy’ We will ALL be brought DOWN to the same level of POVERTY!

The Rich and Well-Off are already Flooding abroad to safer havens until the Political Climate Changes. Not realising of course that #TheFew/#Globalists/#Masters are ‘Satan-Driven’ to turning the Whole Globe into ONE Great Mass of Communism – With Oligarchy’s – Not Nations – Being Sub-Countries and that They won’t have ESCAPED! But simply moved to a different AREA of the SAME Prison! …..

#ThePrisoner … “You Can Check-Out Any Time You Like! – But You Can NEVER Leave!” ….

Check My Youtube channel for the FULL Story …. Playlist … Or … Channel

‘The Kling-On-PM’ – He Has No Power – No Morals – No Ethics – No Integrity – No Honesty – No Loyalty – No Faith – But is intent on dragging his Nation to the ‘Pit-Of-Hell’ To hand over his Nation to the highest Socialist Bidder, Lock-Stock-And Barrel – With no conscience to bother him because of his psychotic disability

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In marble halls he wears a borrowed crown,
A paper king in tattered, thin renown.
He thunders loud yet stands on hollow ground,
Where truth is lost and conscience can’t be found.

No power in the pulse behind his hand,
No moral compass pointing through the land.
No ethics lighting lanterns in the night,
No integrity to guard the right.

No honesty to steady what he swore,
No loyalty to those he led before.
No faith in roots that held the nation fast,
Just shifting shadows from a broken past.

He chants of progress, painted bold and bright,
While dimming every steadfast, guiding light.
He bargains futures, lock and stock and steel,
And signs away His Nation’s ideal.

He courts the bidder with the fattest purse,
And calls the bargain anything but curse.
The highest hand becomes his chosen guide,
As heritage is quietly set aside.

He trims the sails to any passing gale,
And calls retreat a visionary tale.
The pit he digs is lined with gilded lies,
A velvet drop beneath unwatchful eyes.

He speaks of dawn while drawing down the sun,
Proclaims the race is lost before begun.
A nation’s trust becomes a traded coin,
Its fractured voice too scattered to rejoin.

No conscience knocks upon his guarded door,
No shame seeps through the polished palace floor.
If madness whispers, he mistakes it crown,
And wears delusion like a sacred gown.

He brands dissent as treachery and sin,
Yet hears no riot raging from within.
The people watch the pageant and the flame,
And slowly learn the cost of gilded shame.

For kingdoms fall when leaders lose their core,
And empty hearts demand a little more.
When power masks a void too dark to tell,
The road descends, stone by stone, toward hell.

Please ponder on the following story. As if it’s a continuation of the poem above.

**The Chancellor of Purgatory **

In the neon-lit capital of Purgatory, beneath a sky webbed with surveillance drones and flickering propaganda streams, our Chancellor assures us that everything is under control.

He says it often.

The banners hanging from the spires of the Ministry glow with slogans about unity, progress, and collective destiny. Holographic choirs recite the virtues of compliance. Meanwhile, the grid falters, the outer districts ration oxygen, and the old Constitution – once etched in titanium beneath the Westminster floor – has been quietly sealed behind bio-metric locks “for preservation.”

The Chancellor did not seize power in a blaze of conquest. He drifted into it – buoyed by spectacle, outrage cycles, and algorithmic applause. In the early days, he promised to stabilize the fractured union. He spoke of healing the rifts between global elites and surface labourers. He promised fairness, redistribution, and a new dawn calibrated by data.

But power, as we are re-learning, is not the same as authority.

Authority rests on trust. On moral ballast. On a willingness to be constrained by something greater than oneself.

Our Chancellor governs as though such constraints are relics of a primitive age.

His cabinet is a revolving door of ‘loyal ideological bidders’. Entire sectors of the economy have been nationalised under the banner of ‘strategic solidarity’ only to be handed off to favoured consortiums whose pledges align neatly with the Ministry’s doctrine. Lock, stock, and whole industries that generations built are now absorbed into a centralized apparatus that answers not to citizens, but to a tightening circle of ‘apparatchiks’.

He calls it optimization.

Critics call it liquidation.

The free press – what remains of it – has been reclassified as ‘destabilising infrastructure’ Independent guilds are audited into submission. Regional mayors who resist policy directives find their security clearances revoked and their reputations shredded by coordinated disinformation swarms.

Through it all, the Chancellor smiles in augmented broadcasts, his voice soulless, his gaze steady. He frames dissent as sabotage. He frames consolidation as compassion. He frames surrender as strategy.

There is something unnerving about the absence behind his rhetoric. No moral hesitation. No public grappling with unintended consequences. When a food-distribution AI malfunction left three counties in blackout and famine, he described it as a “necessary recalibration.” When veterans of past Wars protested the dismantling of their pension system, he suggested their expectations were “outdated artifacts.”

It is not merely policy that troubles many of us. It is the vacuum. Where voices are ignored at best – Or Silenced!

A leader can be wrong and still be grounded in principle. But what happens when principle itself is negotiable? When loyalty flows only upward? When truth bends to expedience? The result is not governance – it is drift – It is an Oligarchy.

And drift, in any space, is dangerous.

Here was once a beacon! – A messy, argumentative, vibrant democracy that spanned continents and colonies. We were imperfect, but anchored. Now, as assets are consolidated and dissent recoded as deviance, the trajectory feels less like reform and more like descent.

No tyrant ever announces a march toward the abyss. They call it renewal. They call it equity. They call it the future.

But if a nation trades its conscience for comfort, its institutions for immediacy, and its liberty for luminous promises projected across the night sky, it should not be surprised to find the ground giving way beneath its feet and Dystopia appearing ever clearly on the horizon.

The question is no longer whether the Chancellor has power.

The question is whether we remember that, ultimately, WE! DO!

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The Prison-Masters Marionettes

The Kling-On PM

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Please ponder on the following story. As if it’s a continuation of the poem above.

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