Monthly Archives: November 2019

The President grants a pardon for a turkey fated to be Thanksgiving dinner. How thoughtful, how humanitarian of Don. What a whopper it was too!

Tender Mercies.

Donald’s pardoned a turkey at Thanksgiving,
That bird can walk free and scratch out its living
Freed from thoughts of the chop and of harm,
Given free rein to range, down on the farm.

Donald knows this pardon is his Presidential right,
But he does possess a gross and base appetite,
To his ravening hunger he’s already succumbing,
Sadly, for one plucky turkey, Christmas is coming.

Donald has guaranteed to let that turkey strut-
But Don’s promise does come from with his but,
Stupid bird, to take Don’s solemn word on trust-
Just another turkey Donald’s stuffed and trussed.

Holiday times Ah, let’s let the hair down, escape to the country, see the wildlife, the fish and the fowl. Even time for the hair of the dog if you’re feeling a bit on the seedy side.

A Nest Of One’s Own.

We had all grown weary of the madding crowd,
Of the Apples pings, the Samsungs same old song,
The constant city clamouring had grown too loud,
We knew we’d been cooped up here far too long.

So we sought out a quiet country retreat,
Time, time to leave the big brash city behind,
To just chill, to swill a Sauvignon sooo sweet,
One to wash the city’s cares from one’s mind.

At the Te Kopura lodge we quietly took in the scenery,
The birds and the bees, the boat shed, the duck pond,
A haven of sweet silence, an oasis of lush greenery,
Glass in hand, down to the tinkling waters we swanned.

What dark apparition we found we had stirred
Up in the quiet backwaters of the Wairarapa?
This was one mightily ruffled honking big bird,
A black swan that thinks it’s a bloody snapper.

I blame that hissy pissed-off overly-territorial swan
For my spilling my fave Sav, sadly reducing me to Shiraz,
That swan done put me sat down plumb on my sit-upon
As I hastily backed away to land heavily on- the grass.

Still, at suppertime as I pecked at the chicken roast
I felt the need to stand, to raise my elbow from the bar,
And to the fine company gathered I offered up my toast;
‘To fine wine, fine food, to scrambled eggs and foie gras.’

Israel Folau, revered rugby player, claims- sermonises- that unrepentant sinners are the cause of Australia’s forest fires. Where’s a bolt of lightning from above when you need one?

Jesus Wept.

So, high and mighty Israel Folau,
You’ve flaming gone and done it now,
Our devout Christian-cum-climate denier
Claims sinfulness leads to forest- and Hellfire.

My flagging faith won’t be restored
By this empty-headed vessel of the Lord,
I pray St Peter has this sermon on record
When Israel goes to his final reward.

But I’ve heard that God does love a trier,
So might this unrepentant soul enquire,
Oh wise and enlightened Israel Folau
Who made you mightier than thou?

Roger Stone, a loyal Trumpian Republican trickster who’s lies bullyings and intimidations have landed him in State incarcer- accommodation. So, who will he turn to?

The Company You Keep.

Alas, poor miserable Roger Stone,
Into the slammer he’s been thrown,
Another Trump flunky lies in the hole
Unless Don has mercy on his craven soul.

The cells are where many dodgy deals are done,
Will Don take Rog’s call, begging Dons pardon?
In some dark sun-baked states liars get stoned,
In Dons half-baked State is perjury condoned?

What happened to peace, love and understanding? (Would you believe, this happened to a friend of mine…)

Hard Headed woman.

After another week of our boss giving us yet more grief
I headed into the cosy bar for a little Friday night relief,
It was a workmates birthday, I felt obliged to celebrate,
I thought  I’d sent a text to say I would be home at eight.

I never received her reply.

I swear I only had one beer, then a wee drop o’ scotch
When I chanced to glance down at my broken watch,
Was I deluded in thinking I could believe that bitty toy?
The night was young and so was the birthday girl-er, boy.

Strange how time slips by.

Drinks were drunk and soon my quiet night grew loud,
And then I saw a(double) vision stand out of the crowd,
Suddenly I forgot she was the daughter of my bosses brother,
Suddenly I felt no fidelity towards my significant other.

But I felt that tingle in my thigh.

I blame the drink, I blame the passion in her eyes,
But I didn’t fancy facing her, hungover, come sunrise,
I left her snoring in her room, slipped away like a jerk,
Come Monday I’d find workplace romances do not work.

And I’d kissed my job goodbye.

But in the here and now, in the cold light of the day
My usually ever-understanding partner tells me to f- go away,
Ignoring my gentle taps tap upon the door, then my heavy knocks,
No sweet-talking her round this time, she’s changed the locks.

She’s not letting this sleeping dog lie.

That hard hearted woman won’t answer text or call,
That woman’s got me beating my head against the wall,
Why, she always knew what kind of butt-headed man I am?
Now neither she nor this thick brick wall will give a damn.

Oh, what a bone-headed bloody fool am I.

Dodgy Donald pleads guilty to using his charitable trust for paying a few bills that no poor over-taxed billionaire should be expected to cough up for. The old fraud. Literally.

Give A Little, Gain A Lot.

Donald is a giver, he’s generous to a fault,
He’s worked the land, proved he’s worth his salt,
A poor real estate man, the scu-salt of the earth,
A man who shows us today, again, his true worth.

The Court has found, much to Dons disgust
He’s guilty of reaching into his sacred Trust,
Oh, its been a far too easy mistake to make
For a man who only seeks an even (tax) break.

The cruel verdict strikes deeply into Dons bleeding heart,
No book deals today for the dealer of his deep dark art,
Tomorrow he will add another chapter to his artless tome;
‘On no account leave any trace of charity beginning at home.’

Losing faith in a tin potty mouthed God? Thoughts after Don went to the fight.

Revelation.

The mildest of gosh darned blasphemies
Once drove Right(eous) evangelists to their knees,
Now that they have accepted Trump as their Savior
They’ll have to accept his unpardonable behavior.

After Stormy they really needed Gods advice,
Should not an amorous adulterer pay a stiff price?
The true believers of Trump use that inspired line-
‘To err is human, but to forgive Don, divine.’

But have even the devoutest disciples begun
To question the veracity of their ill-Chosen one?
Good Lord, what would sweet Jesus do if he heard
Don tweet and repeat that Motherf***er of a word?

The President is known to speak forthrightly
But a drunken sailor could speak more politely,
Are a few ex-believers now feeling voters remorse
Hearing Dons rude attempts at social intercourse?

I’m of a Conservative mind,
In Gods words comfort I find,
But if I use my God given-brain
I can’t forgive Don the Profane.

Hallelujah, the scales have fallen from my eyes-
His words and (Miss) deeds serve only to demonise-
That Motherf***er word rings loud and clear,
I’m the victim of believing in a false profiteer.

Now Don’s tweets are down to another level,
He sounds less demi-god than foul mouthed devil,
It’s dispiriting to find Dons not a blessing, but perverse,
And hearing that Motherf***er is a God-awful curse.