What thoughts spring to the Mighty Ones mind as we march towards the third of November?

Going Postal.

A day after another inauspicious red letter day-
150,000 Coronavirus victims went on their way-
Donald turns away from figures that make him squirm
And focuses his GreaT mind on securing a second term.

Dons polling is of concern, despite what he does say,
From where he sits perhaps its time to kneel and pray?
Or since Roger Stone’s now free to come up with a suggestion
He’ll open the whole Democratic Election system into question?

In his empowered position Don feels a powerful need to stay,
So now’s no better time to suggest just a slight election day delay,
An election free of mail voting, who could think of anything greater?
Like his Pandemic plan Don vows he’s bound to get to it, sooner or… later.

©Obbverse

Even among those who truly do believe it’s said that life ain’t fair. Now, from the depths of these dark Covid days, out of deepest Michigan, does one hear a faint forlorn ‘hallelujah?’ A warning: Very dark humour.

The Lords Calling.

This Coronavirus does not discriminate
Between the low sinner or the high saint,
For those shown the fickle finger of fate
Some truly believe they have reason for complaint.

In one Michigan nunnery the book tells a sad story,
Despite many a rosary rolled and crosses kissed
Thirteen nuns have been prematurely called to glory,
Thirteen unlucky brides of Christ, sadly missed.

A life of bending the knee to help fallen mothers,
A life where the Good Book is unfailingly right,
A life where sinful pleasures are reserved for others,
A nuns life is black and white and buttoned down tight.

Nuns who’ve spent many long years serving the Lord
In the hope of being taken- eventually- up to Paradise,
Vows of poverty and chastity for only promised reward?
Does ones poor grey short life seem one hell of a sacrifice?

Let us hope when one is consigned to earth
That ones belief remained eternally strong,
And let us pray, for what it’s damn well worth
That ones last thought ain’t ‘Jesus, was I wrong?’

(I do feel for the loss; Though I may not believe I can hope their belief is not misplaced.)

©Obbverse.

In these touchy times the high-flying aviation-fuelled travel industry is whining down. Seems most people like staying safe and secure at home. Most.

Fly, My Pretties!

These are painful days
For those in aviation,
Passengers preferring home-stays
And stowing the vacation.

There’s hardly anyone flying,
There’s little cash flow,
Even with rebates applying
Where the Hell to go?

I’m not flying anywhere
El Cheapo fares or not
I daren’t fly Ryanair-
Certainly not fu- flying Aeroflot.

Thanks to Covid 19
People cain’t safely roam,
It’s weeks in quarantine
Or stay safe at home.

Littering up every airport,
Aircraft from every land,
Long haul Dreamliners, caught short
Flightlessly sit and stand.

Airbuses and Bombardiers abound,
There’s buttloads of big-as Boeings
Settling into the soggy ground,
ain’t no comings or goings.

Now travel’s reached an impasse
Retain all tickets and receipts,
Once the plane’s kicked off the grass
We’ll happily hold your seats.

Still, in the States
Passengers still take flight,
Despite soaring infection rates,
It’s their unrestricted Right.

There there’s no travel ban,
Fly off where’er you please,
Be a high-steppin’ travellin’ man,
Ignore that infectious sneeze.

Some  refuse to be tied down,
Some have deadlines to meet,
At another place, another town,
Scything down from 20,000 feet.

So, fasten your safety belt,
Breath that recirculated air,
Offer up a prayer, heartfelt
That you’ve packed clean underwear.

Only a brave foolhardy few
Spread wings and fly,
If that someone is you
Good luck, and goodbye.

 

©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

Donald J. Trump, or in his mind, the Lone Ranger; The latest mutterings and musings from behind the mask. Hi-Yo psychosis away!

Who Sees A Problem?

Has our unmasked hero decided to stand up?
Donnny says he has masked up and manned up,
He says that mask makes him look like the Lone Ranger-
No more will he be laughing loonily in the face of danger.

