Takeaways From Thanksgiving.
It's the family tradition, every Thanksgiving Day,
The clan all gathers here come near, come far away,
Holding hands, around the turkey together they pray.
Next year there will be less left to give thanks-
The Lord alone knows why He's thinned the ranks;
It's sad and lonely scanning these photos, seeing blanks.
(Not in the best taste after a hearty Covid Thanksgiving get-together, I know.)
Head In Our Hands.
At sixty years God has substituted Maradona,
No more muddy fields, he's off to a higher honour,
No dribbling then blowing past defenders any more-
He always had a nose for goal- and a damn good score.
For the true unblinkered unbiased football fan
There was no finer player than the wee Argentinian,
It's only the red white and blue 'uns of Old Eng-er-land
Who'll still send you off on your way with a heavy hand.
(one for the football fans. Some still recall the infamous 'Hand of God'. Don't we?)
(This began as an entry for Chel Owens A Mused poetry comp but snuck off on me. Again.)
Christmas Catch Ya'll Up. / John Deere Letter.
Hi guys, it's time to keep ya'll in the know,
With the festivities near we've horns to blow,
Folks do tell 'times is hard and the 'conomy's shot'
But we're happy as clams, cause we've got the lot.
Hubby Bubba's gone up yet another pay grade,
He must've sold every pickup truck Jeep made,
The twins is gettin' schooled and topping their class,
We're hopin', with luck they'll scrape a C and even pass!
Cody done won the Jumbo stuffed bear at the tri-county fair,
Took down them three ducks with two rounds to spare,
At the bake sale mah apple pie took out first prize as well,
The only Blue Ribbon you'll stick on this Southern belle.
Our Jolene is playing Virgin Mary in the nativity play,
Their damn Rodeo's ain't playing Joseph, if I have my way-
No mistletoe kisses a'tween Jo Hatfield and Rodeo McCoy,
I sez 'Jolene, you don't have no truck with that bad boy.'
But then that dang new preacher had to up'n speak
'Let's try to forgive and forget, turn the other cheek,'
If I believed that liberal trash I'd be a'wineing at Mass-
This Southern Baptist knows Rodeo's coveting Jolene's ass.
Still, I must say they look good together, they act pretty tight,
They've practised at the Church Hall religiously every night,
Now Jo is a shining star as Mother Mary, positively glowing,
We're praying, when Christmas comes Jo won't be showing.
The Incredible Sulk- Don't Make Him Madder!
The president is a poor lost soul,
In two months he's bound to take a lesser role,
But that day is a long way away
And while he plagues this House the rat will play.
For if he accepts he'll have to quit-
And that'll take a bona fide miracle or legal writ-
He'll blame some deep state plot
Like QAnon's latest Ridickylous 'Believe It Or Not.'
Don wants to have losers! votes dismissed,
His lapdogs lawyers trot to court with a long long list,
Trials into next year are the long term goal,
Sadly, Judges dismiss 'em all with a quick eye roll.
Don's crusty lawyer ain't doin' so GreaT,
Bald faced lying while hair dye runs down his pate,
He only wants Don's the truth to be discerned,
So, as is his nature, Rude won't leave no rock unturned.
SciFi Fantasies are fu fogging up Don's days,
His is a single minded focus that borders on malaise,
With quarter of a million voters certified dead
Who hopes Don takes a kick breath to clear his head?
Living The Wild Life?
I'll never again fly Alaskan Air,
Not if you made me a millionaire,
If the flight alone wasn't a nightmare
The crappy landing was too much to bear.
Dicey icy touchdowns in the middle of nowhere?
Alaskan Airlines happy landings are mighty rare,
But there was nothing on that safety card to prepare
Us for seeing a bear using a runway as a thoroughfare.
So I'll be demanding a total refund on my fare,
Plus costs for trauma, shock and new underwear,
And could we spare a thought for that gristly bear?
A wing ding of a departure; poor bear hadn't a prayer.
Wanna make our hero an anti-hero?
Try the four lines below as the opening verse.
The wife's nagging drove me to despair,
There are no burning embers lingering there,
So I hooked up and lit out with the air-headed au pair
But red-blooded animal behaviour crushed our holiday affair.
A Real Tear Jerking Soap Opera.
Ever since blow-dry Don woke post election day
The Golden Boy's looked washed out and gray,
And though he will not go quietly into the night
To see this ass silver fox turn tail is a welcome sight.
What happened to our old gold Don Juan Don?
A cold reality shows his brash charm has gone,
And after four seasons his shit show is simply trying
And his is a stinker of a final act, ain't no denying?
