DePfeffelschrift PAGE EIGHTEEN : Taylor Strickland


Online variations on the Scottish Gaelic for ‘Prime Minister’

A synonym for ceannardas: high-head, chief-end
(never ‘chieftain’). Scrot bag, racist git;
wee sleekit bastard, scunnerin basturt
(cuid nae hae put it better masell).
Wank-stain, utter knob. Shut yer geggie!
Ur a numpty bawbag if ever there was ane.
Get it right up yie! Mum
always said ne’er
trust any whose eyes are too close tegeither.
Gardyloo. U’ll do wonders for IndyRef2,
fud, with more faces than the town clock –
haunted furby, spineless cock
womble. An in-your-face out-and-out cunt.
Imagine school children studying history
in 50 years’ time. This’ll be known as the WTF-era.

Taylor Strickland is a poet and translator from the US. His poetry has appeared, or is forthcoming, in New Statesman, the TLS, Poetry Review and various other outlets. Commonplace Book, his debut pamphlet, is forthcoming from Broken Sleep Books. A doctoral candidate in literary translation at the University of Glasgow, he lives in Glasgow.


DePfeffelschrift PAGE SEVENTEEN : Paul Stephenson

Tambour Rasp above the Ditch of Thieves
after a line from Eugenio Montale’s ‘The Storm’

I can’t describe the sound but it’s abrasive,
a kind of grating, a sort of rubbing from below.
But it’s clear where it comes from: way down
in the deep trench of crooks, narrow conduit
of swindlers, the well-cut ha-ha of hoodlums.

It’s a scouring that rises up from the trough
of brigands, dyke of looters, fleet of muggers.
This scratching of criminal collusion, a noise
of raiders in drains, marauders in gullies and
pirates in gutters. It grinds on the drum, invades

like a villainous earworm with its jarring of
pickpockets in fosses and poachers in moats,
coy dacoits in empty ducts. It’s a feint rumbling
of robbers that travels through the murky waters
of a fleet. Not a bugle of bandits and burglars

soaking in a sap, more the loud, syncopated sound
of shoplifters lifting in a straight watercourse,
armed highwaymen with their foreign haul
hunkered down in a drained channel, squatting.
Listen, put your ear to the ground, can you hear it?

Paul Stephenson has published three pamphlets: Those People (Smith/Doorstop, 2015), which won the Poetry Business pamphlet competition; The Days that Followed Paris (HappenStance, 2016), written after the November 2015 terrorist attacks; and Selfie with Waterlilies (Paper Swans Press, 2017). He co-curates Poetry in Aldeburgh and lives between Cambridge and Brussels. His debut collection is due in 2023. Website: / twitter: @stephenson_pj / instagram: paulstep456

DePfeffelschrift PAGE SIXTEEN : Finola Scott

The Road Tae Nowhere

Och we aw love   thon wee paisley buddy
politicising energy  whiles tellin us
tae wear a wee simmit unner oor starched frocks
aye buzzing wi the adreneline o twitter
and frettin hirsel aboot the growth o world economy
       getting hir earrings frae Claires accesories
But dinae mention we’re headin towards drought
or aw they disabled people neglected oer in Ukraine
Jist look at they shoes
he’s stoatin aboot in  Prada    pure disgrace

Hir bro seys she’s a rerr laff   loves karaoke
doon the Anchor bar oan a Wednesday night
Mibbe if Liz has tae be in London   sortin the world 
 ironin oot  levelin up or doon  she can aye gae oan Sat 
but  thon wee attention seeker Sturgeon better no be there

A braw maw  she works the girls hard  playing
board games  maks sure they’ve goat skills 
Aye good at  flipping dice   Sure she’s kin t change
hir mind   nae hand-oots   cut public sector pay
liberal tae tory  stay in europe   naw hing oan   lets brexit
Gie hir a break  stop fussin  aboot her pledges n policies
Cannae wait – a phoenix Thatcher  
(haud oan tae yir milk but)

An avid listener of Radio 4, Finola Scott spends her life shouting at the radio as well as performing all over the country – on the Glasgow Subway, at the Edinburgh Book Festival, in Swimming Baths and in the Scottish Parliament. They can be read in her pamphlets, in anthologies, on posters, tapestries and postcards, as well at her Facebook page Finola Scott Poems.

DePfeffelschrift PAGE FIFTEEN : Owen Gallagher

Your Country Needs You!

We answered the Government’s call to keep

                                           the profit flag flying,

                                           the currency stable.

Tut-tutted at having to Zoom from our laptops

                                           and mask up

                                           to queue for a latte.

 We created more offshore companies

                                           to redistribute wealth

                                           among ourselves,

 We made billions during the pandemic.                    

                                          We thank the Government Ministers,

                                          our Head Boys, for that.

Owen Gallagher is a working-class writer, born in Gorbals, Glasgow. He left school at 15 and worked in factories and on building sites, also as a street-sweeper and bus conductor. His most recent publication is: Clydebuilt (Smokestack Books 2019) which was shortlisted for The Scottish Poetry Book of The Year in 2021.

