‘Hi, Neil Parish? Boris here; please hand your resignation and phone in. Now.’ Another stupid Tory MP brazenly seen to be doing the wrong thing.

Screen All Calls, Neil.

The fine folk of Teviton and Hoviton, down in Devon
Thought they lived in a slice of pure Southern heaven,
A quiet place where the salt of the earth simply dwell-
Now Neil Parish has blown the sweet illusion all to Hell.

For twelve years he'd toiled in the House to little regard,
A hack back bencher doing House work but doin' it hard,
Few call on him, rare are the times Neil's moved to stand,
He's usually left to ruminate on his phone, rapt in his hand.

He was found out in the House of Commons, watching porn,
Not alone, in the Roxy, in the dark with a box of hot popcorn?
Why, once again we see another Tory sat sad and contrite,
Offering up the best rushed apology he had time to write,
He knows he must live with this act for the rest of his life...
Which mightn't be long, once he's in the grip of his wife.

Once hubby is resigned and restrained within her four walls
Wifey might whip him a flip-top so he can answer his calls,
For hubby now a no-frills no-thrills Nokia surely suffices;
Not-so-smart Neil cannot be left to his phone (de)vices.

Come the Election, if Boris's Party Time culminates in a rout
Will House breeches help to get Blue members tossed out?

‘I seem to have an unhealthy attraction towards tractors. And I hope my trembling hand ain’t shaking too much.’
‘Now this, Sir, is a proper Pleasure Palace. Sit down, and PLEASE turn your phone OFF.’


Boris Johnson is resigned to have to apologise. A simple resignation would be… just better.

Party Time.

Boris knows he has to admit to his mistake,
Never been a thing he felt obligated  to make,
But given there's principles a PM's future at stake
He'll make his sad and sorry apology, for pity's sake.

Though well practiced,  Bo knows sincerity's hard to fake.

Oh, Boris Johnson, why don't you just resign?
Your blithe denials about 'a quick birthday wine'
Have resulted in the cops slapping you with a fine-
For you breaking your own rules, you pompous swine.

Your gullible public can't swallow that fatuous lie line.

See Boris front up and 'fess up to a minor mistake,
(Though Bo believes rules are made for him to break)
As a clear and transparent apology his is muddily opaque,
A strained 'sorry' comes as hard for him to say as us to take.

This steamin' hot mess Bo aims to pile on us is no birthday cake. 

Oh, Bonehead Johnson, you know it is just to resign,
Surely, even you must see your star has lost its shine?
Boris, dare you consider- God forbid- you are not divine?
There's talk of you and coups coming down the grapevine.

So go Bo- your Party contains more pricks than a porcupine.

‘Oi, polloi!- Boris Johnson, at your bumbling humble service.’


Just a frustrated note on- or to- the empty-headed asshats who fill whatever park they feel ably fits their needs.

(Free verse- not my fave- required for Chel Owens Terrible Poetry Contest: 'Bad Driving.')

Poor Parking Parable.

What a dazzlingly bright sizzler of a triple digit day
It was down at the Crucible Mall
What a joy it was to be beneath 
Cloudless azure skies
In a Midnight Blue Horizon with no
Fu...nctioning air-conditioning
And nary a park to be found within spitting
Distance of the Malls shady welcoming walls
Not one
Thanks to one selfish bast- parker
Who had left two half spaces on either side
Of the fat-wheeled Ford F150 parked athwart the middle line
Of the only two miserably designated 
Disabled car parks
Lolling in his idling 150 sat
A fat-as slack-faced cowboy
Hairy mitt draped on the wheel
Arctic cold cab wreathed in vape smoke
He paused but for a second
To chug down his sixth Bud
Before leaping agilely and
Lightly for such a heavy gutted hombre-
Onto the asphalt
Belched heavily
And strode back into the Booze Barn
For 'nother nourishing six-pack
No Disabled card on view
Not hardly right
Or fu-
Fair but

Never mind.

