Anonymous
There to bring the sparkleBut instead they bring the blandNever far from disappointingCulture dying in their hands Has the same old cabaret Which come out every yearThat no one seems to go toThey have simply no idea They ask others to do lots for themGive nothing In returnAnd that is just what’s happening nowThey don’t deserve the pounds they earn When they take advantageAnd do, so blatantly You can’t help asking why do they Have so much job security The people in these offices Who like to lounge aroundRecycling old material Despite the awful soundThey manipulate and aggravateAnd do what I call ‘just enough’They think they can continue onBut things just might get tough Decisions in the ovalMade by the clerics in their caves They know the preying vulturesDon’t read their own displaysAnd so they take advantage ofThe ignorant, young and old Everything they offer upIs outdated, tired and cold Handshakes with the ‘senators’ Politicians in the skyThe people in the shadowsNever seem to tryThey casually get to work at nineSick leave until fiveNo wonder culture’s going nowhereIt’s a wonder they’ve survived Even though they do so badThey collect their public payEntitled as ‘the officers’I hope they’re redeployed some dayPerhaps to managing the cleaners Or organising filesSomething involving not a lotCoz ‘not a lot’s’ their style Supposed to be the serviceBut too often they dictateAnd when things finally get restructuredI hope they terminateThe contracts of these criminals Who take the public purseWhilst hailing themselves openlyAs the equivalent to a nurse Public servants should be just thatServants to you and meBut they got far too comfortableAnd no one seems to see The conversations they have oftenIn dusty corridorsAnd back hand titillations Which cost ‘the people’s’ culture more They’re guided by their prejudice They let their values take the leadDespite their ‘gutter like’ opinionsThey continue to succeedThey praise the right wing populists And those ‘other’s’ people hateIf we should meet in purgatory I’ll lock and bolt the gate Bitter, dark and twistedA position of great opportunity Never trust an officer Who sneers at everything they seeThey sneak around with othersOther ‘others’ unawareThe ‘cuckoo like’ little officersWho never seem to care Just bone idol, dull and lazyJust another box to tickA role for someone arty Led by someone as artistic as a brickThe role that they administer Is wasted in their handsThey’ve no idea what culture isI’m clearly not a fan Why call this poem anonymous?Coz that’s how they choose to beMaking big decisions With no accountability Never in the public eyeAlways someone else’s faultIf we want to see real culture Bring their contract to a halt