Crystal Palace, yet another seamless managerial transition.

A Kick In The Nether Regions.

A parlous place to be is Crystal Palace’s bosses seat,
Frank’s just found out- four weeks in, and it’s job complete,
But frankly if your team loses the first four, AND can’t score
You know Steve Parish will show you Palaces revolving door.

Steve thought he’d struck a bargain in hiring a Dutch treat,
But Franks tenure was brutally short, Steve acted tout suite,
Long suffering patience is not something Parish has time for;
Ask last years Manager, or any of the many who went before.

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The President looks into the eye of the storm, and what does he see?

Hitting Home Where It Hurts.

Don watched unhappily as Irma ripped through the Caribbean,
It was enough to whiten the face of the most bronzed Floridian,
In Maryland, monitoring Fox’s monitors his eyes grew ever bigger;
Camp David’s quite close enough to the action for this leading figure.

Donald certainly didn’t mind Cuba taking a hit,
Commies getting blasted worry him not one whit,
But when he sees the Land of the Free is in Irma’s path
Far too much prime Florida Real Estate is in line for a bath.

Now the size of the approaching apocalypse is finally grasped
He kneels, and together two tiny trembling hands are clasped,
A thought for the poor, the homeless, all those lost and scared,
And he prays, like a man possessed… that Mar-a-Lago be spared.

Suffer the little illegal children?

Getting A Hand Up- Palm First.

To those DACA children who Donald loves so dear;
He has news for you, news you won’t wish to hear,
Yes, yes, he loves you but his actions make it clear
He’d love you twice as much were you not here.

All those barriers your parents crossed,
Their permits and passports unembossed,
Now Don has costed what his wall will cost
His words of guidance to stray kids is- get lost.

It’s not right to say Don simply does not care,
But DACA kids are brown, and to Don that’s not fair,
Americans deserve to dream, so you get the nightmare;
Don fervently hopes you’ll ALL make fine citizens- over there.

The story of a crazy cat; to the end she always did things her way. Her tale is told in true chronological order. Farewell, truly weird one.

Heaven Scent.

It was on the last day of the year
That our old cat chose to disappear,
After fifteen years that decrepit old feline
Had used up more lives than her allotted nine.

No more will we see of her,
No longer hear that resounding purr,
Never again will I seek out my comfy chair
Only to discover silly old Lily ensconced there.

Lately we’ve had to be both swift and vigilant;
She seemed to not care where she ‘went,’
She has gone, off to make her Maker,
Will He turn His nose up or take her?

Hell Cat.

Well, that old cat has proved me wrong,
She’s come back, like a bad pong,
Seven days away and I walk through the gate
And there’s the cat I’d thought was late.

I thought I’d seen a tortoiseshell ghost,
My trembling hand clutched the gatepost,
But then jubilation replaced the fear-
She was thin, hungry, but here.

Some say she’d simply beaten long odds,
I think its a canny and clever act of Gods;
He WILL make room for our incontinent old pet
But He’ll let her piss us around for a bit yet.

Third And Final Act For The Cat.

‘Twas late Winter and mighty cold
When at 10pm our cat, mighty old,
Informed us loudly she wanted out of here-
Best let her out, lest she dampen the atmosphere.

She plodded into a night so chill and black
I thought after a few minutes she’d be back,
But when I switched on our blazing security light
Of our old familiar cat there neither sign nor sight.

But we’d been caught out by her before,
Two or three days, she may be back at our door;
We’ll give it a week, and if then we’ve not seen her
‘Twill be with heavy heart I’ll put away the wet-vac cleaner.

Hurricane Irma heads towards Florida, promising destruction. A little gallows humor………… Too soon? Oh well.

Natural Sunny Disposition.

My Caribbean cruise proved a washout,
Dampened by the lamentable arrival of Hurricane Irma,
Florida’s next in line to go down (or up) the spout;
Hello terror, bye-bye Terra Firma.

The PresiDon shows up in Texas to help out- for the second time. Ain’t the great State doubly blessed?

As Big As Texas.

Flying back home Don cast down an eye,
-As one does when in the sky, from on high,
Looking down on those tiny toiling peasants
Don truly felt they’d be buoyed by his presence.

He’d seen Corpus Christi and Galveston,
By Houston he’d felt his duty had been done,
But for once had his leaving been precipitous?
Could this devastating event also be serendipitous?

At the thought, a lump rose to his throat-
A photo op- and he’d almost missed the boat,
Sadly Texas had suffered terribly in the deluge;
Therefore chances of bolstering his image were HUGE.

Melania thought she was safely back on the ground
When Donald announced they were turning around,
Donald’s entourage of advisers broke into a cold sweat
Seeing yet another Donald Trump breath-taking pirouette.

Don’s going to show us he had the common touch-
There’s a thought that shouldn’t worry him overmuch-
Weird, how one who puts such store in what he’s worth
Wishes to show po’ down home folks he’s down to earth.

Those who said Don’s vain, shallow, proud and aloof
Will meet with Dons swift return and righteous reproof,
Imagine how good him tousling some poor tykes Afro looks?
Surely THAT’S got to get our guy into Someones good books?

After smiling and posing till his face hurts
Dons had enough of dealing with little squirts,
So he finds a private place to don his galoshes
And edges right up to where the floodwater washes.

There he stands, staring, brooding, in a brown study,
The water Harvey delivered looks cold murky and muddy,
When faced with a flood of epic, nay, of biblical proportions
Dons next step is bold, despite what that inner voice cautions.

As he realises he has to forgo his long held belief
Its a chilling moment for the Commander-in-chief,
With heavy heart he sees how swiftly his foot sinks,
‘No walking on the water yet,’ Don despondently thinks.

Don goes South, bringing glad tidings, and a million dollar bailout. Thanks a bucketload, Sir.

Show Boat.

When Main Street looks more like a boatyard,
When canoeists row ’round inner-city boulevards,
When rain is measured not by the inch but by the yard
Will Don pour more funds into his Coast or Border Guards?

After Katrina left Bush with a failed report card
Donald diligently drops by to give Texas his regards,
That sad sodden state sure does look sorrily ill-starred,
First Harvey, then Donald- two most unwelcome blowhards.