After parking way out back in the back of beyond
Out in the furthest and farthest
Rarely traversed outer reaches of the
Chokka packed Car park
Far from the Mall and the madding crowd
I gamely
Sweated my way across
The shimmering tacky tarmac
Trekking towards the far off
Sliding-doored cold comfort of 
My journey through Hades proved to be well worth it though!
So gratifying it was to see our invalid invalid
Looking fair fit to be tied
Getting roughly cuffed and arrested by someone
Healthily buffed in a well-stuffed XL black uniform
As a bonus
Our cow-pokes big-as truck getting all set
To get towed
I joined in the surrounding crowd
Watching the one-sided spectacle
Easing in beside
A finely groomed and elegantly attired
Elderly gent
'Another ass who believes it's his right to
Use up not just one
but two Disabled parks' he offered
Eyes hard as tempered steel
'Tis rare to see such justice playing out before our eyes'
I croaked agreeably in my parched cracked voice
Seems all about us most folks agreed
And as the baddest example
Of good driving I'd seen in quite a while
Had his ass hauled 
Into the back seat
Of his personally designated Cruiser
Hands behind his back
Everyone enthusiastically yet oddly waved him ta-ta's
All with both hands
But sans fingers
'Cept for middle digits
I bade the elderly gent a hearty good day
And walked 
He went gladly off on his merry way
His wheelchairs wheel
Making one hell of a deep impression 
Along the highly polished long long
Fords flanks
Which made for quite the racket too
But everyone in the vicinity
Who should have heard this
Had to have been deaf-finately Disabled

If not deaf
Smilingly unaware.

‘But Ocifer, I’m gonna light out soon as I’d loaded up more suds.’



Early this autumnal morning I was privileged to see Manchester United’s ‘diss-play’ against Leicester City- a hard watch. (Man U 1, Leicester 1.)

Effortless At Old Trafford.

Well, I just quietly put down the Sky remote,
Choked back the primeval cry from my throat,
I didn't curse at God or kick the dog, nor the cat-
Whenever I watch Man U on TV at night they all scat.

Oh, believe me, I feel like wildly ranting and raving,
But I consider the kids, and a marriage worth saving,
I don't wish to raucously rouse my sleeping household,
And why get Noise Control or divorce lawyers involved?

So rather than screaming, I decided to silently vent,
Now over my keyboard I'm pounding, displeasure bent,
Spewing, spouting out all my frustrations over the season-
The way soddin' United have failed to play I've many a reason.

Man U have so easily blown away two recent bosses,
(Less two sharing the glory, more halving their losses,)
But I watched as our torpid crew drew to Leicester today
And most couldn't muster the energy to even fester away.

I saw our wonky backline, Mag, Luke Unsure, Dalot,*
Outside of Varane- as defenders they don't offer a lot,
Did Cap'n Maguire bellow out his directions from the deep?
Barely a peep, seeing his fellow defenders keep falling asleep.

Given our toothless attack, Rangnick gave Rashford a run,
After a jog or two, he parked up out wide, enjoying the sun,
McTominay kept manfully back-tackling, not easily shaken off
Till a bad tackle meant someones kneecap or he'd be next taken off.

'Tis a sad day indeed when Man U only score via Fred,
Hearing that would've had Cristiano giggling in his sick bed,
Sad to know Bruno hadn't turned up with his shooting boots on;
Signing a juicy new three-year deal means that's one target down?

We're grateful we can rely on Pogba long as he's here,
Happy are we he's not focusing on his future till next year,
Sancho failed but kept trying; (at least my patience was tried.)
Such an asset, consistently smashing every ball high and wide.

Getting stuck with this second-best team,
Table top remains an unattainable dream,
DisUnited display a lot of huff, a lot of puff,
But blood red passion? Not nearly enough.

*Harry Maguire, Luke Shaw, Diogo Dalot.



Having a baby in the USA don’t come cheap. High Health Insurance costs ensure you’ll have a fit when handed the bill; That should leave you spewing and sobbing like your baby.

Overdue Thanks.

We cain't leave without thanking the Maternity Team-
To those oh so many who helped deliver us our dream
Understand, this poor mother was full of Nitrous Oxide
And an eight-pound boy who wasn't ready to be outside.

Salutations to all in the endlessly rotating parade of staff
Who worked with us as she laboured for a day and a half,
We're sorry, to all those many nurses who came and went,
Believe me, those flippin' curses weren't personally meant.

Untold thanks to the NHS* for giving so freely of their time,
We're blessed to know we can go not owing one thin dime,
Happily we three can leave- scot free- the Royal Infirmary-
If he'd been born in the USA we'd be paying for all eternity.

*The National Health Service, free to all residents in Scotland and the UK.

‘All part of the Service’


First Putin sets foot into Ukraine- so then the big Western boys take out their business from the Russian market.

Appetite For Destruction.

President Vlad Putin went off on a Righteous war
Like many a mad Right dictator has done before,
And though 44 million Ukrainians maligned him
Millions more Russians rallied right behind him.

