Chuck Berry goes, down the road apiece.

Promised Land…

How many a dreamy eyed wanna-be Rock star?
How many a shaggy haired raggedy jeaned T-shirted teen
Has plugged in their second hand but so precious guitar
And ripped into ‘Johnny B. Goode’, ‘Carol’ or ‘Maybeline’?
Or ‘Roll Over Beethoven’, ‘Come On’ or ‘Sweet little Sixteen’?
Or ‘Memphis’, ‘Almost Grown’,’Little Queenie’ or ‘Nadine’?

Whenever, wherever a hot band scorches some roadside bar
Within every blazing riff Chuck Berry’s spirit is heard and seen,
It would be a so much quieter and even sadder world by far
If Chuck Berry and his God given Gibson had never been.


Heating up in the Presidency. Don is off the golf course and loosening up a rule or two. Yet it feels like its back to business (as usual?) for the President.

Fossil Tool.

Climate Change interests Don not one jot,
His burning interest is fueled by profit not
That motley Environment Protection Agency lot.

Donald wants unfettered use of gas oil and coal,
So though fumes and fracking might take a toll
His trusty miners keep digging him and us into a hole.

Those irksome Environmental rules Donald CAN revoke-
And with one fell swooping masterful stroke
Americas climate control credentials go up in smoke.


Not Rocket Surgery.

Donald Trumps Obamacare ‘Easy fix’ not quite going to plan.

Kick In The Guts.

Don said Obamacare was going to go,
Donald said it would be real easy,
But then when his Republicans voted ‘No,’
Donald was left looking sadly queasy.

He says the Democrats are to blame
For him not getting his way,
Surely even he knows that sounds lame,
But ‘sorry’ is not easy for Don to say.

Dons first confident step has left him stumbling
And apoplectically choking on his vow,
A bit of humble pie has Dons stomach a’rumbling-
Who and his promises are looking a bit sick now?


What are friends for? Diplomacy to the fore- or not?

Donald meets Angela Merkel, Germany’s leader, close ally to America, and he turns on the patented Trump charm. No big hand for the little lady here! (Politically incorrect, but then- isn’t he?)

Get With The Etiquette.

When greeting a Lady from a foreign land
The well-bred Gentleman should always stand,
But even for a boor common courtesy demands
That Don reach out to Angela, not sit on his hands.


The magical microwave of Kellyanne Conway.

Microwaves are spying on us, according to Mister Trumps trusty adviser. Is no bag of popcorn safe from the prying eyes of the microwave?

Going Down Swinging.

Kellyannes becoming more than paranoid
About the listening devices Barack deployed,
Even in the safety and privacy of one’s own home
‘They’ can tap your phone and then it’s free to roam.

The blinking stereo was first to go-
It has a ‘record’ function, you know-
Kellyanne has her own way of stopping
Any as-yet unsubstantiated eaves-dropping.

She slings out the phones, land line and all
Not once thinking Donald made a bad call,
Working like crazy, pushing it to the brink,
Stopping but for a snack and Energy drink.

By wildly yanking the cord from the wall she was able to disable
The Surround Sound Massive big screen TV complete with cable,
But neither MacGyver or any Electronics Expert could save
Her innocent baseball bat bludgeoned beeping microwave.


A clerihew or two.

Pain In The Buttocks.

Shambling rambling Donald J. Trump,
The political equivalent of Forest Gump,
President of the great Republic because
The devoted voted, and stupid is as stupid does.

Comedown From Number Ten.

Cold blue blooded Dame Maggie Thatcher,
Scythed down by the great Despatcher,
How apt that that old boiler of a Baroness
Will be be warmly welcomed at her new address.


An age old problem.

New Zealand’s Prime Minister plans to up the limit of receiving Superannuation- or pension- from 65 to 67. A long way off for most people but fury has been unleashed.
Bill English might wind up regretting this one.

Not So Superman.

Bill’s always been a numbers man,
Bill discounts Johns retirement plan,
As the wave of baby-boomers arrive
Bill wants you to work past sixty-five

Heaven knows you don’t.

What Bill will take he’ll grudgingly return,
Till then, for two years, you Pay As You Earn,
And should the Lord retire you before sixty-seven
Bill sure hopes you will find your reward in Heaven.

God knows Bill won’t.


Mere words cannot tell the tale… One petulant President.

Accusations Flying And Fingers Pointing.

Donald fires off another tweet,
How his stubby fingers fly,
What an early morning treat
For the undiscriminating twitterati.

‘Obama tapped my phone’
Was the message he put out there,
This morn his unPresidential tone
Leaves quite an element of doubt there.

Though there’s no proof of deceit
It deflects scrutiny from a Russian spy,
So it’s a claim Donald is happy to repeat,
He honestly does, without a word of a lie?


Another depressing Session, Donald?

Foolishly Forgetful.

Jeff Sessions is learning the hard way
That you should be aware of what you say
To foreign folk who might make you regret it.
Jeff made this mistake and SO wants to forget it.

Jeff, a Session with Sergey, who is HUGELY suspect
Should surely be something you should recollect,
Yet that conversation did not resonate with Jeff,
Or else Jeff is wilfully, or skilfully, turning deaf.

Jeff now says his words were of little consequence,
Nothing to cause offence or harm national defence,
Jeff might not recall the details, but Don, rest assured-
Luckily Sergey diplomatically recorded Jeff’s every word.