Monthly Archives: April 2020

Roaming free sure ain’t what it used to be, not in these topsy-turvy times.

A Failure To Communicate.

All my giddy plans for more overseas travel
Have begun to chafe and fray and unravel,
It’s a quiet cruisy life here in the South Pacific,
But sometimes ‘quiet’ borders on the soporific.

When you’re stuck down in the Shaky Isles
A month in lonely lockdown has its trials,
Here we’re so far from the madding crowd,
Here, straying from our bubble is not allowed.

Netflix only goes so far in breaking the tedium,
And I’ve wearied of the always Right medium
So I tuned out news of the ever-present Covid
Turned off that big screen and gone off the grid.

But then my trusty Hewlett-Packard packed up
And how quickly my un-spammed mail backed up,
Now this is a lonely planet to be stuck in on my own
And I’m slowly losing friends thanks to a fading i-phone.

So I thought it timely to clean out the e-mails-
Those casual offers to meet consenting females-
One-off deals guaranteed to double your income-
Offers to collect a share of a Nigerian’s Princely sum.

So I trawled my way manfully through the spam,
I deleted every charitable plea and cheap scam,
Finally the excremental electronic dumping was done;
Then came my first message… would it be a welcome one?

Qantas called, said my frequent flier miles, set to expire
Would be honorably exchanged, should I so desire,
For a once in a lifetime trip on a luxury cruise ship-
I deleted that with one indignant finger flip.

Donald Trump’s cheap Corona cure- so easy to concoct, but please: Do Not Swallow.

Genuine Bona Fide Genius.

If you really wanna be Corona cured,
Your survival can be patently ensured,
Doctor Dettol Don offers some folksy advice
To forestall your early entry into Paradise.

Believe Don, salvation is within your reach-
Open the cleaning closet and grab some bleach,
Whatever is adorned with a big red WARNING label-
Doc Don dismisses that as ‘nother Fake News fable.

Whatever comes to hand that can clean the sink,
Anything, time’s of the essence, ain’t no time to think!
Quick, grab that strong purple stuff from the littlest room-
One dose of that guarantee’s a Covid Kaboom.

Fauci can’t condone Dons treatment for the sick,
He cannot endorse a dumb prick, nor his rhetoric,
Alas, Dr Birx’s defence of Don seems to stick in her throat
Knowing he’s only fit for a tight-sleeved white overcoat.



The genius doctor is now only takes White House calls. Thank God.

Second Opinion, Please.

First Doctor Don recommended Chloroquine
To save your ass from Covid nineteen,
Now he’s found another cure for our plight,
It came to him in a flash of ultra-violet light…

All you need is disinfectant in a syringe-
It’s a cure to make Doctors Fauci and Birx cringe,
Who but Snake Oil Don would one have expected
To conjure a cure from Lysol intravenously injected?

Now Doctor Don’s prognosis I do rather doubt,
A dose of covid and Lysol and and you’re wiped out,
No, I will reject the advice of Doctor Tangerine,
It’s more kill or cure than quick and clean

On April 25 Anzac Day dawns and it’s time to recall all those noble young lives sacrificed by warmongering old bastards. Peace is hard to come by.

Let’s Not Forget.

The great world powers had a Great big war,
The survivors prayed ‘one Big One, to end ’em all,’
But if One was great, let’s power up one more;
So, twice the names tacked up on the memorial wall.

As dying autumn leaves fall soft from the bough
Let’s remember old comrades who dutifully fought,
Ev’ry year leaves less to sadly gather in the here and now,
To recollect the fresh faced fallen, lives cut cruelly short.

In some sodding graveyard in some far-off land
In lush spring green fields flecked with poppy red
Soldiers untold lie silent while white crosses stand,
One war or Two, there’s no accounting for the dead.

The Prez sez ‘stay at home’ one day, the next he says stand outside and protest against staying at home- if you live in Democratic Minnesota, Michigan or Virginia. What is his rationale? Schizophrenia? Appeasing his gung-ho Right? Oh yeah, Right.

Free Dumb.

See them fired-up freedom fighters gathered together,
All Camo-jacketed, NRA patched, cuckoo birds of a feather,
Clutching their precious metal to heart with sweating palms,
All too ready to embrace any cockamamie rallying call to arms.

