Monthly Archives: December 2019

The year grinds on. Even at the very end of 2019 another bright thread in life’s rich sweet and idiotically human tapestry sparks out. Goodbye, Neil Innes. In the comedy of life, his timing was impeccable.

Fresh Wound.

Here we are on December Thirty-First,
I’ll be glad when this accursed year is done,
This stinking year must rank down with our worst,
But we don’t care- or dare- to dig up that sorrier one.

I was chillin’ in the car when the news came on,
Then the fuggy atmosphere grew a degree colder,
Neil Innes, immortal eccentric English wit has gone!?
The words I heard drove me over onto the hard shoulder.

What a way to wrap up a bad year’s news,
With a sigh but a rueful grin I wiped a tear away,
With his Python bits, Ruttle skits Innes would amuse,
He’s left us with a song and a smile, this dogs’s had his day

 

©Obbverse

The year is all but shot, but this weird year has yet another twist in the tail. What a crazy world we live in. Let those who believe pray for a better one next year. Me? I can only shake my head in disbelief.

In The Arms Of Jesus, Texas Style.

In the God-fearing burg of White Settlement
Off to church the good and faithful go,
To bend the knee, to take the blessed sacrament,
To pray for the sinners in this world of woe.

Unfortunately there’s one in this day’s congregation
Whose devil’s work is not yet done,
The good flock are in for one hell of a Revelation
Finding one congregant puts his trust in a gun.

He flung aside his coat, took his gun, a shot rang out,
But this gunman wouldn’t go on a rampage,
The Lord might well protect ’em but there’s always doubt-
Texas pew-warmers pack heat in this day and age.

With half the damn congregation blazing away
The church was filled with cordite smoke,
The gunman was offed, off to his Judgement Day;
Sweet Lord above, what a dark cosmic joke.

Forget the good Lords lesson
But not your Smith and Wesson?
What can you say except
Christ Almighty, Jesus wept.

 

©Obbverse

The year and I stagger towards our denouement. How many new year resolutions from last year did I break this year? At least my sweet wife Lorena will cut me a break?

Getting Caught Short.

Once more this year good cheer abounds,
I’ve packed up the presents, and on the pounds.

Oh, but tonight I’ve had a ball.

I’m over my limit- as far as my card can be charged,
My poor kidneys can’t cope and my livers enlarged.

I’ve tapped out, up against the wall.

I’ve put on half a stone, to the fine fluid ounce,
Tomorrow I hope it’s only my belly that’ll bounce.

I stumble home, in a crumpled heap I fall.

Over my comatose form wife Lorena holds me in low regard,
Reaches into my Levis to remove my precious Amex card.

Stirring uneasily, I hope that’s all.

 

©Obbverse

Isn’t Christmas great? I love the tradition, the gathering together of close family, the joyous imbibing. the gross consumption at the groaning table. Ah, good times.

Feastive Season, Festive Air.

That’s another Christmas meal complete,
Once again I’ve had far too much to eat,
Now here I sit, heavily settling in my seat,
Next, the dessert round, but first, the prickly heat.

I swore this year to avoid Ma’s tasty treat
But World Peace demands I keep her sweet,
And as the belt on my pants buckles in defeat-
Same ol’ story as last year, I’m bound to repeat.

 

©Obbverse

How can one capture the rapturous joy of Christmas? Well, one can but try. Anyway, there’s always a warm welcome in my hearth for Santa.

Black Christmas.

On Christmas night as I lay in bed
I heard a heavy groan high overhead
As Santa landed his overladen sled.

I heard him prise up the chimney vent-
I’m sure Santa was filled with good intent
But nowadays Santa is a rather portly gent.

With speed and agility that impressed
He swiftly reached the chimney breast-
There’s where he came to a complete rest.

Santa was stoppered, like a cork,
Face pushed up against the chimney fork
Ooh Santa, that’s no way to talk!

There came a crack up in the smokestack,
Down tumbled Santa, suit sootily black
Landing hard, smack on his Santa sack.

Rising bowed and bloodied from the rubble
The old gent stood, gasped and bent double
So I entrussed him with a gift, for his trouble.

 

©Obbverse

A vocal critic of the Saudi Prince disarmingly winds up quieted, permanently. But richly deserved justice will be served, surely?

Filthy Riches.

After Mr Khashoggi’s unfortunate demise
The Saudi Arabian court, to no-ones surprise,
Found the ruling family’s sweet Prince innocent
Of anything to do with this… unseemly accident.

