Author Archives: obbverse

About obbverse

I'd like to think I'm a wary optimist in a glass half-empty kind of a world. I try to to find humour in the world. Humour, even black humour can light the darkest situation, if that’s not a contradiction! I love the twists and turns, the layers and half-steps that is the English language. Books, imagination are important to me. Ever since I was a kid I found if you have imagination you're never alone, lonely or sad. Just turn the page. I enjoy travel, under the usual financial constraints, and being a parent helps in not letting me become a moody introspective naval gazer. I hope. let me meditate on that... At the end of the day if you can't laugh at life's idiocy, you can at least smile. Wryly. In a crazy Trumpean world, if you can't smile, there's only despair, and let's not go there. Smile.

Donald takes a moment to deal with irksome issues. Well, it’s been a memorable week, for any number of reasons.

What Numbers Really Count?

Fly high that flag,
Strike up that band,
Don don’t wanna brag
But ain’t US grand?

‘Merica still is Number One
When totting up the covid tally,
But don’t sum up, the fun’s just begun
As Dons supporters begins to rally.

Combine Britain, Italy and Spain
And USA stays top o’ the heap,
‘Merica beats Brazil by twice again,
But that’s a record Don can keep.

He’s unbelievably willing and able
To show us he’s a gen-u-ine genius,
Red based and so rock solidly stable;
So he oh so incessantly tells us.

In Donald’s Disunited States
Since this ‘little flu’ took hold
US surpassing all mortality rates
Ironically left many Don supporters cold.

Respectfully dropping standards to half-mast
Don knew what he had to do,
Donald acted, and acted fast
By opening up and smiling through.

But don’t you feel danged proud,
Don’t it thrill  chill your mortal soul
To repurpose Old Glory as a funeral shroud,
Helping hide a Memorable veterans toll?

One hundred thousand covid dead,
And lo, that number’s growing,
Unmasked, unchecked, see it spread
Wither the fu fickle winds a’blowing.

Through Don’s impressive leadership
The sad bad numbers keep on rising,
Don won’t let his impassive mask slip.
Figures; he’s quite adept at disguising.

Donny has surpassed the highest test,
‘Merica must always takes first place,
Amongst Don’s GreaT people he’s the best,
Their truly exceptional special case.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Don stands shadowed by his flapping flag,
Teary of eye, tremulous of hand,
These numbers do  make his shoulders sag-
He’ll never get his ball out of the sand.

 

©Obbverse

A prompt on Towel Day. Thanks, Douglas Adams, a one of a kind author. He’s up there, laughing at us, at least cosmically speaking. Thanks too, to Chelsea Ann Owens for the promptings.

Big Bang, Bath Towel And Beyond.

Irate ratepayer Arthur Dent was confoundedly annoyed
To find his house and home planet completely destroyed,
Luckily, the one poor excuse of a man Arthur had befriended
Was the perfect guy to accompany him when his world ended.

Ford Prefect was Arthur’s odd friends imperfect name-
A moniker once written oft on many an insurance claim-
Art never imagined his friend to be a bona fide illegal alien,
Born somewhere near Betelgeuse, not remotely mammalien.

Ford, once a wanderin’ scribe before his gig began to unravel
Knew his tenure on Earth was terminating, it’s nigh time to travel.

Ford had an inkling about this harmless planet he was stuck on
That in a twinkling Arthur would ask ‘where on Earth has it gone?’
Intergalactic Developers Inc saw Earth as an impediment to progress,
In their Universal view what harm is there in one itty-bitty bit of dirt less?

Ford, our hapless Intergalactic hitchhiker, earthbound and lost
In desperation stuck out a digital thumb, plus all fingers crossed,
Finding on wakening they had been both uplifted and stown away                                                    And all Arthur’s earthly goods had been spectacularly blown away.

Now all Arthur possessed was his towel slippers and tatty bath robe,
Scant protection for a mere human going up against an alien probe.

 

 

(Hmm, barely made it past chapter one;
Guess Doug’s tales and mine are done,
For to 250 words I’ve been constrained;
Read Doug’s book and be better entertained.)

