Category Archives: Brexit

Smiling glad-handing back-slapping Boris Johnson is going to have to dial back his endless flow of bonhomie, at least for a while. Finally, someone can tell him to give it a rest.

Wake Up Call.

It’s a dark day behind the black door at 10 Downing street,
Boris’s short tenure here isn’t going quite as he’d planned-
From victory over Brexit and savouring Labours defeat
To solitary confinement in the best address in the land.

He can’t simply shamble outdoors, he can’t meet or greet,
Stuck in bed, sat at home at the doctors express command,
His tousled look looks too real, with his pale face white as a sheet?
Nah, not even his (gl)amorous girlfriend wants to take his… hand.

 

©Obbverse

Brexit is no longer a piddling little speck on the horizon. And yet a feeling of holiday atmosphere lingers over the brave little islanders as they dip a toe into the chill waters of the English channel. Way out there on the beach.

Going Swimmingly.

Not overly long ago life was so grand
‘Ere in England’s green and pleasant land,
From ships sterns the standard proudly flew-
By George, by Jingo, we ruled the seas so blue.

Welcomed in at any unspoilt port of call
Cook’s motley crew set in for the long haul.

Great Britain could justly claim
That they truly earned the name,
And so a mighty empire was built-
Worth every bit of patriotic blood spilt.

Cast a look at any old maritime map,
Rubber, oil, maple syrup- there to tap.

How swift Great Britain’s influence spread,
Half the world was washed in Rich Empire Red,
In far flung lands did the good folk feel enriched
Seeing their flag, ‘neath a Union Jack, newly stitched?

Eventually, if you keep on taking from a friend
All things- goods, oil, sweet deals- come to an end.

Her Majesty’s once Great Navy now looks half rate,
Time and tide have taken toll on the old boilerplate,
Old empty vessels, ready for scrapping if not seafaring,
Now the centuries old Union is ragged and wearing.

But brave little Britain, with a fair wind at her back
Push off from Europe, raising finger and Union Jack.

For the jolly old Empire is empirically sinking,
Great minds and high hopes are ever shrinking,
Is Britain’s role as a world power now historical?
Lets not ask the Great Question when it’s rhetorical.

 

 

©Obbverse

Boris Johnson, from mayor to nightmare in the blink of an eye.

Going Blondly Where None Have Gone Before.

Since Boris Johnson has taken command
Of England’s grim and unpleasantly divided land
Do you wonder where Parliamentary democracy went?
That question gets short shrift from Boris The Omnipotent.

Want some time for Parliamentary debate?
Boris smilingly says ‘sorry, but time’s up, too late,’
Now that Boris’s big butt’s behind the steering wheel
It’s foot down to throttle any rumblings about his no deal.

BoJo is hellbent on doing what Teresa couldn’t achieve,
Boris’s going to fu- fly off, and without a buy-your-leave,
Driving blindly forward to where there’s no coming back,
Bozo’s exiting,hard, Right, into a cold unfriendly cul-de-sac.

 

©Obbverse

Boris strolls in to 10 Downing Street and Theresa hands the chalice on to Boris. Well, sup up, enjoy the sweet taste, tousle-headed one.

Behind The Black Door.

As Tess’s tenure at Number 1O comes to a close
It’s ta-ta to our failed frazzled fading English rose,
Slowly down Downing Streets steps she grudgingly goes,
Then up steps blow-hard Boris, striking his grinning pose.

After passing ‘neath Boris’s victorious sneer
Tess turns, takes a look back shedding ‘nary a tear,
Theresa suppresses the smile that strives to appear;
One grateful Briton, glad to be gettin’ the hell outta here.

Outside the door where she’d once stood, stammering,
Boris is the boy for whom all the Brexiteers are clamouring;
Tess knows after six months of political Sturm Und Drangering
Boris will be beside himself, behind the door, getting a hammering.

 

©Obbverse

Theresa May, Boris Johnson, Donald Trump all set to collide in an uneasy meeting of the minds.

Hands Off.

Poor Theresa May is finding this leaving lark tough,
Trump is coming a’calling just when Boris calls her bluff,
Boris’ untimely and boorish approach she should rebuff-
She ain’t no bloody Boadicea, but she’s made of stern stuff-
But she is oh so tempted to hand it to that tousle-haired scruff.

Let Bo take the tiny hand that slithers from the silken cuff,
A pedicured pampered hand, yet a touch… course and rough,
Let them bond over common interests; trade, markets, dandruff?
But Tess does know one red white and blue bastard is quite enough,
So she’ll smile, lie and try to think of England and not stalk off in a huff.

Awash with spatters of red, blue bloods running around in horror- Parliament Movies presents- ‘Fright Night’ in gorious Technicolor! See- Theresa May look aghast! Hear- the screams of battered backbenchers! Feel the angst!

Fright Night.

The sun rose bold and bright
After Great Britain’s polling day,
But all was not sweetness and light
In the Household of Theresa May.

As the race closed, Tess’s face pinched tight
when she saw the vote wasn’t going her way,
This poor PM looked a sad and sorry sight;
Ms May looked the very personification of dismay.

But who can she blame for her present plight?
Her once sunny future is looking grimly grey,
Who turned out to prove she was wrong- and Right?
Those Left, the hoi poloi, Corbyn’s oh-so common clay.

Sour Note.

David Camerons strange exit strategy…
A smile, a so-long AND a song.

Leaving On A Sour Note.

David stands outside Number Tens dark door,
Strange how it doesn’t feel like home any more,
But since the vote didn’t go his way he won’t stay,
He won’t be overstaying his welcome, come what May.

His farewell speech all said and done
He savours one last moment in the sun,
Yet in his breast he finds he feels not grief
But a burgeoning sense of welcome relief.

He didn’t know he was already ready to depart,
He walks away, a spring in his step, a song in his heart,
Unburdened at last, it’s a jaunty tune that he’s humming;
But really David, ‘Anarchy In The UK’ is most unbecoming.