They all say they’re itchin’ to get right back on the job
But first order of business is mingling with the mob,
Patriotically waving an AR15 or Old Glory overhead,
Idiotically spreading covid 19 amongst the brain dead.

No quietly staying home, these clowns won’t be cowed-
Better off out enjoying the contagious baying of the crowd-
Where’s the fun in being parked up alone fighting off this cough
When you can run wild in the streets raisin’ hell with the safety off?

Ah, that first crushing of tender young love. The scars fade and we move on. Try to move on. Ah, to be an automaton.

Dead Mans Chest.

I saw her here,
I saw her there,
It would appear
I saw her everywhere.

In the school bus
I sat and stared,
I dreamed of us
As if she she cared.

In my fevered mind
I looked suave and cool,
She remained obdurately blind,
Friends agreed, kind of cruel.

Then, as we passed by
A look, though fleeting
Registered in her eye-
Two pupils meeting.

So it came to pass
With one come-hither glance
That Delilah of a lass
Led this fool a merry dance.

She had her fun
Sadly at my expense,
Fair heart not won-
Her warm heart a pretense.

She left me distraught,
That devils daughter,
Without a second thought
Wrenched at my aorta.

My dreams shattered,
Much like my pride,
Left bowed and battered
Something deep inside me died.

Now I’ve a busted heart,
Broken in twain,
The only good bloody part,
It won’t break ever again.




Keeping social interaction at bay is easy-peasy. Simply stay in ones home. But keeping boredom at bay, now that comes with its own issues.

Boundaries Of Reason.

The unwelcome virus arrived one cold day,
It’s settled right in and looks set to stay,
Like a Jehovah’s Witness it won’t go away.

With no cure or vaccination known
We’re advised to stay at home, alone-
What better company to be in but my own?

I thought I’d love lounging about, being lazy,
Rolling in bed, hours and days, getting hazy,
But I’m getting paranoid or going stir crazy.

I thought I’d take it all in my stride,
This keeping your distance, staying inside-
Now my gripping company I can’t abide.

I’ve re-read every last book, cover to cover,
I’ve re-recounted that night with my first lover,
My eyesight’s shot ‘tween books and thinking of her.



The waiting is over, the trash talk is starting, the game face is on, bring out the cheerleaders, go Team Trump, go! Please, go.

That Fabled NeverNeverNotEverWhatsoeverLand.

This is proving one tough sumbitch virus to tame,
So, now as the grim figure becomes a national shame,
Prima Donna, who hadn’t figured at the start of the game
Suits up, and it’s sick to see how quick Don can counterclaim.

Getting all the sick folk better is a noble aim
But it’s Jesus’ job to comfort the ill, old, the lame,
Don might have dithered but how slickily he became
The only One to point out its not he but WHO’s to blame.




The true believers are, of late, being beset by trials and tribulations. ‘Frinstance the attendees of the New Deliverance Evangelistic Church of Chesterfield.

And Then There’s The Bad News…

In the packed Chesterfield New Evangelical pews
The rapt congregants strained to hear the Good News,
Another finely inflected sermon by Bishop Gerry Glenn;
What comfort we took in his ringing words, back then.

With the blind faith that’s held true for two thousand years,
With eyes rolling up towards Heaven Glenn quelled all fears,
‘My God is mightier than any puny virus’ he sermonised,
Unfortunately, his theology proved to be compromised.

Now the mighty voice of God has faded away
And those left in his congregation quietly say
‘No one regrets being here to hear Glenn preach
but just how far and wide did his last words reach?’

I’m all locked down, feeling a little let down by home life, moaning about all these claustrophobic walls closing in. Perhaps a harsh reset about what really matters is in order? R.I.P. TBT, one of the good ones.

Grim Grin.

This stick at home virus is making my life a bane,
My wife is sick of hearing me grimblingly complain,
But today a story in the Star shut down my tired refrain
And I shut up, quietly sat down and read that sorry story again.

A man would be a fool not to have as happy a life as it could be
And Tim Brooke-Taylor’s take on this comedic life was a goodie,
A man is expected to grieve in po-faced silence- but should he?
Timbo wouldn’t begrudge me giggling in his memory would he?