Monthly Archives: October 2019

Halloween, a time of sweetness and joy for the giddy kiddies, to an almost cloying degree.

Hollow Feeling On Halloween.

They came a’knocking on my door,
Two kids demanding a sugary score,
One little monster with a slavering jaw-
Another creep extending a covetous claw-
They took every treat I proffered, then more,
Those tricky kids are in cahoots with the candy store.

The President steps up and strikes out at the Washington Nationals baseball game. At least he got a well deserved Bronx cheer.

Drop Out In Right Field.

Donald went out to the ballgame,
Up he stood, expecting wild acclaim,
But when they called him out by name
Back a chorus of disapproval came,
Don truly wondered who’s to blame;
The shame is, the man knows no shame.

When the team you support’s been soundly beaten, some humble pie must be sadly eaten. England 19, All Blacks 7.

Black Out.

Would our mighty All Blacks stack up?
Could our twice World Cup winners back up?
How many points agin the Poms would we rack up?

But those big bad butt-ugly Blighty boys broke our attack up,
An hour in and its either reach for the Prozac or crack up-
At full time its back to the Hotel to weep, then pack up.

The majority of the polls show most people believe Trump should be impeached. Don must feel the pain deep in his psyche, or deep someplace.

Slippery Slide.

Don’s approval ratings are worse than Tricky Dicks,
That other poor but dishonest Republican,
But Don does believe he’ll rise above it all, like a phoenix,
Not see his Great presidency slither down the pan.

If he fails, and too much of the smelly stuff sticks
Don can easily resort to his master plan,
Dig down into his deep and dark bag of tricks
And call on the base part of his loyal K- clan.

Wash away the Presidents half baked fake politics,
Wipe away the vaingloriously fake tan,
Peer into that chockablock box of Freudian neurotic tics
And behold the child inside the man.

Working through life’s surprising ups and downs, in a manner of speaking. Sadly, true story.

All (Out Of) Sorts.

I am never going to consume licorice ever again;
That sweet Dutch treat I can nevermore entertain,
Last night’s pack of All Sorts, now crumpled cellophane
Leaving me with cold sweats and cramping stomach pain.

I am never going to resume consuming licorice again,
This morning I daren’t stray far from my favoured domain,
My private retreat of stainless steel, white tiles and porcelain,
Were my cubicle further away I fear I couldn’t bear the strain.

I repeat, I’m never going to consume licorice again-
Every step’s a gamble between pot-luck and methane,
Now my appetite for Twizzlers I truly cannot contain,
Gimmie Montezumas Revenge and I won’t complain.

‘Tis a dark, even a black day for the most devoted devout and stout Irish sports fan dis sad day. Commiserations are all I can offer. So sorry. (All Blacks 46 Ireland 14 )

The Cup Runneth, Over.

In public houses up and down the Emerald Isle
There’s many a jar of good Guinness been drunk,
But there’s little good cheer, no, there’s nary a smile,
Only tears in the beer on seeing Cup dreams being sunk.

Shlock mock horror! That old classic, ‘The Bride of Frankenstein’ re-reviewed. Or: Romance really is dead.

Dr Frankenstein could no longer pretend;
His experiments had come to a dead end,
He railed at the thunderstorm, he cursed his luck
Till came a puff of smoke as a lightning bolt struck.

Slowly from the slab his prized creature rose,
In those coal black eyes something darkly glows,
There’s a sad recognition that he is one butt-ugly soul,
A melange of random bits and pieces making up a whole.

He saw he looked like a reject from the Twilight Zone,
He had no wish to spend his second life all on his own,
He gently sat the the Doc down, told him what was on his mind,
Strongly impressing on him how he felt being but one of a kind.

The monster requested the Doc make him a mate,
Toss in a few X chromosomes into the ol’ template,
Reluctantly, the Doctor took up needle and thread-
His second stitch-up left his first darn effort for dead!

For the good Doctor had learnt a great deal,
Now he could spend time on aesthetic appeal,
That original prototype did look desperately grim,
Rugged and rough-hewn would best describe him.

Working both night and day-
All bloody work and no play-
In a week he’d put her together-
Time to wait- for stormy weather.

Finally came a thunderous storm,
Lightning lit her wondrous form,
Impatiently the monster waited
As his beauty became animated.

The Doc had fashioned her such a pretty face,
The creature felt his second-hand heart race,
And his beastly heart was completely captured,
The Docs fine body of work left him enraptured.

But his bride-to-be was less than impressed,
She saw him and nearly had a cardiac arrest,
From her sweet lips came a long ululating scream;
The Doctor knew they’d never make a dream team.

After hearing her shrill dismissive shriek
The monster flounces off in a fit of pique,
How that poor forsaken brutes broken heart aches,
And all the Doc says is ‘oh well, we all make mistakes.’