©Obbverse

Dominic Cummings; The myth, the man, the mealy-mouthed but not sorry explanations, and then, that high borne miasma.

The New Asstocracy.

Oh, how I long to be just like Always Right Dominic,
To fly in the face of rules, regulations and simple logic,
To ignore draconian strictures, to freely Range Roverly roam,
Really drive that massive sense of entitlement 420 miles home.

No ‘Hi Boris, bye, its bestie Dom, I’m blowing this town,
I’m driving up to the pater’s farm till my fever’s died down,’
No, Dom just upped and left his locked-down London precinct
Driving 420 miles fuelled on pure arrogance and ‘parental instinct.’

No Number Ten man can control Mister Cumming-or-going
for the man who advises the PM is so all wise and all knowing,
And the PM understands the ordeal poor Dom’s been through;
For the elite true blue few it’s always ‘Do as we say, not as we do.’

An ode to our odd old cat. Hey, it makes a break from dealing with all this gloomy covid crap! (And thanks to Lucys Works for the prompt.)

Old Gold.

From break fast through to sunset
Our gilt-flecked precious amber pet
Takes sole possession of our coverlet.

What deep dark thoughts prowl and creep,
In what feline fantasies does he lightly leap
As he lays his days away, fast asleep?

 

©Obbverse

On the road again; let’s follow as the Prez speeds recklessly on to open up his stalled economy. Arriving at a hushed Ford assembly plant Don gets out and starts to push his well worn agenda.

Thing’s To Do In Ypsilanti When You’re Don.

Go up to Michigan,
Speak at some Ford plant,
Blame some Democrat, bitch again;
Usual unhinged rave and rant.

Typical meet and greet,
Broadly mug and smugly beam
While firing off another Waspish tweet;
Don’t my pearly wisdoms gleam?

Won’t wear no mask
Though it’s obviously more hygienic,
But this GreaT President’s overriding task
Is to remain nakedly photogenic.

 

©Obbverse

For the first time ever, Don faces a moral dilemma. (Hmm, that sounds a bit of an oxymoron, don’t it?)

Real Job Of Work.

With the Prez’s GreaT economy now tanking
And Donny’s once vaunted Wall Street taking a spanking
Don has had to choose what’s the most worthy case-
Reviving his ailing economy or his trusty old white base?

Surprise- Billionaire Don’s in for a penny!

Suddenly Don’s stocks are tumbling, even in Fox’s ranking-
Even with the Golden Oldie support on which he’s been banking,
Donald’s economy must open, poor oldies can shelter in place,
It’s high time some puzzled grizzled retirees saw Don’s other face.

Folks, that face is butt one of many.

How to not go shooting in the woods. Prompted by the Chelsea Owens Hilarity contest. Oh, and sponsored by Smokey the Bear.

Dumber Jack.

Jack the Lad could barely wait to turn twenty-one,
To cast his vote, to drive, drink, (legal-like) and tote a gun,
To pick the biggest baddest gun you’ve ever seen,
To play the part, just like in that Soldier Of Fortune magazine.

Off out to the woods he went to bag him a bear,
Or a boar, a deer, doe or buck- a duck, Jack didn’t care,
Through thicket underbrush and bosk Jack barged,
In his blundering search only his smart phone wound up discharged.

As the warm autumnal sun began to wane
Our hunter looked for any game, in vain,
In his ceaseless aim he couldn’t, wouldn’t stop;
Still as graceless as a bull in a china shop.

There wasn’t a critter to be found for miles around
As he trampled his way through his unhappy hunting ground-
Finding fording a stream is done at a huntsman’s peril-
A cruel cool baptism resulting in blown-out knee and twisted barrel.

So, cold, wet, lost in the woods as it grows dark,
Sat nav and phone flat, ah, but Jack’s quite the bright spark,
His safety match strikes, the dry leaves catch fire!
Remains to be seen, if anyone ever finds Jacks funeral pyre.