A little rework of the Lizzie (Bloody Berserk) Borden axeident-waiting-to-happen story. Not a family friendly story, Lizzie.

Whack Job.

Lizzie Borden took an axe to her dear old Dad,
His constant cutting her down drove her mad,
Yet even as he fell victim to foul patricide
He felt for his wild child a slice of paternal pride;
She’d proved she came from hard-working Irish stock,
With a chip on her shoulder, a real chip off the old block.

Maw was not best pleased with what she saw,
She stood, in bits and pieces, looking over Paw,
Stepmum looked appealingly at step-daughter
Hoping Lizzie would settle for manslaughter,
She hoped to survive and to head off any scandal
‘Cause Liz and the axe had both flown off the handle.

But Lizzie produced from under her pinafore a hatchet-
Lizzie had her plan and she planned to despatch it,
She did not hear her stepmums pleas of ‘Stop! Stop!’
Lizzie was keen to get stuck in, chop chop.
What a pity dear old Dad, so recently laid to rest
Didn’t see Liz working away like a woman possessed.

But since the trial our Lizzie is doing well,
No longer constrained in her padded cell
She’s free to glumly walk the guarded grounds,
She dourly nods at the Doc doing his rounds,
That tragic face rarely bears an authentic smile,
But sometimes, as she lingers by the wood pile…

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Don goes to Paradise. Don’t he and Governor Jerry Brown checking out the fire damage make an incongruous pair?

Trouble In Paradise?

Over Paradise falls a dark and stifling pall,
The President has decided to call,
He’s in a Blue State, showing humanitarian concern,
It’s enough to make his red Republican heart burn.

The sight is enough to make Don hyperventilate-
That senseless loss of all that high-end real estate.

As Don steps around the smoking debris
His discomfiture is plain for all to see,
Don can barely stand to be seen walking beside Jerry Brown,
His burning desire is to hot foot it out of town.

Though we see Don and Jerry standing together
Any friendship will prove as fickle as the weather.

This place is not where Don wants to dwell,
This piece of Paradise has gone to Hell,
He’s fielding a few burning questions from the few townsfolk,
Don cannot wait to get his butt back to the Big Smoke.

Don leaves, with, as an afterthought, a prayer-
Usually offered when smoke and cordite fill the air.

Christmas is coming- Jeez, already!- and all the sweet (and savvy) kids have sent their wants and needs to North Pole Enterprises. Lets see what apps- what ‘appens?

Off The Xmas List.

Would this long jolly December day never end?
All this kid craved was for the blessed night to fall,
I watched in impatience for the sun to descend-
How I’d like to get my hands on that clock on the wall.

Finally in the wee wee hours of Christmas eve
I hopefully strung up my XXL size Christmas stocking,
Murmuring ‘Santa please  don’t practice to deceive,’
After last year my once-solid faith in Him was rocking.

I lay abed replaying my plan of when Santa would descend;
No more milk and cookies left for when He deigned to call,
Now its eggnog, Christmas spirit, Bells 80 proof, special blend,
This kid is not above greasing the skids to get a decent haul.

Come Christmas morning and what did I receive?
From the mantle fluttered my stocking, empty, mocking,
It hurts to find your faith is based on make believe-
No more lists to Santa, that fat bastard I’m Facebook blocking.

I love to watch the Premier League football, I follow Crystal Palace… Yes, I know, I must be deluded… Today, I am beyond it though. (A cry of anger and frustration.)

Thor Point.

I’ve been sorely tried to hold Palace in high regard,
And yes, it’s been a tough week for the Palace guard,
This week Spurs stole the sole goal, given half a yard;
If only our half-hearted offense would try half as hard.

For another week we hear old Roy’s comments-
Yet more talk of tough luck, bad calls, sad laments,
Good old Roy has a lifetime of wisdom to dispense
But this eternal optimist is running out of patience.

Today saw Wilfred Zaha appear amongst the suits,
He’d put his feet up , but not put on the boots,
Wiv Wilf out of the game it’s down to Roy’s recruits-
From the back of the class up Sorloths hand shoots.

Yes, today would be Alexanders lucky day,
Good old Roy reluctantly let ‘Lex out to play,
And as luck would have it the ball came his way
But alas, lead-foot ‘Lex also has feet of clay.

Glory beckoned for Scandinavia’s best,
For with an eagle eye our Norseman’s been blessed,
He shot unerringly- straight at the ‘keepers chest!
I near had conniptions, Roy near a cardiac arrest.

Whey-faced Roy feels in his chest the knife slowly twist,
Roy, your choice is is cut ‘Lex loose, or cut your wrist;
Now Sloth’s hot off the bench, and on to the transfer list,
His missed shot at Spurs guarantees he’ll not be missed.

Democracy in traction.

Mid-term Report.

Well, the good people have spoken,
Unsurprisingly in a voice discordant and broken.

And what did the good people decide?
Damn near everyone voted, to widen the divide.

Some may feel their House is now in order
But the Senate’s reach is now even broader.

Anyone hoping for less hate and more reasoned debate
Now will find both sides reduced to a hopeless stalemate.
GREAT. 

Ah yes, the joys of travel. Off to strange lands, to see culture at its best. (Inspired by a blog on Bonnywood Manor/Wordpress- Present Tense-#9 (and our trip to Old Scotland that had a few similarities.)

A Breath Of Fresh Air.

It was wonderful to depart the plane in Spain
After a flight at the height of the tourist season,
Yes, it seems I’ve picked up the travel bug again-
Ten hours of recirculated air would be the reason.

I thought all would be well once at the hotel
But upon arrival, well, sadly I was not,
So I laid my heavy head on the pillow a spell
Awaking to find no piffling sniffle, this was snot.

No, no not for me a sick bed holiday,
I was dying to see the Medieval sites,
Down the cobbled streets I made my sway,
To climb to the castles rarefied heights.

Thus we began the now-historic climb;
Those first steps were hewn by a craftsman;
Higher up steps were taken to cut the time,
Carved by ‘prentice or cut-price artisan.

No miss-step was quite the same,
Some a stretch, some one leapt up;
Any stonemason worthy of the name
Surely should’ve looked, then stepped up?

At every switchback, at every frikkin’ fork
I’d clutch my ribs and cough and blow,
Down every declivity I’d hack and hawk.
My apologies and sympathies to those below.

But I’d climb my Everest of a mountain
Though snot ran in an unending stream,
At a thousand steps and still countin’
It became more nightmare than tourists dream.

Ah, but when one steps upon the crest-
Oh, the view is quite breath-taking,
I clasped my hands to my breast-
It’s a heart attack in the making.

England go to the world cup with no expectations, but perhaps this time hopes might not fade away, like the last time, and the time before and the time before that, and… (Best wishes and good luck from the Antipodes.)

Reboot.

I woke this morning, from a fevered dream,
My mind had dreamt of a winning England team,
So I shook my woolly head, threw off the duvet,
Rose to face the reality of watching England wilt away.

But this game had a result few could anticipate,
A smile wreaths the dial of gloomy Gareth Southgate,
I shake my stunned head, I stroke my gaping jaw,
Am I dreaming still or is this England in the final four?

Was it half a century ago Geoff Hurst won our hearts?
When the pop of ‘Mothers Little Helper’ topped the charts?
Dare I dream of those good ol’ days, of glories long gone,
Of 1966, since when all but the Rolling Stones have rolled on?

Oh, this is something long hoped for, if truly unexpected,
High time for the faded old red white ‘n’ blue to be resurected?
So, up to the loft I’ll go to disinter that trusty dusty back-pack;
Lets see if time’s been kind to a cheap-jack souvenir Union Jack?