Category Archives: anxiety

Getting to know the people in the neighborhood. Not your average Sesame Street meeting, one suspects. Do I see some recognition in the eyes of one or two souls I pass on the street? Nah, I must be imagining things. I keep walking.

Lost In The Cosmos.

Oh, where did you go to, my lady fair?,
Why, wherever I look why are you there?
In the library, outside Walgreen’s, everywhere,
You haunt my dreams, you poor living nightmare.

Just how did you develop that st-st-st-stutter?
Why do you shuffle along and ceaselessly mutter?
Why do those faded blue eyes peer into the gutter?
What shocking treatment made you our resident nutter?

No cast away dog-end ever escapes your gaze
Despite you wandering ’round in a perpetual daze,
Were you once smoking hot back in your glory days?
Did acid or pipe leave this smoldering testament of user pays?

She looks all too ready for a last trip in a black limousine.
You say I’m a cold callous prick, evil nasty and mean?
No, I am seeing all too clearly what might have been,
Counting my lucky stars and damn glad to be clean.

The President has some reason to get angry. Its hard to reason with him when he gets angry. Now, you wouldn’t like him when he gets angry. So don’t set him off.

Stomping Ground.

Don sat in the Stateroom
Filled with impending doom.

He sighed, set down the remote,
Today even Fox sounded a false note.

He fiddled with a classified file,
Life’s becoming quite the trial.

He would find it hard to explain,
This bit of business in the Ukraine.

Now how he rued the day
Everyone heard what he had to say.

How Zelensky’s voice began to fall
When he got the message in Don’s call.

Zel’s tiny voice on the telephone
Till drowned out by his own.

Looking guiltily at the transcript
He wish he’d stayed tight-lipped.

He dropped that damning folder,
A righteous rage began to smoulder.

He’d dealt from a position of strength,
Their wanted arms he’d kept at arms length.

No guarantee of a shipments arrival
Till given ammo to fire at a political rival.

If a Biden took offence, Don meant none-
No offence, Hunter, you son of a – gun.

He thought he’d done the deal
Till some whistle-blower had to squeal.

He’d release the funds… given time.
Since when’s a white lie a capital crime?

So, Don had asked for a personal favour?
Rudy swears that ain’t criminal behaviour.

Still, there’s plenty left to impeach,
So how to cover (t)his unseemly breach?

How to take a Presidential stance
When filling your big boys pants?

His blue eyes cloud with dawning dread,
He alone has to own the words he said.

But a secret of this size…
All those accusatory eyes…

How to dim their focus?
Try a lil’ hocus-pocus.

It’s a well-worn trick
For a dealer who’s slick.

It’s been done before;
Instigate a bloody war.

He’ll kick his foot soldiers into action,
Smoke and mortars, a fine distraction.

He opens an Army Intelligence dossier,
Something therein might make his day.

He holds the answer in his hands;
Shift the blame on shifting sands.

But Donny sees time is short,
Let’s give it not a second thought.

With a bad man on the loose
Don needed no excuse.

He took what Intelligence he had
And took it out on Bagdad.

A little lacking in tact,
But hardly a war-like act.

Don don’t see it as an excursion
And hopes few see it as a diversion.

Yes, ‘Merica might lose a grunt or two,
But impeachment takes on a distant view.

And, what could go wrong?
We weren’t in Viet Nam long.

That little dust-up in Afghanistan?
That all went according to plan.

The lessons learnt a few years back,
Of riding in and razing Iraq?

After sifting through the smoking ground,
All those masses of weapons to be found?

Though they’d disappeared into hot thin air
Still Don has determined to go there.

Sad to think that, true to form
He’ll unleash another shit Desert Storm.

He’ll fight on until calls for his head cease,
C’mon, he’ll take on anyone who wants a peace.

Few allies want to join his charade  crusade,
How to extricate himself from the mess he’s made?

‘Merica’s allies now don’t think he’s so great,
They’re more concerned ’bout some mental State.

So who, truly, are his friends?
Pal Putin says, ‘that depends.’

And what happens when the dust clears
And his fear of impeachment reappears?

Will he tweet a sorry word?
Will further action be ordure-d?

Will others suffer from his wrath
Or can Don take the higher path?

Don’s more familiar with the low road,
But will his little fingers press the code?

Will Don dazzle us by doing right
Or frazzle us in a flash of light?

Don’s sins I must forgive and forget,
God, please let me live with that regret.

Don’s words are too toxic to call out,
What earthly good is risking his fall out?

A wholly righteous war is easy to start,
Surviving one remains the hardest part.

In the Land Down Under, up to now the leaders of the Lucky Country, in thrall to Industry, dismissed climate change as the ravings of the Green and gullible. Might those ‘thoughts’ change now? More likely they’ll still willfully put ’em on the back burner.

Flip-Flop Weather.

National minds won’t change on the weather, ain’t no denying,
When it comes to carbon credits, the great mines ain’t buying,
They have no heart to turn away from their deep black hole,
Australia can go to blazes so long as they can sell their coal.

The mining moguls have dug up a fine solution
To cleanly dispel the dirty question of air pollution,
If their friends in power waver, show signs of doubt-
Whip out the big check-book and wave it about.

Most any Liberal proclaims climate change to be a myth,
They have any number of studies to twist and conjure with,
But as they silently rake over the razed and smoking ground
Has the hazy path towards enlightenment finally been found?

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.

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.

Working through life’s surprising ups and downs, in a manner of speaking. Sadly, true story.

All (Out Of) Sorts.

I am never going to consume licorice ever again;
That sweet Dutch treat I can nevermore entertain,
Last night’s pack of All Sorts, now crumpled cellophane
Leaving me with cold sweats and cramping stomach pain.

I am never going to resume consuming licorice again,
This morning I daren’t stray far from my favoured domain,
My private retreat of stainless steel, white tiles and porcelain,
Were my cubicle further away I fear I couldn’t bear the strain.

I repeat, I’m never going to consume licorice again-
Every step’s a gamble between pot-luck and methane,
Now my appetite for Twizzlers I truly cannot contain,
Gimmie Montezumas Revenge and I won’t complain.

Premier League; Frustrations from a foaming-at-the-mouth fan. And no, not a Wolves one!

Again, Palace Presents…

Wolverhampton wandered on to Selhurst Park,
For the Black country boys the future looked dark,
One place away from propping the Premiership up,
Hoping for a goalless draw or for Palace to slip up.

The past has shown
Slip ups aren’t unknown.

The doughty Palace team score, and then on the hour
A Wolves player wrestles himself into an early shower,
Surely for Palace this must mean game, set and match?
Ten man whimpering Wolves will be easy to dispatch.

The referee decides, at last
To give this game a final blast…

Of course, in that last lingering moment Wolves whip in a cross,
They score, and to this Palace fan the draw feels more like a loss,
The way my Eagles cough up points would make a parrot sick;
The reason, last day of the season my nails are down to the quick.