Don's lost his "Suburban Housewives' Choice" popular vote,
This poor actors star turn is done, and that's all she wrote,
He's lost his gloss, he's now less desirable than Charlie Sheen,
Our Greatest li'l boy lost burnt-out washed-up broken down big time small screen has-been.
Say A Spittle Word?
Today we're here to see Pete Sutcliffe go west,
The charitable say 'God only takes the very best,'
So, before someone sets down this thorny wreath
Who wants to pay tribute, before Pete's laid beneath?
Or toss a clod on the casket, as per popular request?
Let us pray in the hope Pete has a long uneasy rest
In his interminable internment as Lucifer's house guest,
There's not a welcoming devilish smile, merely clenched teeth;
Pete promised the devil his due, but Pete had nought to bequeath.
Poor Devil, getting stuck with an ass soul he forgot he possessed.
Something's Going Off.
When the early election votes rolled in
Vainglorious Donald could not hold off,
It was a result he alone had no doubt in
So he prematurely started to spout off.
He'd felt a winner, right from the run in,
He'd never seen his term as just a one-off
And when Don's on a roll, don't dare butt in,
Like the polls Don has no automatic shut off.
Oh, but what a dark day Don did waken in,
In the wee wee hours Sleepy Joe had taken off,
Since those blue post-its have begun to weigh in
Don demanded those accountable take the day off.
Now Don tossed every (ill)legal appeal in-
Forget due process, Don wants this deal off,
His base vote's left a hole big enough to piss in
And suddenly he's getting a democratic kiss off.
In Arizona and Nevada, states he gets flipped in
Don is sweating, steaming and feeling ripped off,
He'd been hoping for a red-hot Southwestern love-in,
Now even Sweet Jesus Georgia's telling him to shove off.
From right to left, the tide and vote drifts in
Till Don's glowering towering rhetoric lifts off,
Language a drunken sailor would take delight in-
Don's script writers hear a screw up, a total write off.
Donald is in the White House and he's staying in-
It looks like finding that ol' safe room's paying off-
Ain't no better hidey-hole to hold out and obstruct in
Though millions have told him it's time he fucked off.
Best Presents EVER.
We'll non-too-soon be seeing the end of Trump/Pence
Although Donald insists on living in the past tense,
His denying of fact, lack of tact and simple common sense
Means Don's childish tanTrumps still cause offence.
Forget fighting Covid, Don's focusing on firing off viral comments
And fragging his frazzled looking Secretary of Defence,
Don has sworn- loudly- he'll not spare one single donors expense
On recounting and courting his Supreme justice nonsense.
So though it's early, let's now let our Thanksgivings commence,
On till Christmas Eve fill the air with carols, joy and frankincense,
Then roll on January, when ends a reign of dumb ignorance,
Then we can all look forward to cool calm and quiet competence.
Last Do-si-doh! For Don.
My old Grampap used to dance up a storm,
Pops needed no invitation to get up and perform,
A proper Yankee Doodle dandy life-long Democrat,
He'd be on his twinkling toes at the drop of a top hat.
It was only after Trump waltzed in four years back
Pappy hung his tuxedo, hat and cane on the hat rack,
Grampa knew he'd not be smiling or singin' in the rain
Till that bull in a china shop slipped down the porcelain.
No more doin' the Hand Jive complete with back flip,
No more twistin' by the pool, risking poppin' out a hip,
The best moon walker I'd seen besides Michael Jackson-
Pretty damn fly for a white-haired geriatric Anglo Saxon.
Pops thought his tap shoes and he were past their best,
Now was the time to reminisce and wait for eternal rest,
He set his La-Z-Boy to decline, settled down to Fred Astaire;
Seeing Trump's goose miss-steps made his bed a pit of despair.
Old Granpop wasn't up to doing the Hustle any more,
More of a desperate shuffle towards the bathroom door,
Nothing outside an atom bomb can get him up and about,
He was just like Michael Flatley, all crapped and tapped out.
For four long years poor Pop barely busted a move at all;
Purely pitiful to watch a once Great Man's decline and fall,
It pained Pop seeing Dancing Star Don waltz tango and foxtrot
Effortlessly over democracy, to the stirring soundtrack of Fox rot.
But, come a day of judgement, and before a live audience-
Which star duo would win... Joe/Kam or Dunce/Subservience?
Till on the fifth day of drama, before which Pop avidly sat glued
Finally the vote was in, and left Donny feeling lost- and screwed .
Gramps lifted up his blanket, sat on the edge of his seat
Smiled, seeing Don getting his numb ass kicked by two left feet
As Don rants and starts filling in injunctions (and his underpants)
We're truly privileged to see Granpa's gleefully exuberant Riverdance.
(Check out the odd tired musical reference in there? I'm exhausted, but still dancing on air.)