Toronto the Not so Good
By
James Bredin
Toronto requested information by questionnaire,
A subtle system to increase taxes but highly unfair,
They wanted citizens to demand more services by faxes,
Then use this as an excuse for raising and finding more taxes.
Typical socialist system of tax and spend and pretend,
Feed incoming homeless from around the world and overextend,
Not just property taxes but they want income taxes too.
And poll tax and toll tax in their amalgamation debut.
We have no referendums or recall of politicians,
As they praise themselves and their autocratic conditions,
Can’t ask the province or Ottawa for money and persevere,
Though Quebec gets billions for equalization ransom each year.
Can’t admit amalgamation was a disappointment,
Or that they themselves may indeed be the flies in the ointment,
Like all politicians they obscure their socialist agenda,
As they piously pump out their pompous propaganda.
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
When Scarborough Had Land
By
James Bredin
I remember Scarborough proud Protestant and blue,
With portraits of the Queen near every pew.
No Sunday shops, no music hops, no liquor on display,
Where the Lodges and the Legions marched each Victoria Day.
Where ensigns flew, Union Jacks too, unique uniforms on parade.
A raucous rush of pompous pride by pals from every trade,
As they beat the drum down Danforth Road on the twenty fourth of May,
Out to the country and back by Byng, again on Dominion Day.
Those were loyal times before the war for king and queen and all,
For more than a few, this love did cause, their ultimate downfall.
It did at Dieppe and D-day too like their seniors at the Somme,
They died for king and country; they did it for a song.
And soon they were forgotten, those who fought for king and crown,
Though those lucky to return had saved the country and the town.
They would walk again forever with their flags flying high,
Marching medals of the heroes that no one could deny.
Except the town of Scarborough was down on the drawing board,
And those fields and sheep and meadows didn’t fit the grand accord.
No newcomers paid attention as the veterans vied for space,
And their parades of marching medals only had an old-time grace.
And Scarborough changed by day and night from a township to a city,
Old soldiers faded fast and few and no one had much pity.
And the immigrants came in wave after wave from places far and wide,
As the soldiers went to grave after grave with their flags and faded pride.
But still a few survive today and I’m sure they are not pleased.
‘bout the changes to the town and how Scarborough had been squeezed,
From a township to a city where no one cared for esprit de corps,
So they amalgamated with Toronto and Scarborough was no more.
And culture clash and bureaucrat and all those changing rules,
Of mandarin and moguls and Tamils dressed in jewels,
While traffic roared and the buildings soared sometimes to sixty stories,
Where women wrapped in saris sashayed in all their glories.
They had lost the town without a fight, those men from long ago.
And everything was centralized; they said to save some dough,
But the authorities had lied again; it was all politically correct,
And no one marched, no flags did fly and no one did protest.
Still sometimes you can hear it, the distant drone of pipes,
And men in kilts still carry on, just watched by boys on bikes.
They’re just a faint reminder now of the many marching bands,
When those with flags and medals marched and Scarborough had some land.
Aug 10th, 2001
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