The Latest Report.
‘Crazy Jarrod is what they all said,
The lies in that f… fake newspaper I read!
This is all their fault, they made me see red,
And now all over this paper my story’s spread.’
How my grievances hit the front page,
Jarrod, famous, is standing centre stage,
My word being ignored was the real outrage
So I punctuated my point with a twelve gauge.
Back to my safe secure cell I’m silently led,
There to to contemplate my sins on my single bed,
Oh, to say I’m sane or blame the ‘voices’ in my head?
Option One leaves the NRA legal team in mortal dread.
(This is not meant to be flippant, its more said with a sense of weary resignation.)
Good Old Christian Values.
It’s amazing what the Supreme Court can achieve
When the last vestige of moderation takes his leave,
Whatever dour sour pick Don picks the Court will Rightly receive
Their full complement of five God (and Don) fearing Sons of Eve.
Muslim travel ban bias is easy to perceive
So it’s a particularly ‘Merican God to whom they will cleave,
But if you accept a virgin can miraculously spontaneously conceive
It does leave this peculiar Presidents pretences easier to believe.
You Can’t Always Get What You Want.
When Sarah Huckabee Sanders went out to eat
She had barely warmed her well-upholstered seat
When she felt compelled to return to the street-
Not even a doggy bag as a departure treat.
In these enlightened times who would dare
To toss a Southern belle from her dining chair?
Some old-time gents now say it’s a dark affair,
Suddenly discrimination is dreadful- when it’s not fair.
Whatever happpened to the democratic right
To indulge Ms Huckabees healthy appetite?
To refuse service to someone is damned impolite
WHEN they’re entitled, rich, Republican and white.
Lowering The Standard.
Don reverently wraps his arms around the star-spangled banner,
As his tender hand clings to its weft, clutching to its weave
A tear twinkles in his eye in a presidentially patriotic manner;
It’s enough to make a part of me- not the heart of me- heave.
Don’s Signature Magic Marker.
Don’t dare cross Dons unwelcoming border,
You’re crossing his line and his express order,
Donald wants your sort kept South of the wall,
He has zero sympathy for illegals, large or small.
But after Don separates mother and child
He finds he has zero tolerance for being reviled,
When his borderline cruelty becomes a national disgrace
Donald turns to his his rarely used caring compassionate face…
What was impossible for Don to rescind yesterday
With one wave of the presidential pen becomes child’s play,
If his freewheeling back-flips make his tweets hard to follow
How much tougher are his foot-in-mouth missteps to swallow?
Trenton’s lil’ old Arts Fest
Was once up there with the best,
Call me artless, but may I suggest
That’s a claim we should lay to rest?
How passionately artistic argument runs
Amongst Trenton’s high-minded ones,
It seems every mother-loving son’s
Still going at it great great guns.
A Touch Of The Blarney.
In Ireland the Church has long held sway,
It’s been ”listen to Father’ for forever and a day,
Eternally, paternally told to watch what you say,
To blaspheme means you’ve Hell to pay.
Or at least a spell in Purgatory.
But now it’s influence is on the wane,
Soon it will not be a crime to profane,
Though many Fathers will dogmatically remain
Convinced it’s a sin to take Gods name in vain,
And to say so deserves a stint in the reformatory.
Father McEvedy kneels in despair,
He’s been praying hard to Him up There,
But his cassock and faith are getting threadbare;
Christ, what happened to the power of prayer?
Perhaps He’s deaf to old fashioned oratory?
Soon, I swear, you’ll be able to say your piece
And not be forced to confess to the priest and police,
When a quiet oath is not heard as a breach of the peace;
In Ireland, miracles and wonders will never cease.
If you believe the old old story.
Ruminations From A Little Room.
There are times, times when Nature calls
When on the verge but the urge stalls;
After arriving white-knuckled,
Zipping down, belt unbuckled,
Then taking your seat with indecent haste
You find yourself sat, with time to waste.
What a tedious place to be confined,
In a silent cubicle, in a bind.
But no poet minds being ‘unavoidably detained,’
Sitting, pondering, mind wandering unrestrained,
I refuse to sit idly by,
I’ve pen and paper, triple ply…
Now my tale is told, and in reasonable rhyme,
A half-decent job, given the constraints of time.
It’s a bit slap-dash, it won’t win any poetry prize
But this gutsy effort still brings tears to my eyes.
(This is as close to the edge of bad taste as I tread. And who wants to tread any deeper?)
The Man, The Marvel.
When it comes to making America great
Don won’t listen to unreasonable G7 debate,
Because he’s got a hot date, and can’t be late
His parting shot is ‘Add Russia and make it a G8.’
Don and his G7 buddies can’t get along,
All six of ’em tried to tell him HE’S wrong,
To Don nothing’s more Right than being strong,
Just like Captain ‘Merica, The Hulk and King Kong.
Hot And Cold.
Don’s dishing out presidential pardons willy-nilly,
Forgiving old felonious friends at will and at whim,
But mention faithful old Mueller and Don grows chilly-
Chances of Don forgiving Bob are infinitesimally slim.
Questions of his hot Stormy affair are also met frostily
As his ardour and memories of her mammaries begin to dim,
So Don won’t dismiss Ms Kardashians request as frivolously silly,
Though part of the deal will be having to twerk for it, Kim.