When you’re Blue, you don’t sing; For this copper, silence IS golden.

Part Three: Who Do You Protect And Who Do you Serve?

The case of Justine’s shooting moves funereally slow,
Have the Polis closed ranks lest their Apprehension show?

In high summer the skies of Minneapolis look gray,
Up there, there may be a break of blue, but who’s to say?

How difficult getting Officer Noor’s testimony is proving,
Just as Justine lies silent, so too his lips remain cold, unmoving.

No apology, no point, no reason of why he shot that night;
Hoping to ride it out, hide out till the Press switch their spotlight?

Had it been one who administers the law who’d died
Would not the shooter already be tried or at least inside?

As time trails by, in a chill alley, shadowed, dark,
The trail goes cold, fading like a forgotten chalk mark.

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Messy Christmas.

The time of year for Lords a’leaping. Time to spread a little joy and happiness to those of us who love the season with all our hearts. Carol singing, bells ringing,
Etc etc.

Messy Christmas.

At long last the Yuletide season has arrived,
Its been a bad business year but I’ve survived,
I unlocked my cabinet, poured a wee tipple-
What the Hell, might as well, I made it a triple.

Nowadays a tumbler of Tullamore Dew
(When I say one, I really mean two,)
Helps me to sit back, relax and unwind,
Put the pain of the past year from my mind.

I know its best to sup it nice and slow,
Savour that flavour, enjoy the warm glow,
But lately I find I crave the comfort it provides,
And now that first sip rarely touches the sides.

That drop of the Dew had me dropping off to sleep,
Then from above I heard someone stealthily creep,
A heavy boot scraping up on the second floor-
Every year those old boards creak a little more.

In an instant I was wide awake,
Some burglar was making a bad mistake,
In the cabinet my hand searched for and found
Something comfortably heavy and cold and round.

In a voice that shook with righteous indignation
I asked the interloper upstairs for an explanation;
‘Better make yourself known to me , friend
Or else our meeting’s coming to a nasty end.’

Up the stairs I crept, and I found my proof-
A burglars boot disappearing up on the roof,
So I did what any pissed homeowner would do-
I’d take it back in a minute if I were able to.

Lord knows I’m sorry to have been the cause
Of ruining Christmas for both kids and Santa Claus,
Santa could’ve kept on delivering to a ripe old age,
But he’s not, since he got in the way of my 12 gauge.

Wildest Dreams.

Waking up in a cold sweat late in the night. Yes, it is Halloween but there are limits, surely?

Wildest Dreams.

Up on to his gilded throne King Donald the First climbs,
Tossing his blue collared followers a few nickels and dimes,
Threatening the unRighteous that she’ll pay for her crimes,
And sending some off on vacation to more hospitable climes.

When I voted I didn’t think… I’d live in such excitng times.

He’s going (or gunning) to make America great once more,
With Donald negotiating, who needs the Diplomatic Corps?
He may be slow on the uptake but he’s quick on the draw.
I wonder what wonders Donald and Vladimir have in store?

Now don’t you wish you didn’t get what you wished for?

Up In Arms.

Getting into the minds of the gun lobby in the USA. A scary place.

Up In Arms.

As the Vice- President of the NRA
Republicans kowtow to every word I say,
And to Obamas frustration and dismay
A few straight shootin’ Democrats see it my way.

The Second Amendment we unthinkingly obey,
Say ‘gun control’ here and hear our roundelay,
No no no no no no way no no no no way Jose,
No, you won’t take the fun out of our gunplay.

Should Trump fire up and win the day
He’ll look south in his insightful inciteful way
To where Mexico awaits, a border away,
His aim’s building walls not bridges, compadre.

A few casualties amongst those unabashedly gay
Is a price Right-thinking strait-laced Christians will pay,
God knows, for their souls we fervently pray-
But good God, don’t try to take our guns away.

Babes’n’arms.

Babes’n’arms.

Another frazzled mom driving down the highway,
She has packed a lot (and a tiny tot) into her busy day,
There’s no time to stop and smell the roses once its begun-
Let us hope that today won’t be her final one.

But from underneath the front seat
A forty calibre pistol slid out at the feet
Of her itchy fingered inquisitive two-year old-
Its a scenario that makes the blood run cold.

What chance he’d find the trigger- and pull it?
What were the long odds he’d let loose a bullet?
But matricide is going to haunt this innocent son,
Guess we can be grateful he didn’t call ‘shotgun.’

Such a mournful tale that church bell tolled-
Toddlers and guns should be strictly controlled,
What lesson can we take from a mother too soon gone?
Don’t go off half-cocked without the safety on?

A mother in Milwaukee gets shot by her pre-school son,
He found a gun under the front seat, the child is in
the back, gets hold of the loaded gun. Another lesson
in the power of the Second Amendment?

Gilt Trip.

A take on Jamie Gilt, a pro-gun horse-loving safety minded mother who wound up shot in the front seat by her own child. Not in a restraint, kid found a loose gun in the back. ‘Guns don’t kill people, guns kill people.’ So goes the NRA slogan [sic] .

Gilt Trip

Pretty cute kid,
But why ever did
Not someone or the other
Shake some sense into your mother?

Surely its wrong
To be riding along
With your precious cargo unsecured?
Toddlers are loose cannons, I’ve heard.

Still, she never
Could be called clever,
A gung-ho pro-gun Facebook debater
Who’ll shoot first, ask questions later.

Ain’t guns fun?
For this mothers son,
Bored, on a long drive
Excitement is a loaded forty-five.

Hard to ignore
Sliding round the floor;
He’s one quick tiny tot,
Grabbed that gun- like a shot.

Leaving guns in a child’s reach
Is a clear criminal breach,
What did Mommy say?
Shooting’s child’s play.

Well prepared for assault and attack
She got her own back,
A good Doctor found
One clean round.

As she’s writhing on that gurney
Does she regret her journey?
Shot to Kingdom Come;
Pretty dumb mum.