DePfeffelschrift PAGE FOURTEEN : David Birkett

After Partygate

Let’s just move on, for this amiable bluffer
Was born to drink wine while the hoi polloi suffer.
The voters? The voters? They like it rougher;
It gives them more character, makes them all tougher.
Eton and Bullingdon – these are his buffer
Ensuring he gives not a hoot nor a stuff; a
Nice piece of work, is this huffer and puffer.
And if the electorate hollers ‘Enough!’, a
Replacement will come, and one even duffer.

David Birkett was born 1961 in Malta, but schooled and raised in England. He is a member of the North Herts stanza of the Poetry Society, PoetryID.

DePfeffelschrift PAGE THIRTEEN : Kate Noakes

Current Fears

after Jennifer L. Knox

We are scared of lies, even white ones.
We are scared of liars
and that we will no longer be able to tell when they are lying.
We are scared of gold wallpaper and tree houses.
We are scared of the word debunking
and that fact checking will become a highly regarded profession.
We are scared of sandpapered quotes and Rwanda.
We are scared of people who don’t understand economics,
even though it was one of the subjects they studied at university.
We are scared of green leather benches. 
We are scared of pussy bow blouses and cheese.
We are finally scared enough to do something about it.

Kate Noakes‘ eighth collection, Goldhawk Road, will be published by Two Rivers Press in 2023. She lives in London where she is working on her PhD on breath in contemporary British and American poetry.

Die DePfeffelschrift PAGE TWELVE : Penelope Shuttle

Liz Truss Blues

Liz Truss Liz Truss
do I know that name?
Liz Truss Liz Truss?
she got no kinda fame! 
Liz Truss? Liz Truss!
tell me I am wrong!
Liz Truss Liz Truss!
Ding blimey dong!

Liz Truss Liz Truss
with your wooden tongue
Liz Truss Liz Truss
soon be outa number ten 
Liz Truss Liz Truss
let’s have a singalong!
Liz Truss Liz Truss
getting stuff all wrong!

Liz Truss Liz Truss
is this all a dream?
Liz Truss Liz Truss
I think I’m gonna scream 
Liz Truss Liz Truss
storm clouds gather high
Liz Truss Liz Truss
with her primetime lie

Liz Truss Liz Truss
I hear the thunder roll
Liz Truss Liz Truss
puts us on the dole 
Liz Truss Liz Truss
now the lightning flashes
Liz Truss Liz Truss
one of Putin’s lasses

Liz Truss Liz Truss
now the heavens open
Liz Truss Liz Truss
darlin how yer copin 
Liz Truss Liz Truss
now the storm has broken
Liz Truss Liz Truss
what have you awoken? 

Liz Truss Liz Truss
take a mo to ponder
Liz Truss Liz Truss
I think you should absconder 
Liz Truss Liz Truss
I’m off to get some lunch
Liz Truss Liz Truss
be careful who you punch

Liz Truss Liz Truss
your middle name is folly
Liz Truss Liz Truss
better get your brolly
Liz Truss Liz Truss
flaunting her plumage
Liz Truss Liz Truss
doing nowt about sewage

Liz Truss Liz Truss
what a fuss what a fuss
Liz Truss Liz Truss
little Miss Non-plus
Liz Truss Liz Truss
she’ll miss the shuttle bus
Liz Truss Liz Truss
(and so on ad nauseum…)

Penelope Shuttle lives in Cornwall. Her thirteenth collection, Lyonesse, appeared from Bloodaxe in June 2021, and was Observer Poetry Book of the Month for July 21. Covid/Corvid, a pamphlet written in collaboration with Alyson Hallett, appeared from Broken Sleep Books, September 2021. Father Lear, a pamphlet, was published by Poetry Salzburg in June 2020. Shuttle is President of the Falmouth Poetry Group, founded in 1972 by her late husband, Peter Redgrove. She is a Hawthornden Fellow, and received a Cholmondeley Award in 2017.

DePfeffelschrift PAGE ELEVEN : Neil Fulwood

The Coffin of Democracy

A nail for the times we find ourselves in:
post-truth, post-decency, post-shame.

A nail for the lie on the side of a bus.
A nail apiece for the lies at despatch box,

podium, in front of cameras, the lies 
told to foment the crowds. A nail

for each denial of wrongdoing. A nail
for each headline taking his side.

A nail apiece for the bullish refusals
to do the right thing and resign. A nail

for every blowhard insistence
there’s a job to do and a need to move on.

A nail for every frontbench smirk. For every
transaction behind closed doors.

For every MP who enables 
the hammering in of these dozens, 

these hundreds, these uncountable nails. 
A nail for the rule book torn to shreds.

Neil Fulwood was born in 1972 and is still alive. He lives in Nottingham and works as a bus driver. He has published four collections and two pamphlets with various presses.