Category Archives: humor

‘Blimey, that toff, that fella who’s just moved down into Ten Downing Street- Strange name, I fink it’s Boris- he’s gone and been taken into the local ‘ospital.’

Heavy On The Irony.

It’s developed into a sobering, if slightly sick story
For Boris, our weird wonderful and wiggy top Tory,
He, who’d dismissed this virus with a toss of his hair,
Waving away silly concerns and germs with a jocular air.

But now Boris cannot shake off this snotty cold,
Today Boris must simply shut up and do as he’s told,
‘Must it be that Hospital?’ he whines to his physician-
For Boris it’s going to be an awkward public admission.

His treatment causes him humiliation and distress,
A bad patient’s view of the inner workings of the NHS,
It’s most disconcerting to discover some common blight
Afflicts even those so blindingly bleedingly obviously Right.

 

©Obbverse

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

Stay at home, obey the law, keep your distance? Someone’s doing me out of my self-important job!

Nosy Old Busybody.

They all say I’m crabby cantankerous and crotchety
But the elected head of my Neighborhood Watch is me,
I stick my nose out into our suspiciously silent leafy lane-
Usually it’s so loud and lively here I can’t hear myself complain.

Time to patrol my neighborhood,
Sniff out some villains up to no good.

Jim’s not sittin’ on his porch, flipping a finger as I pass,
Mrs Smith’s Shih Tzu isn’t out yapping all over the grass,
I see no congested traffic choking up our busy little road,
Only the twitch of a curtain as I pass each shuttered abode.

No-one’s out to share the love,
Fear and distrust go hand in glove.

I don’t hear the local kindergartens constant babble,
Surely I don’t miss wading through that rowdy rabble?
All those abject lessons in ‘doesn’t play well with others?’
All those SUV Minivan driving double-parking mothers?’

Children are neither heard nor seen,
The block’s quieter than it’s ever been.

There’s no cars idling outside the corner store,
Even Sanjay’s shut up shop and slammed his door,
I see no hoodie-clad ‘tweeners exchanging tinny treats,
Nope, no neighborhood gangs doing deals on my streets!

I can go home knowing they’re all stuck inside-
It just takes a pandemic to make my job a joyride.

Fox News: ‘Merican as apple sauce.

Right Again!

February: Just mild flu!

I’m left in absolute awe at Fox”s GreaT news.
I can’t dispute their pure unprejudiced views,
See my jaw hanging ajar, see my bugging eyes
As Fox friendlily sets dumb guys like me wise?

March: Mild unease grew.

Seems somehow Donald was in control all along!
Trust Fox to finagle a done right from a Don wrong,
Even as Hannity looks down on a hushed New York
That Tucker won’t shut down Don’s sick crazy talk.

April Fools Day: Sad but true.

Still they’ll hail the Chief’s every off-the-cuff decision,
Smiling benignly, knowing the viral shit-show’s arriven,
Still the Fox hosts loyally proclaim Don cannot be faulted!
With the stable door still ajar and the pale horse long bolted?

 

©Obbverse

With this nasty toxic brew doin’ the rounds its time to sit and reflect on tried and tested ways to help us forget our worries. C’mon, cheers up!

Always A Good Year.

In winters chill
I tend the still.

Come spring time
Dandelion wine’s truly sublime.

In summers heat
Aaaaaaaah, my home-brewed treat.

First autumnal gale?
Scrumpy, by the pail.

(For the uninitiated/uninebriated Scrumpy is a kind of a cider. With a kick.)

©Obbverse

Another existential crisis, another essential service rendered. Thanks, Mr Prez, we’re Greatful. So’s the NRA. Maybe overly so.

Finger On The Pulse.

Today some great big minds met,
They left the President greatly upset,
Time’s runnin’ out for the great vacillator,
Better crack on Don, and sooner than later.

Today Dithering Donny has acted decisively- at last,
He’s heard all the pleas, he’s stopped and taken heed,
They’ve Donsplained the facts, he’s gotta act, and fast,
Today Don will address the Republics pressing need.

These brave boys deserve all they can get,
It doesn’t matter if it puts US billions in debt,
Cuomo can waste his breath over some ventilator-
Don’s ‘Merican’s rights are far fu fundemently greater.

The days of worrying about social distancing have passed,
The gloves are off, your personal safety Don’s guaranteed,
You can march up to your gun shop now and have a blast,
Donald’s sure shootin for Team NRA in word act and deed.

Yeah, yeah, the rhyme pattern goes AABB to ABAB, but after today- shoot me.

 

©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