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