What a treat to see Boris up and about, all dewy-eyed over the latest addition to the Johnson legacy! Makes you love the lovable rogue even more, don’t it?

Daddy Issues.

‘Born to Bo and Carrie, a thick-thatched boy child,’
Styled much in the manner of his Poppa, carefree and wild,
Boris’s sixth, joining three daughters and two brothers
Selectively spread over three decades and three mothers.

After his brush with mortality can Bo be a changed man?
Rigidly stick to Carrie’s ‘Keep Johnson In-His-Pants Family Plan?
Carrie, just trust Bo to not carry on, Carrie, try to keep calm,
Bo’s put two partners behind him, so… third mom’s the charm?

 

©Obbverse.

Every time I think I’ve met the perfect woman some tiny little flaw seems to ruin my hopes of bliss. I can’t imagine why.

Everybody’s Best Bud.

After being rudely ejected from the Nags Head
I wandered up to the Star’s bar and woozily said
‘Barkeep, I’d like a shot of Johnny Walker Black-
Better bring the bottle, save you coming back.’

‘Hey, I’ll sip here quietly, leant against the wall,
Hey, you won’t even know I’m here till last call,
Good old Johnny is company enough for me,
He’s all I’ll need to help erase her memory.’

She wanted the ‘security’ marriage brings,
My freedom in exchange for two cheap rings,
My fancy-free days have come at quite a cost,
She showed me her door, told me to get lost.

Could she dump me so easily out of her apartment?
Forgetting the week I once chipped in with the rent?
The time I selflessly cleaned out the beer refrigerator?
So now she says I’m a drunken loser and see ya later?

She heaved me out, left me with no place to go,
Barkeep, I hardly had a chance to grab a momento,
I took her cookie jar, to remind me of the good times,
I swear it’s mine it’s chock-full of hard-sworn dimes.

Finally everyone but the barkeep and I had moved on,
The time was nigh, even my friend John had gone,
Then for the second time today I was shown the door-
Barkeep, ain’t no hospitality in your business anymore.

Twice this day this bum’s been kicked to the street,
This time by a size fourteen foot direct to my seat,
I tumbled to the pavement, my head began to spin
Staggered he could toss me out in the state I was in.

Another one to add to the list of ‘you’re barred’ bars
It felt fitting to lay there, alone, looking up at the stars
As mien host locked up and pulled down the shutters;
Yet another night, sleeping tight in the Gorbals gutters.

(The Gorbals is  a less-than-salubrious part of peaceful bonny Glasgow town.)

 

©Obbverse

Ah, that first crushing of tender young love. The scars fade and we move on. Try to move on. Ah, to be an automaton.

Dead Mans Chest.

I saw her here,
I saw her there,
It would appear
I saw her everywhere.

In the school bus
I sat and stared,
I dreamed of us
As if she she cared.

In my fevered mind
I looked suave and cool,
She remained obdurately blind,
Friends agreed, kind of cruel.

Then, as we passed by
A look, though fleeting
Registered in her eye-
Two pupils meeting.

So it came to pass
With one come-hither glance
That Delilah of a lass
Led this fool a merry dance.

She had her fun
Sadly at my expense,
Fair heart not won-
Her warm heart a pretense.

She left me distraught,
That devils daughter,
Without a second thought
Wrenched at my aorta.

My dreams shattered,
Much like my pride,
Left bowed and battered
Something deep inside me died.

Now I’ve a busted heart,
Broken in twain,
The only good bloody part,
It won’t break ever again.

 

 

©Obbverse

Keeping social interaction at bay is easy-peasy. Simply stay in ones home. But keeping boredom at bay, now that comes with its own issues.

Boundaries Of Reason.

The unwelcome virus arrived one cold day,
It’s settled right in and looks set to stay,
Like a Jehovah’s Witness it won’t go away.

With no cure or vaccination known
We’re advised to stay at home, alone-
What better company to be in but my own?

I thought I’d love lounging about, being lazy,
Rolling in bed, hours and days, getting hazy,
But I’m getting paranoid or going stir crazy.

I thought I’d take it all in my stride,
This keeping your distance, staying inside-
Now my gripping company I can’t abide.

I’ve re-read every last book, cover to cover,
I’ve re-recounted that night with my first lover,
My eyesight’s shot ‘tween books and thinking of her.

 

©Obbverse

From heights Olympian to the hum drum. I read a frazzled woman’s blog, I heard her frustration and imagined her next step. (Too much time on my scrubbed clean covid and germ-free hands, I imagine.)

Left In The Dust.

At school I’d daydream through the long boring classes,
Heroic tales of Hera and Hercules, so the lesson passes.

Exchanging today’s tedium’s for yesterday’s mythic stories,
Tall tales of ancient battles, of Achilles and Paris’s vain glories.

These days I’ve a Hades of a life, dragging the kids out of bed,
Getting ’em washed and fresh-faced and dressed and fed.

No honeyed milk nor sweet ambrosia bless this houses breakfast table,
Three growing boys, fling in food fights and I’m left an Augean stable.

Packed lunches, back packs and pack ’em in the Minivan;
Every morning this Moms labors become more Herculean.

Whatever happened to those long lost schoolgirl’s dreams?
Romantic fantasies of Helen of Troy, of a thousand triremes?

…Waiting at the red light, back to the past I absently wander
Till horns and a green light remind me my Odyssey’s a Honda.

The journey to school has all the usual boystrous push and shove,
A display of more pokes pinches and punches than brotherly love.

Spilling out the sliding door, off with nary a backward glance,
I’m rueing too many wasted days- and three nights of romance.

