A man once said ‘Football is not a matter of life and death- it’s much more than that.’ In these Covid spreading times, all too true.

Cruel Britannia.

The Home fans had flocked here from miles around,
To Englands green and present Premier football ground,
All set to see England play winningly at Wembley,
All so happy together, in a gloriously riotous assembly.

All through the first half the crowd stood, up and singing,
By late on in the second half, down and hand-wringing,
Still hopefully singing- this time the lads would be victorious,
Ringing proud round the ground, loud if ultimately vainglorious.

Once more, as oft before, England failed the test,
Again, fair England, penalised into being second best,
As per tradition, opportunity and spot kicks missed,
But this national tragedy came with an extra kick twist.

The stunned crowd streamed from Wembley, sad, deflated,
Not singing 'Land Of Hope And Glory' as much anticipated,
Herded into their British Rail carriages, to sit in silent ponder;
Emptiness carried up to Goole, Hull, Halfwhistle and yonder.

Or to East or West,
But, everywhere, depressed,
Even in the Beautiful South-
Deeply down in the mouth.

Later, be it in the Albion, the Crown, Anchor or the Rising Sun,
Fans shared rounds with old mates, gathered in commiseration,
Next morning, wondering upon waking, shaking, with sore head
How much viral disappointment could they possibly have spread? 

   

‘Want a beer when you’ve got nowt to cheer about- fancy a Corona?’

©Obbverse

The studio is setting up ‘Scream 5’ for release soon, so I thought I’d review the first ‘Scream.’ Oh, dear Drew, the horror.

Lessons From Watching 'Scream' Again.

For the fans of the gory horror flick
Sick of the perennial hoary old tropes
'Scream' played out a slick new trick
To raise any Millennial's bloody hopes.

'Scream' kicks off with a sick new twist-
But first I ought to offer a 'Spoiler Alert!' 
If you loved Drew in 'Never Been Kissed'
Her getting the kiss-off here is gonna hurt.

See, the pretty blonde nubile teen-
Her part's played by Drew Barrymore,
She's scarcely finished the first scene
When- so suddenly! Drew is no more.

What, the Star gets cut in the first act?
Drew winds up axed before Act Two?
Spoke a few lines, then gets whacked?
So, what advice might've saved Drew?

Don't mention you'll be at home alone
With no one close to share the popcorn,
Drew, definitely do not answer the phone 
Drew, if you want to live to see the dawn.

Don't let anyone outside in if they ask,
Or scream when a ghastly face appears,
Who knows who is behind that mask?
Face it Drew, this will all end in tears.

Sad to report, you ain't safe with old friends,
Two once-best buds now ain't right in the head,
Sad, by the time this twisted tale grislily ends
Our cut-in-the-first-act heroine is long dead.




‘Soon, Blondie, just hangin’ on the telephone.’

(Ok, slightly sick humour in the captions but what the hell…)

Learning to live with your eccentricities without getting weirded out.

( Inspired by Chel Owens A Mused poetry competition on 'Eccentrics' and the movie 'Shock Corridor.')

An Eccentrics Guide To Lightening Up.

A rare precious few view me as being one of a kind,
Far more as possessed of a most peculiar singular mind,
One gloomy psychiatrist classified me as slightly neurotic,
A better one called me, far more politely, simply quixotic.

Some call me eccentric, but that ain't fair,
I prefer to think I think outside the square,
Others say my view on reality is a tad murky,
They say I'm 'way out there,' I'd say 'quirky.'

The true eccentric is hard to define,
The clued-up eccentric rides a fine line,
You best keep your eccentricities on the down low,
So I tone it down- Bellvue's nowhere I wanna go.

Some admit they think outside the box,
I don't... wish to submit to electric shocks,
So, Doctor, if eccentricity is in the eye of the beholder
Call me quietly eccentric- I don't want to smoulder.


©Obbverse

The climate of late in the States is hitting a new low. No, we’re not talking politics, we’re talking polar.

Today's Weather Wrap Up.

All over the Continental United States
An ill wind brings in snow drifts and dire straits,
Louisiana has plunged towards an all-time low,
Even Surfside Beach is dusted with snow.

Be you from down South or ways up North,
Intrepid driver, don't set forth,
From the East coast to the West
Staying safe at home will serve us all best.

Yet some brave Souls put their trust in the Lord,
Venture out with sat-nav and faith on board,
Jeez, don't go out and rubberneck, please?
Must snow down South bring on a brain freeze?

Typically, dumb some people can't let it slide,
They just wanna go out on a fun joyride,
To make snow angels out by the seashore,
With God as your co-pilot, who needs a 4 X 4?

Stay wrapped up at home, crank up the heat,
What's the point of a quick spin down the street? 
Don't wrap those threadbare tyres in snow chains,
Leave the Kia in the carport, use your brains.

   'That staycation is lookin' good'

©Obbverse

‘And now, the latest election report… but wait, there’s more!’

The Grand Old Soap Opera.

I thought I'd briefly watch to see who'd be elected,
Though half the time cable shows show total trash,
But, switch left or right, whichever station I selected
I found I was watching a classic American car crash.

I shoulda coulda thought;
Poor show.

This pointless tragicomedy dragged on into the night,
An all-too-familiar nonsensical plot, at a turgid pace,
After my all-night marathon, no tiresome end in sight;
It's a travesty of television to try to call this crawl a race.

Long and overwrought.
Sooo slow.

Time had shown the car crash morphing into a train wreck,
All happening in full painfully and frighteningly slow motion,
So I turned off, tuned out, dropping the remote on that dreck,
I'm no Einstein but I now know time standing still is no notion.

Well and truly taught.
I know.