Most know Vlad's always had a long-term agenda;
If he had a heart, 'twas stone, not warm and tender,
When the Iron Curtain fell, up sprung a warmonger,
In Vlad's eye-spy eyes still burns a powerful hunger.

But for sad Vlad his war games gone wrong, not right,
In Old Petrograd Western sanctions have begun to bite,
If the proletariat can't fill up on Pepsi, Coke 'n' Big Macs
Someone might be tempted to take out the old battle axe.

                                     'See ya later, dictator.'

(Starbucks are bailing out of Russia too, but they can have ’em; who needs the dregs?)



The seasons cool, taking on that autumnal change; Well, I, for one, don’t like it.

Complete 365.

Summer's about done,
Autumn is nearing,
That warm effulgent sun
Fades, leaves disappearing.

Mother Nature turns
Her other cheek,
One swiftly learns
The future is bleak.

Long winter lingers...
Months in store...
Poor snap frozen fingers
Awaiting the thaw.

Winter draws on
And on, bone-chillingly,
When all warmth is gone
I turn, unwillingly...

Hands clasped I pray
'God, Great Pater
Take winter away
Jeez Please, sooner than later.'

'Spring's fine, summer's sublime, autumn blows, but winter- winter sucks big time.'


Trying out a pantoum, a new form of poetry to me. Trying it is.

(The form is- the second and fourth lines of a four lines per verse poem become the first and third lines of the second stanza, etc: Yeah, weird and repetitive, but try to bear with me; or just read it and weep. The prompt for this Chel Owens Terrible Poetry Competition effort was ’embarrassment.’)

Bust A Move.

After I'd turned to her for just one dance
I was left gasping, so long and red of face,
Away she swept after high-arched glance
With effortless entitled aristocratic grace.

I was left gasping, so long and red of face,
Sorrowfully, I watched her pertly depart 
With effortless entitled aristocratic grace,
Stilettos driving deep into my bitter heart.

Sorrowfully I watched her pertly depart-
She'd put me back in my place, and class,
Stilettos driving deep into my bitter heart
When she slipped and fell flat on her ass!

She'd put me back in my place and class
But as the titters began to grow apace
When she slipped and fell flat on her ass
I was left gasping, so long, and red of face.


(This pantoum has proved to be a proper pain in the ass for her, our heroine, to experience and me to write. Something both of us would rather not repeat.)


Silly six word book and film summaries and/or plot points.

A change-up from the usual rhyming stuff; hey, who doesn’t need to break out now and then?

1/ Alice Through The Looking Glass... Alice falls down, goes to Crazytown.
2/ Wuthering Heights...  Cathy's unhappy home, Heathcliffe's moody manor.
3/ Moby Dick... footloose old sailor, avast! Whale tale.
4/ Fifty Shades Of Grey... modern bodice ripper; boy mistreats girl.
5/ Silence Of The Lambs...  Hannibal offers Clarice a gristly story.
6/ Frankenstein...  Doc makes monster- goes on fritz.
7/ The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon... lost girls nightmare. Tough to bear?
8/ The Bible... Big Fella's best seller. (Popular Fiction.)
9/ It's Not About The Bike (early pre-fallen hero Lance Armstrong ego-boosting bio)...  drug pedaling Tour De Fraud loser.
10/ The Three Musketeers... Three musketeers? Add D'Artagnan, go fourth!
11/ Psycho... Crane gets stuffed at Moms Motel.
12/ The Help... recipe for disaster; fudging the ingredients.
13/ Falling Down... trafficking in misery; white collar crime.
14/ The Iron Lady... Right warmongering steely cold Falklands bitch.
15/ Die Hard... Secret Santa presence-party's a blast!
16/ The Shawshank Redemption... prisoner stonewalled, comes to inescapable conclusion.
17/ 1917... war is hell, takes- interminably long.
18/ The Lake House... love letters, years late. Silly stuff.
19/ Titanic... couple meet over icebreaker. Chilly stuff.
20/ The Shape Of Water... oddballs hookup, love wins. Gilly stuff.
21/ ET: The Extra-Terrestrial... alien lands, makes friends, heartwarming stuff.
22/ The War Of The Worlds... aliens land, make war, snuff it.
23/ Alien... spacemen versus monster; Dream Weaver's nightmare.
24/ Jurassic Park... long-lost resort revived, guests left enRaptored.

Any more to add? put 'em in the comments, the more the merrier!

"War And Peace' is doin' my head in- and these are just the Cliff notes!?'