Jesus Wept.
So, high and mighty Israel Folau,
You’ve flaming gone and done it now,
Our devout Christian-cum-climate denier
Claims sinfulness leads to forest- and Hellfire.
My flagging faith won’t be restored
By this empty-headed vessel of the Lord,
I pray St Peter has this sermon on record
When Israel goes to his final reward.
But I’ve heard that God does love a trier,
So might this unrepentant soul enquire,
Oh wise and enlightened Israel Folau
Who made you mightier than thou?
The Company You Keep.
Alas, poor miserable Roger Stone,
Into the slammer he’s been thrown,
Another Trump flunky lies in the hole
Unless Don has mercy on his craven soul.
The cells are where many dodgy deals are done,
Will Don take Rog’s call, begging Dons pardon?
In some dark sun-baked states liars get stoned,
In Dons half-baked State is perjury condoned?
Hard Headed woman.
After another week of our boss giving us yet more grief
I headed into the cosy bar for a little Friday night relief,
It was a workmates birthday, I felt obliged to celebrate,
I thought I’d sent a text to say I would be home at eight.
I never received her reply.
I swear I only had one beer, then a wee drop o’ scotch
When I chanced to glance down at my broken watch,
Was I deluded in thinking I could believe that bitty toy?
The night was young and so was the birthday girl-er, boy.
Strange how time slips by.
Drinks were drunk and soon my quiet night grew loud,
And then I saw a(double) vision stand out of the crowd,
Suddenly I forgot she was the daughter of my bosses brother,
Suddenly I felt no fidelity towards my significant other.
But I felt that tingle in my thigh.
I blame the drink, I blame the passion in her eyes,
But I didn’t fancy facing her, hungover, come sunrise,
I left her snoring in her room, slipped away like a jerk,
Come Monday I’d find workplace romances do not work.
And I’d kissed my job goodbye.
But in the here and now, in the cold light of the day
My usually ever-understanding partner tells me to f- go away,
Ignoring my gentle taps tap upon the door, then my heavy knocks,
No sweet-talking her round this time, she’s changed the locks.
She’s not letting this sleeping dog lie.
That hard hearted woman won’t answer text or call,
That woman’s got me beating my head against the wall,
Why, she always knew what kind of butt-headed man I am?
Now neither she nor this thick brick wall will give a damn.
Oh, what a bone-headed bloody fool am I.
Hollow Feeling On Halloween.
They came a’knocking on my door,
Two kids demanding a sugary score,
One little monster with a slavering jaw-
Another creep extending a covetous claw-
They took every treat I proffered, then more,
Those tricky kids are in cahoots with the candy store.
Black Out.
Would our mighty All Blacks stack up?
Could our twice World Cup winners back up?
How many points agin the Poms would we rack up?
But those big bad butt-ugly Blighty boys broke our attack up,
An hour in and its either reach for the Prozac or crack up-
At full time its back to the Hotel to weep, then pack up.
Phoney Friends.
For tweet natured Donald a new day is dawning,
Things are heating up, and not due to global warming,
Talk of impeachment is ruining his peach of a morning,
On the political horizon dark storm clouds are forming.
Don complains those nasty Democrats are to blame
For badgering the poor law a’biden President again,
Take his word for it, there’s nothing true to their claim,
If you don’t believe him, ask the President of the Ukraine.
Mr Zelensky will clearly unconditionally and categorically state
No Presidential pressure was exerted, no Don deal;s were made-
And Dons character is not just good, its unimpeachably great-
Now that $400 million in military aid has been promptly paid.
Again, Palace Presents…
Wolverhampton wandered on to Selhurst Park,
For the Black country boys the future looked dark,
One place away from propping the Premiership up,
Hoping for a goalless draw or for Palace to slip up.
The past has shown
Slip ups aren’t unknown.
The doughty Palace team score, and then on the hour
A Wolves player wrestles himself into an early shower,
Surely for Palace this must mean game, set and match?
Ten man whimpering Wolves will be easy to dispatch.
The referee decides, at last
To give this game a final blast…
Of course, in that last lingering moment Wolves whip in a cross,
They score, and to this Palace fan the draw feels more like a loss,
The way my Eagles cough up points would make a parrot sick;
The reason, last day of the season my nails are down to the quick.