Now I wake up and see more molassesly moving melodrama,
The dark reality being I wish I was back in the land o' dreams-
I'm stuck deep in a GreaT stalemate as, quietly, Biden and Obama
Watch Donny perform- no, it's not over while the fat boy screams.

Order in the Court?
Oh no.

(Painting; Dick Frizzell ‘Blue Hawaii.’)

Once you’ve finally managed to dredge your team up to the Premier League in English football the hard work isn’t over, it’s only just beginning. Along with the glory comes a scant few ups, quite a few more downs, plus another almost certain pitfall- just ask any committed West Bromwich Albion fan.

Temporarily Promoted.

That West Bromwich Albion crowd are all celebrating again,
There’ll be cheers and beers being hurled in Halfords Lane,
Navy and white scarves will abound around Old Birmingham town,
At least till next May when, historically they’re bound to go down.

The Albion are one of those teams that drive loyal fans to drink,
All season long, nailed to the table bottom or clinging on the brink,
The Baggies, back in in their regulation spot, flirting with relegation-
At least of late poor Aston Villa fans can sympathise with that situation.

Still, congratulations! on becoming Birminghams second best,
Now two bum *Brum fans can still share in one common interest,
For one season the twain are Premier League teams, and so sitting pretty,
Both loving lording it over mutually loathed Wolves and Birmingham City.

*Appellation the lucky locals use for Birmingham.

©Obbverse

Colourful character Brazilian President Bolsonaro contracts a Covid cough; Sounds like a case of Karma to me.

Sniff.

So, the Brazilian President has a teeny touch of the flu.
Boo hoo.
Both green and red-faced, but consumptively battling through.
Aaaatishoo!

‘Simply donning a mask could’ve protected me- and you?’
WHO knew?
Now he thinks wrapping a mask over his mouth is the right thing to do?
Waaaaay overdue.

He could have picked the itchy nose he had as his first clue;
It grew.
He sees the look in the grave eyes of his masked medical crew.
Code Blue.

©Obbverse

I’ve been reminded lately of those misty-eyed memories of innocent school days. Lets start the lesson, shall we?

Done Learning.

One thing you’ll do as you approach a certain age
Is to take more notice of the ‘Family Notices’ page,
Though todays tabloid lacks yesteryears broadsheet heft
It’s a morbid pleasure checkin’ out who you know has left.

I like to read the morning paper before the afternoon
So one morn I ordered brunch and opened the Tribune;
The usual ho-hum news, more plague, pestilence and war,
Then I fell upon some news that shook me to my souls core.

The sweet mochaccino suddenly took on a sour taste,
The ever sunny tan faded as I sat staring, chalk faced,
For there, amongst the fine print writ bold in gothic font
Was news of a loss so heavy I dropped my damn croissant!

My old Deputy Headmaster of dear Hagleigh High- dead?
I raised my trembling hands up to hold my shaking head,
I thought of the lessons that Bertie had dutifully imparted,
How his role as leader was never less than whole-hearted.

I recalled the angles and planes of that indomitable face,
All those deep-seared lifelong lessons time cannot erase…
My concerned wife said I appeared to be the picture of grief,
She handed me some tissue, which I took with tearful relief.

The old Alma Mater had supplied a glowing obituary
For one most considered Hagleigh’s highest luminary,
The tale they told of this sainted man of the highest order
Compelled me to compile my thoughts on the Tribunes border.

In my day, at Hagleigh High the most I hoped to achieve
Was to gain School Certificate and honourably leave,
Unfortunately, to gain this certificate one had to pass
Both English and Mathematics- a step too far for me, alas.

To fail in either one meant one hadn’t made the grade,
You’d be cast off to the Armed Forces, or off to get a trade,
And the Deputy-Head taught my class Mathematics- of course!
One lousy week in his class saw him flogging this flagging horse.

I was made painfully aware I had deficiencies to overcome,
Not heeding screamed instructions? to him I’m deaf or dumb;
In my first month I knew mathematics could not be mastered
Thanks to a sneering confidence-sapping bat-crap crazy bastard.

I was left an an utter loss by Berties scrawlings on the board,
The answer I came up with was ‘shut up, pray to be ignored,’
Yet my English improbably improved with every word I wrote-
Penmanship forging ahead; I forged a most convincing sick note.

Pre-math class every morning you’d find me sitting, sweating
In the toilets, relieving myself of any chance of pants wetting,
Every other cubicle engaged by four-fifths of the Fifth Form,
Every coughing, wheezing weedy Kool kid smokin’ up a storm.

I do still recall those chill mornings, getting my knickers in a twist,
All I need is to roll the Rolex up, count the livid scars on my wrist.

So, to end my little bye bye Bertie story, I’m glad he’s gone to Glory,
But first, let’s hope, like me, he does three full years in Purgatory.

 

©Obbverse

A tall but all too true tale from the waiting room. So who deserves to get the treatment today?

Nothing To Sniff At.

My poorly daughter had to take a Coronavirus test,
She had the rheumy eyes, the hacking racking cough,
The red rubbed raw philtrum, the sputum filled chest
That feels constrained by a corset that won’t shuck off.

She found the testy nurse testing her tough to forgive,
It’s no fun when Nurse Ratched gets right up your nose,
The diagnosis she bitchily delivered back was a ‘negative,’
That’s almost worth a bloody deviated septum I suppose.

Donald Trump, GreaT leader, Good Book and sometimes churchgoing man, strong Law’n’order man and Lord knows what else.

No Sanctuary.

When God- and a good photo opportunity calls
Don beats a path to St John’s soot-stained walls
Where over those peaceably gathered a shadow falls.

Here’s where his political salvation may be found,
Don feels the need to make a stand on holy ground;
Strange, when odds are he’s downward bound.

Donald might not have bent a knee in years
But see him wave that bible as the smoke clears,
Christ alone knows this disservice will end in tears.