A few dutifully loyal employees who ‘went too far’
Are now looking at work severance- via the scimitar,
Uncovering this truth causes the Prince much grief-
Even if, to those not richly blessed it beggars belief.

The devastated monarch will be wringing his hands
Till those lily white fingers drip blood on the sands,
But he must just accept the lawful verdict of his Court,
And if anyone thought justice can be bought-
Perish the thought.

 

©Obbverse

As the big day approaches it’s time wonder if we might get something from our secret Santa? Or ’tis it the season to hark back on folly?

Too Long To List.

Santa’s made his list and closed his book,
On Christmas day naughty boys will vainly look
For all they’ve wanted, but they’ll be looking sad,
Certainly for a certain one who’s been bad- too bad.

That rascal is up at dawn on Christmas day,
He’s been perfectly good… well, in his own way,
Donny looks at his super-sized Christmas stocking,
Flapping on the Mar-a-lago mantle, empty, mocking.

On the stocking is pinned a note,
In explanation Saint Nick kindly wrote:
‘Sorry old son, my limit’s been reached,
Maybe next year, if you ain’t impeached.’

 

©Obbverse

Christmas is a’coming, bring on Kris Kringle, bring on them Christmas carols, ring on those clanking bells…

Clapped Out At Christmas.

Dang, I hadn’t completed my gift shopping after all,
So around our madhouse of a mall I rush pell-mell,
One good thing about our fetid crowded big-ass mall
Is air-conditioning that at least makes this a fresh hell.

Still, that fat-mouthed jolly Santa faintly smells-
A hint, a delicate whiff from his reindeer’s stalls?
Yo, Santa Claus, kindly stow your jingling bells
Cause Kris, I’m apt to break some Christmas balls.

As I pay and walk away my high(?) spirits begin to fall
As I hear the music from the Salvation Army band swell,
Their sadly out-of-tune caroling drove me up the wall
So I’ve decked the halls and two bell-ringers as well.

 

 

©Obbverse

If you’re happy in your work, you don’t have to practice your smile. This is the happy tale of someone I know who works- worked- in the food service industry. ‘Hey you want a super-sized smile with that?’

Work Face.

Whenever I feel sad and blue
My smile comes beaming through,
Whenever the dark thoughts begin
I think of my job and can’t help but grin.

Yes, work is our happy place,
Here we put on a happy face,
Here we do not let true feelings show,
Our cares the public don’t need to know.

My Supervisor smiles like a clown,
Says ‘turn that frown upside down,’
He implores me to turn it up a notch-
Yep, it’s all idiotic smiles on his watch.

I’ve wearied of my false Sensodyne smile,
Flashing my molars has become a trial,
With teeth this white and smile so tight
Don’t wag no finger at me, I might bite.

My fixed smile leaves me depressed,
This shop-worn smile is past its best,
The only way my boss hasn’t felt my fist
Is due to my caring calming pharmacist.

Now I can’t hide what lurks beneath,
I’m sick of smiling, to my back teeth,
I’ve found a job out of the public eye-
There’s a joyous twinkle in the tears I cry.

I scrawled the boss a note telling him I’ve resigned
‘ I’m ecstatic to leave all this happy crappy behind,’
And asked him to file it where the sun don’t shine.
…Ah, welcome back, sweet smile o’ mine.

 

©Obbverse

Christmas is coming, get ready for the festivities, the revelries, the tinsel, the happiness, the seasonal joy. Yet amongst the all this sappiness let us retain a memory of Christmas past.

All About The Christmas Presence.

Down at the mall they’ve stuck up the tree,
There’s Christmas carols blaring out repeatedly,
Every jangle from ‘The First Noel’ to ‘Jingle Bells’-
Peace and harmony, at nigh on a hundred decibels.

Belafonte’s belting out ‘The Little Drummer Boy’
Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’ is beginning to annoy,
I know by heart ‘Snoopy’s Christmas’s’ idiot refrain,
And round comes Harry’s pa rum pum pum  again.

Stretched shopping bags are groaning,
Once chatty assistants are monotoning,
In their empty eyes the thousand-yard stare
As you join the queue you share their despair.

Standing in line, time pointlessly expended,
Praying your line of credit isn’t over-extended,
Stuck behind a snotty kid who tromps on your toes;
Wouldn’t you love to give Rudey a bloody red nose?

But

There’s more to Christmas than spending scores in stores
And we’ve lived too long to believe in a jolly Santa Claus,
What would we give to spend some Christmas cheer
With a select few who’ve gone on and left us here?