But the Lone Ranger wore his mask to cover his eyes
Not as a medical protector but as a personal disguise,
Then, Don feared wearing a mask wouldn’t look Presidential, right?
Pushing a mouth mask up over his peepers, now don’t he look a sight?

Hey, even getting Don to consider any mask ranks as a bonus-
As his long-standing contemptuous sniffing at Corona’s shown us-
So even if he stumblingly emerges from the darkness, dimly blinking
At least it’s one baby-step on his journey out of blind blinkered thinking.

©Obbverse

When you’re a Great – a really great, so unbelievably great- reality TV star, why would you hide your best asset?

That Open Infectious Smile.

Here’s a question too few Trump flunkies dare to ask;
‘Mr President Sir, why don’t you deign to don a mask?’

Even when Mr doting lap-dog Vice-President Pence
Says wearing a protective mask makes Great sense?

Now, covering up old affairs Don sees as only sensible,
No-one, certainly not Don, wants to look reprehensible.

Don believes his cherub-cheeked face is his shining glory,
That his sunny saintly smile can sell any half-assed story.

See, he wants his words to ring out strong and clear,
To spread his sick sad soliloquies into the atmosphere.

Ask about his taxes though, and he draws the veil,
When it comes back to taxes, privacy must prevail.

Don has facts he’ll openly doctor, and grudges to nurse
So why would he mask the brightest star in his universe?

Donald wants to show his public the full-frontal view,
The fake tan, the pearly white teeth, the eyes o’ blue.

Squint below the tinted TRESemme-ed locked-down hair
And see what cold soulless depths lie deep down there?

But, clothing his mouth… nope, Don could never embrace it;
He’d look even more like a bandit in a bandana, let’s face it.

 

(Background theme for this could be Frank Zappa ‘I’m The Slime’.  Just a thought, I’m in a whimsical mood today.)

©Obbverse.

Tennis star Novak Djokovic’s stubborn stance on playing through the pandemic proves problematic.

Return Of Service.

Oh, naive Novak Djokovic, where have you been?
Traipsing around Serbia, serving up Covid-nineteen?
Showing unmasked contempt for any possible vaccine
Till a routine swab returns results Novak hadn’t foreseen,
Novak was positive his snot samples would come back clean:
Gone from playing in open tournaments to staying in quarantine.

 

©Obbverse

No standing O in Oklahoma for Don’s empty performance. Sad!

Tulsa Turnaround.

The Trump Tribe were a’beating a path to his Tulsa rally,
The Okie dopey’s all a’lined up to be wowed by the high chief,
But today Donald’s high expectations for his crowd don’t tally,
Don’s claims for his latest GreatesT sell-out strain only belief.

Though rural Oklahoma’s no place Slick City Don wishes to dally
Still Donald’s speech rambles on, he wouldn’t think to make it brief,
His is the biggest shit-storm that’s ever blown down Tornado Alley-
Any protester he sees is a window-breaking rapacious pillaging thief.

Donald tries hard to work the thin crowd up to a cheering finale,
For those not his enamoured fans the limp end came as a grim relief,
It’s a climax as faked as Ms. Ryan evinced in ‘When Harry Met Sally,’
Perhaps here in the Big O is where Don’s re-election comes to grief?

 

©Obbverse

Controlling the covid by keeping everyone at home has meant housing for the homeless is happening at last. Some, however, feel more at home back out on the street.

Parked Up, Off Street.

Call me one crazy cat
Or crazy as a shit-house rat,
Or a footloose lush and loser.

I’m a surly solitary soul,
An unsociable drunk, on the whole,
Happy alone, I don’t think.

Back outside here I’m sat,
Back in my natural habitat,
Tipplin’ back ‘nother Vodka Cruiser.*

Life keeps taking a spiritual toll
So I keep filling the empty hole
With every drop I can drink.

 

*Cheap and nasty Kiwi alcopop.

 

©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.