Another icon of the sixties exits the stage. ‘Bye Peter Tork, you’ll live on, in re-runs.

Four, ‘Bye Two.

Ex-Monkee Peter Tork has gone and accompanied the Grim Reaper,
He’s hoping he can wangle an opening with St. Peter the Gatekeeper,
For old bandmates Dolenz and Nesmith this is a sad day,
Out on the unending Nostalgia Tour, still plugging away,
No chance of a trio now Pete’s on the last train to Clarkesville;
Now there’s only Micky and Mike left behind to half fill the bill.

(This came out a lot snarkier than intended, I don’t know why. Perhaps I’m a bit over too many groups/parts of groups/second cousins twice removed of groups still on the gravy train. (A sad day for Pete and fun music, in truth.)

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The esteemed Ann Coulter calls the President an idiot! Some say that’s stating the obvious, but with Ann it’s coming from the Right place.

Right, At Last!

Ann Coulter says we have an idiot for a President,
Not many, if any Liberals knew she could be so prescient,
Quite an outre thing to say by the far too Right Ms. Coulter,
They may be forever foes but, for today, few Left can fault her.
 

In this world of injustice, have faith, truth and justice sometimes shine out. And just as my belief was lapsing… Oh, too late.

Crying In The Chapel.

The hard harsh word came from on high, from the Pope,
Gods good servant McCarrick had lost his last hope,
The Pope didn’t hear his prayers or poor innocent pleas;
That pained him more than his poor old worn out knees.

Heaven knows, at 88 Theodore can ill-afford
To get unforgivably offside with his good Lord.

All those abuses of power, the secrets Ted held within
Now lay uncovered, obvious as Hell and ugly as sin,
The long serving Cardinal faces a humiliating defrocking,
No blessings for Ted in next year’s Vatican Christmas stocking.

At least when he’s loudly complaining in Purgatory
Many many priests will sympathise with his story.

In times of Emergency desperate times require desperate measures, even if it means fiddling for funds for pis- piddling away on a wall.

Insecurities.

Donald is off on his latest low-down undertaking,
He needs money to fix a crisis, of his own making,
The Army of law’n’order fans of his border wall
Will now see Don pillaging Peter to pay Paul.

Building walls up was easy to say in an election run
But getting Mexico to pay is easier said that done,
He keeps calling about the millions of dollars they owe,
Not one ‘Hola’ has he got from the President of Mexico.

It matters not to Don that the funds are misappropriated
Or that real Democracy has been truly desecrated,
What do you expect when the megalomaniac you elect
Injudiciously, sadly, madly must get his vanity project?

A change up for Prince Phillip, as he gives the driving up. Or has Her Majesty put her foot down?

End Of The Road.

Poor Prince Phillip had ‘a bit of an accident,’
Most inconvenient, and unpleasant,
Rolling onto its side his trusty old Rover went
After Phil failed to give way to a peasant.

Phillip clambered out bloodied but unbowed,
It ill behooves one of Royal bearing
To proclaim his wife does own the bloody road…
Blame the shock for the shocking swearing.

To be still going on, at ninety-seven years of age
Is long enough, the patient police responder felt,
Now Phil regrets his forgetfulness and failing to engage
His legally binding safety belt.

Good queen Liz gives a sigh of relief
That her Prince Charming is still alive
And that Phil is ready to turn over a new leaf
As well as his licence to drive

The President gives another- GREAT- speech, but it’s a bit harder to speak before a house divided than at one of his Rapturous rallies.

Speak Of The…

Donald stood to give his State of the Union speech,
Deep into ‘Mericans hearts and minds he’d reach,
Mike Pence sat on Don’s right, beaming with pride,
And Nancy Pelosi off to his left, the thorn in his side,
Donald’s latest pain in the breech.

As Don talked of working as one, of bipartisanship
The stout lectern trembled in his white-knuckled grip,
And when he spoke of compromise, of give and take
Both lectern and Nancy inwardly groaned ‘gimmie a break,’
Then back to familiarity Don began to slip.

Praises to his great Presidency he  long and hubristically sung,
Every drop of fear about his precious border he wrung,
For eighty odd minutes he ploughed over once hallowed ground
But not Don nor his base heard that echoing empty vessel sound,
‘Nary a flicker of doubt ’bout that forked tongue. 

Another time, another place. Music and photos bring you right back, don’t they?

Frank, David, Gabrielle And Rose, Et Al.

In a forgotten corner, discarded in dusty disarray
Lies a vast array of CDs I treasured back in the day,
Stacks of musty relics that don’t spin me any more
Since I transferred my allegiance to the iTunes store.

The living room expanded by two more precious feet
As I boxed up and labelled the old, odd and obsolete,
There were a few whimsical purchases to our collection
And so Shaggy went the same sad way as One Direction.

As I put Kylie and Right Said Fred in their rightful place
An old photo slipped out from ‘tween a plastic case,
And there I saw the face of my father, gone so long,
And in a trice ‘Too Sexy’ became a trite sad little song.

And I recall our holiday to Yosemite and that stop at Sonora,
Dad, me ‘n’ the kids packed in the back of the black Explorer,
Pouring from the air-conditioning out into the discomfiting heat,
The pool at the Gold Lodge offered a cool welcoming retreat.

Oh, I saw Dad in the shadows, sheltering from the sun and spray
As silly-ass sons numbers two and three and kids splashed away,
I only wonder now, as I look back on the best of Dads vacations
If I saw a twinkle in the eye of the oldest of three generations?