The Muffled Sound Of A Distant Report.
It has been one long year Since Justine was gunned down
By a fine upstanding officer and upholder of the law,
Enquiries by the Minneapolis Police plod painfully on in ol’ Fulton Town;
This time the Police don’t seem keen on being quick on the draw.
Justine’s long-suffering family’s impatience is beginning to show,
The Police cop-out has struck a bloody raw nerve,
It seems the wheels of justice in Minneapolis grind exceedingly slow
When its expedient to protect those who protect and serve.
Above And Beyond.
Lawyer Mike Cohen was, confidentialy, not just a Donald fan,
When it came to private peccadilloes he was Dons Mr Fix-it Man,
But his quietly recording Don’s costly affairs wasn’t part of Don’s plan,
Poor Don, its hard to believe a lawyer could be so Machiavellian?
To Donald’s defence the Righteous leap-
His learned counsel should his counsel keep.
His year-long tryst with Karen old Donald can richly afford-
Two hundred grand, another Playboy plaything cheaply scored,
On Don carried, the same year Melania had baby Barron on board,
There’s no more damning words of a cheating bastard on record!
Fox TV showers invective on Mike, ‘he’s a deceitful creep’
While Trump treads water in the swamp, so dark and deep.
But twenty years ago you should’ve heard their moralistic mewling
When slick Willy left Monica high and dry by saying they weren’t fooling,
While the twists and turns of Billy-goats oral gymnastics were unspooling;
Funny how now fiery talk of a flesh new Hell for adulterers is cooling?
Now for the Right God fearin’ folk, talk is cheap,
About today’s gross infidelities, not one damn peep.
Alice Through The Looking Glass.
Alice falls down, goes to Crazytown.
Footloose old salt trailing whale tale.
Cathy’s unhappy home, Heathcliffe’s moody manor.
Fifty Shades Of Grey.
Modern bodice ripper, boy maltreats girl.
Silence Of The Lambs
Hannibal tells Clarice a gristly story.
Dead End Doc, rejuvenates. Shock, Horror!
Big Fellas BIG seller. (Popular Fiction)
The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon.
Lost girl nightmare. Tough to bear.
It’s Not About The Bike (Early Lance Armstrong ‘inspirational’ bio)
Drug pedaling Tour De France loser.
The Three Musketeers
Three musketeers, add D’Artagnan, go fourth.
Taken, With A Dose Of Salt.
The summer sun was dazzling bright,
The sea a’sparkling in the sunlight,
Not one solitary cooling cloud in sight
For honeymooners on the Great Australian Bight.
Up on deck after a hot ardourous night
Still this couple are feeling set to ignite,
Where, where to escape 100-degrees Fahrenheit?
The sea offers a cool promise of respite.
Skinny dipping is a sheer naked delight,
The seas ebb and flow sure to primordially excite,
But bare bodies are also sure to whet the appetite
Of Tiger, Tigers, Basking, a bloody Great White.
Stand up Comic.
Funnily I never thought the President was a funny ha ha bloke
But now the laugh’s on me, heh heh, and, seriously, l get the joke,
Hee hee, he’s hysterical, he changes history with one Master stroke-
He gathers the gullible, has a giggle to himself, then simply says ‘I misspoke.’
All That Glistens…
The President looked down from the casement
Of his glittering golden GREAT gilded Trump Tower,
The full moons soft saffron suffused glow meant
Don’s Rolex showed he was nearing the witching hour.
Tonight the moon seems full, of dark portent,
Tonight Don is as quiet and shy as a wall-flower,
Tonight its rich unadulterated light has lent
A blood-moon cast to his petulant glower.
Oh, how it pains this peach-of-a-President
To find Captain ‘Merica’s lost his superpower
As well as losing that sweet smell of victory scent,
Since he parleyed with Putin that’s started to sour.
In the FAKE photos Don sees it, and it is all too evident;
‘Neath a fake tan lies a sad whey-faced sack of
How he regrets Moscow and the time there ill-spent,
In the moons glow the tears flow, a regular golden shower.
Vlad To The Bone. (Apologies to George Thorogood.)
When two princes amongst men met up in Helsinki
Both promised, vowed, swore a swear with extended pinky
To put aside that old veil of dark secrecy, so deep, black and inky;
If Vlad’s pants look uncomfortably hot, don’t Dons seem a whiff stinky?
In a most comradely fashion the two privately conversed,
When they emerged into the light, all dark clouds dispersed,
Donald smiling dimly,Vladimir’s smile smug, satisfied, fit to burst,
How did Vlad contrive to convince Don to put ‘Meric- err… Russia First?
The King Of The World.
When Donald went off to Windsor to visit the queen
He thought it a suitable platform to strut and preen,
Sadly, Don doesn’t know much… about Royal protocol;
He strode out ahead of Her Majesty on the Royal stroll,
Did he thoughtlessly think he was strolling on his links so green?
He Royally ballsed-up, but for Liz its not the first horses ass she’s seen.
No Direction Home.
The England party struck boldly forth
To a knees-up in Putin’s welcoming North,
Supporters hopes, then expectations increased
As they watch another unexpected sun rise in the East.
After England’s semi-disappointment they’re heading South
Going from up for the cup to looking down in the mouth,
Even as the sun sinks and Englands high hopes go West
Fourth place seems strangely better than second best.
Driven To Distraction.
I wake up in the morning, dark, rise with the friggin’ lark,
I clutch the coffee cup, wait for the night terrors to pass,
Fire up the Fiesta, sigh, hand reluctant to shift out of Park
Into Drive to drive on autopilot to an unteachable first class.
On arrival I take a deep breath, a Diazepam, then two more
Before bravely walking into my recurring real-life horror story,
Fighting the sea of indifference shuffling down the corridor;
Cell-centred blank eyed zombies, brainless but ambulatory.
At lunch I’ve no taste for my sandwich, I take two Tums instead,
My faith in talking sense sense to foolish minds continues to unravel
Despite spending my lunch communing with the arch Deputy Head,
I told her of her schools flaws, she told me to
fu– about sex and travel.
So, advice taken, I’m off to the Fiesta and off I
fu– off home I go;
A little listening to a audiobook might restore my equanimity,
As the strains of Stephen Kings ‘The Stand’ ooze from the stereo
I think I might share his dim view on some things like, oh, inhumanity?