The Greek God I thought loved me eternally now no longer cares,
I naively married a Narcissus interested in his silly human affairs.

This ever-smiling mother, his secondary lover is going to disappear,
There is a Troy, a Carthage, Athens, Paris, Texas- anywhere but here.

 

Obbverse

Any time is a good time to go on holiday, to travel, explore new horizons, enjoy the pleasures of warm and close companionships. Up until very recently, anyway.

I was sick of works demands,
I wished to see some idle hands,
So I booked myself a sea cruise,
Well, what did I have to lose?

A life out on the ocean wave,
A licence to frolic and misbehave,
To stroll in Speedos with tanned chest,
Pull in the gut, leave the lasses impressed.

To what depravities I sunk,
Every night in a new bunk,
My lustful life was never finer-
I love life on an ocean liner.

But come one fine morning I awoke
Feeling like when I used to smoke,
But the ships Doc’s there for such ills-
Plus, I needed more lil’ blue pills.

The Doc’s voice took on a worried note
As he peered down my ticklish throat,
And as we approached American waters
I found I was confined to my quarters.

No more late-night fun and games,
No more early morning walk of shames,
Into my teeny tiny cabin I was shown
To spend a fortnight all on my own.

I’ve got a Gideons bible and a battered paperback,
Grand Cruise brochures litter the magazine rack,
Free Living and Disney channels are all very nice
But I wish they’d arrange Wi-Fi for my De-Vice.

I don’t mind being forcibly detained,
I realise a nasty virus must be contained,
The Cap’ns bound to put in protective measures
He doesn’t care a toss about my fleshly pleasures.

Here we’re moored, off San Francisco Bay,
And what to do to while the time away?
It’s ten more days till I’m back on deck,
Idle hands mean I’ll be a physical wreck.

 

©Obbverse

 

Money can’t buy you love or happiness, or popularity, so the song goes. For an ex-mayor of New York this is both sad and true.

Lost Its Bloom.

So ex-mayor Mike’s power jump has failed,
Those high White House walls remain unscaled,
His late ill-founded but well-funded quest
Has seen a cool half billion bucks go West.

So, no Presidency for poor saintly Mike,
Too many found there’s not much to like.

For a mighty rich man it’s a humbling thought-
Even a Trump tarnished presidency cain’t be bought,
Or perhaps the Big Apple is sick of GreaT big talkers,
One old rich white ass is enough for most New Yorkers.

Mike’s taken a costly kick in the pants, and a civil censure,
His overly frisky bad cop stops still proving a risky venture.

 

©Obbverse

Welcome to a blended extended thermo-nuclearly unhappy family. Not to mention, family planning.

A Few Hard Home Truths.

What a grand and great relationship
We’ve forged lovingly together,
We’ll not let our moorings slip
Despite bouts of inhospitable weather.

We’ve now been married for a year,
They say the first one is the worst,
But most who hold us near and dear
See we’re so loved-up we could almost burst.                                                                                                  ,
I’m grateful for this little home we share,
Your family is largely accommodating,
But believe me, I’ve been made painfully aware
That some pleasure in my company’s dissipating.

Every day our love grows stronger
Than it was the day before,
But, Love, it won’t last much longer
If I must abide with Mother-in-law.

I do so love my lovely wife
Yet it feels we still live in sin,
Yes, we’re blessedly Wedding Mass sanctified
But these humble walls are paper thin.

So here we are on our anniversary
And as my darling leans in for a kiss
Through the wall I hear my old adversary-
In the kitchen, hear the steaming boilers hiss?

So let’s not stay celibately in tonight,
Lets sneak out and celebrate our wedding day,
We’ll luxuriate in the Hotel Grands suite delight-
Sometimes we all need to get off and away.

 

 

©Obbverse

Roses, wine, chocolates, gooey texts, sweet words of love on Valentine’s Day. Then, sometimes, the magic will be unleashed and love will have its way. Them rare sweet days when pure logic takes a back seat. Gotta love ’em!

Valentine’s Day Masala.

Tearily I recall that night after Valentines Day, I
Pulled Cavalierly into that cold unromantic lay-by,
After a rich meal spiced up with cheap sparkling wine
Surely my beloved would melt in these arms of mine?

Casanova had found it particularly galling
When he found he was hopelessly falling
For a Catholic girl who felt honour bound
To go up the aisle pure and white gowned.

The light of love and Moscato filled her sparkling eyes,
As chocolate liqueurs served me in my dark enterprise
I leaned in, desperately keen to express the love I felt…
Ain’t no getting past the cold shoulder or chastity belt.

 

 

PS; I know the last couplet might sound uncomfortably close to Chuck Berry’s, but with some rhymes there’s only one particular way it can go. So, close, Chuck, but no cigar.

 

©Obbverse.

The Rolling Stones front man goes under the knife for a little bit of maintenance. Time waits for no man, Mick my boy.

Surgery For The Ol’ Devil.

Old Sir Mick just keeps on a’rolling,
Geriatric Mick prefers jiving to strolling,
But now, in his seventies his step’s begun to stutter
His high-living past has set his stony heart all a’flutter.

A dickey heart valve needs refurbishment
For Micks old ticker’s taken some punishment,
There’s no doubt when it comes to wear and tear
Micks plucky organ’s done more than its fair share.

Now the old pump is suffering from overuse,
But in Micks case it sure ain’t down to self abuse,
Cigarettes and bad habits have contributed to his current issues
But his old wives and girlfriends won’t be reaching for the tissues.

 

©Obbverse