Category: holiday

Counting down the days till Christmas… and beyond. Somehow it kinda feels like holidays already.

Best Presents EVER.

We'll non-too-soon be seeing the end of Trump/Pence
Although Donald insists on living in the past tense,
His denying of fact, lack of tact and simple common sense
Means Don's childish tanTrumps still cause offence.

Forget fighting Covid, Don's focusing on firing off viral comments
And fragging his frazzled looking Secretary of Defence,
Don has sworn- loudly- he'll not spare one single donors expense
On recounting and courting his Supreme justice nonsense.

So though it's early, let's now let our Thanksgivings commence,
On till Christmas Eve fill the air with carols, joy and frankincense,
Then roll on January, when ends a reign of dumb ignorance,
Then we can all look forward to cool calm and quiet competence.






©Obbverse





			

			
				


	



			
				


			

			
Ah, the romance of a Route 66 road trip. Why bother overnighting at some manky Motel 6?
		
	
	

		

That Holiday Air.

We breezed into the Brunswick, followed our noses to the dining room,
'Twas a romantic hideaway boutiquey newly tarted-up historic hotel,
But when in authentic 30s Kingman hot young lovers cannot assume
Their Arizonan night of heavenly pleasures won't come -or go- to hell.

The owners had been penny wise when fitting out the Brunswick,
True to its history they'd turned to every possible cheap trick,
An attempt to retain all original features, all part of the plan;
So, creaking bedsprings and no air-con 'cept for the ol' ceiling fan.

Outside, a high desert wind buffeted the shuttered window pane,
Inside, an ill wind blew no good, thanks to a lousy hotels buffet,
Dawn saw the leaving of two wretches who will not return again,
Now neither of us talk of, much less wish to repeat that sorry day.





















(Written for Chel Owens A Mused poetry competition. Slightly modified from her PG13 requirement.)  This less than top rank effort contains a touch of poetically licensed exaggeration yet embarrassingly retains more than a whiff of pure unadulterated truth.








        
    
	


	



			
				


			

			
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


 


 


 

	


	



			
				


			

			
Roaming free sure ain’t what it used to be, not in these topsy-turvy times.
		
	
	

		
A Failure To Communicate.


All my giddy plans for more overseas travel

Have begun to chafe and fray and unravel,

It’s a quiet cruisy life here in the South Pacific,

But sometimes ‘quiet’ borders on the soporific.


When you’re stuck down in the Shaky Isles

A month in lonely lockdown has its trials,

Here we’re so far from the madding crowd,

Here, straying from our bubble is not allowed.


Netflix only goes so far in breaking the tedium,

And I’ve wearied of the always Right medium

So I tuned out news of the ever-present Covid

Turned off that big screen and gone off the grid.


But then my trusty Hewlett-Packard packed up

And how quickly my un-spammed mail backed up,

Now this is a lonely planet to be stuck in on my own

And I’m slowly losing friends thanks to a fading i-phone.


So I thought it timely to clean out the e-mails-

Those casual offers to meet consenting females-

One-off deals guaranteed to double your income-

Offers to collect a share of a Nigerian’s Princely sum.


So I trawled my way manfully through the spam,

I deleted every charitable plea and cheap scam,

Finally the excremental electronic dumping was done;

Then came my first message… would it be a welcome one?


Qantas called, said my frequent flier miles, set to expire

Would be honorably exchanged, should I so desire,

For a once in a lifetime trip on a luxury cruise ship-

I deleted that with one indignant finger flip.

	


	



			
				


			

			
Every day, in its well-worn way the world turns and the seasons oh so slowly change. But this foul Fall day is going to be a blur.
		
	
	

		
Losing It.


Today I woke to a morning bright and crisp and clear

Then I felt my sunny autumnal smile freeze then disappear,

Daylight Savings Day in Fall’s a dark day I’ve come to hate,

A long brunch, dinner at four, tucked up in bed at eight!


In summertime every second saved- warmly enjoyed,

Beers, barbecues, every hour spent leisurely employed,

But when them leaves fall and long days grow short

I regret not saving for a rainy day, a last sunny resort.


All Sunday is a haze, spent wondering if I’ve woken,

Wondering if I’ve cat-napped, if that Fitbit’s broken?

What a waste of time, one lousy hour of morning light

Exchanged for a far longer hour of dark cold winters night.


©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


 

	


	



			
				


			

			
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

	


	



			
				


			

			
A plea (in the ear) to Aussie PM Scott Morrison. As their bushfires rage on, their smoke drifts over and engulfs two little islands those Aussies love to belittle. Ps: Lawbreakers born in New Zealand, even if they moved to Oz as babes in arms, can and have been deported ‘back home’ to NZ.
		
	
	

		
A Call From Your Neighborly Kiwis.


Scotty, pal, mate, sorry to interrupt your holiday,

You’re hot and frazzled but we’ve something to say,

We’ve put up with becoming the dumping ground

For the Kiwi criminal element you’ve forensicly found.


We don’t mind your cricketers condescending views,

We don’t mind pitching over the ditch fresh fire crews,

We Kiwis don’t mind being the butt of your every joke,

But Scott, don’t dump on us with your second hand smoke.


 


©Obbverse

	


	



			
				


			

			
Isn’t Christmas great? I love the tradition, the gathering together of close family, the joyous imbibing. the gross consumption at the groaning table. Ah, good times.
		
	
	

		
Feastive Season, Festive Air.


That’s another Christmas meal complete,

Once again I’ve had far too much to eat,

Now here I sit, heavily settling in my seat,

Next, the dessert round, but first, the prickly heat.


I swore this year to avoid Ma’s tasty treat

But World Peace demands I keep her sweet,

And as the belt on my pants buckles in defeat-

Same ol’ story as last year, I’m bound to repeat.


 


©Obbverse

	


	



			
				


			

			
As the big day approaches it’s time wonder if we might get something from our secret Santa? Or ’tis it the season to hark back on folly?
		
	
	

		
Too Long To List.


Santa’s made his list and closed his book,

On Christmas day naughty boys will vainly look

For all they’ve wanted, but they’ll be looking sad,

Certainly for a certain one who’s been bad- too bad.


That rascal is up at dawn on Christmas day,

He’s been perfectly good… well, in his own way,

Donny looks at his super-sized Christmas stocking,

Flapping on the Mar-a-lago mantle, empty, mocking.


On the stocking is pinned a note,

In explanation Saint Nick kindly wrote:

‘Sorry old son, my limit’s been reached,

Maybe next year, if you ain’t impeached.’


 


©Obbverse