A new year, a new start. Work from home! No set hours, no commute, no supervisors, no deadlines! There’s no downside, so who wouldn’t kick the door down when given the opportunity?

Give Me Strength.

Working from home is all very well
But my kitchen table looks like Hell,
There’s paperwork piled up by the ream-
I’m regretting being the only ‘I’ in my team.

Come daybreak I’d powered the lap-top up
Feeling less than perky till I poured a cup,
It was my first, it wouldn’t be the last,
MSGs from the boss scrolled in thick and fast.

Me and my lap-top, awash in caffeine,
A constant flow of Java Joe and Benzedrine,
I can’t get the boss off my ass nor my phone,
He don’t like my attitude, I don’t like his tone.

I worked grimly on all morn without a break,
My dutifulness all but proved a big mistake,
Call it a little inkling, call it something in my water
But I couldn’t cut being caught short any shorter.

By now I found it was nigh on high noon
And I was sick of dancing to my boss’s tune,
My actions might wind up getting me the boot
But when I flipped him off the phone went mute.

As I tossed some tasteless treat in the microwave
I mused I was over being the boss’s galley slave,
The boss is truly testing the patience of his Job guy
Thought I, turning my eye and microwave up on High.

I was looking forward to my lunch and quiet time
When I heard an unexpected door chime,
My stomach grumbled, I slapped hand to brow,
Who or what kind of fresh Hell is this now?

I opened the door and there they stood-
Three of God’s chosen, here spreading good,
Teeth as bright and white as Gods shining light
Here to tell this wrongdoer how He’ll put me right.

I’ve had (too) many theological conversations before
But never with one who’s slipped a foot in the door,
So even as my lack-lustre lunch was still revolving
Their patently creative argument began devolving.

My patience was wearing mighty thin
And verily, is not trespassing a sin?
So I asked for strength from above
And gave the door an almighty shove.

Still, what one uttered came as a shock-
I swear to God I was born in wedlock-
Brother, I’m sure you regret what you said
And wish you’d taken a vow of silence instead.

But it’s difficult to remain hushed
With both spirits and foot crushed,
And, oh Dear God, as for me-
Sorry about the blasphemy.

I do not foresee seeing that sorry lot back again,
I hope I’ve been blacklisted as bad, mad and profane,
 Should they return on my door I’ll stick up my sign-
‘If your’e doing Gods work, go away, I’m doing mine.’

 

The senate sits, ready to judge on Donald’s impeachment. Good senators! Impartial and unbiased, just like Mitch McConnell. He’s suuuch a good boy.

Lap Dog Of The Gods.

The impeachment criteria’s been met,
Pelosi’s put the damning paperwork through.

Mitch gets the message, with much regret,
Deep down in his heart, he knows its true.

So, will Don pay his debt?
Payment for many sins, so long overdue?

But Mitch is Don’s precious pet,
A dumbly loyal pooch, who could argue?

Mitch tells Don not to fret,
He’s gonna deal with Nancy Shrew.

There will be no cause for upset,
Not with Mitch’s rose-tinted view.

The House will lose, that’s a sure bet
And Democrats will be left feeling blue.

No praise from the Master will Mitch get,
Better silently sittin’ than gettin’ a kick or two.

Hang dog Mitch knows it’s wrong to aid and abet,
Don’t ask Don if that’s immoral, Don has no clue.

It’s democracy inaction, lets not forget,
Actions in the long-term Mitch will rue.

But Mitch has dealt with Don’s threat-
Standing up to the big dog wouldn’t do.

Mitch don’t want to go see the vet,
He’s got little enough to hold on to.

Getting to know the people in the neighborhood. Not your average Sesame Street meeting, one suspects. Do I see some recognition in the eyes of one or two souls I pass on the street? Nah, I must be imagining things. I keep walking.

Lost In The Cosmos.

Oh, where did you go to, my lady fair?,
Why, wherever I look why are you there?
In the library, outside Walgreen’s, everywhere,
You haunt my dreams, you poor living nightmare.

Just how did you develop that st-st-st-stutter?
Why do you shuffle along and ceaselessly mutter?
Why do those faded blue eyes peer into the gutter?
What shocking treatment made you our resident nutter?

No cast away dog-end ever escapes your gaze
Despite you wandering ’round in a perpetual daze,
Were you once smoking hot back in your glory days?
Did acid or pipe leave this smoldering testament of user pays?

She looks all too ready for a last trip in a black limousine.
You say I’m a cold callous prick, evil nasty and mean?
No, I am seeing all too clearly what might have been,
Counting my lucky stars and damn glad to be clean.

I lost my keys, I was locked out of my car, I had to walk home, I kicked the gate open, I hurt my foot, I tripped up the steps, I stepped up to the door, I reached into my pocket-

The Bane Of My Life.

I’ve been perennially unlucky,
My life has been ill-starred.

I’ve tried remaining gamely plucky
When luck deals me a losing card.

Alas, alack my life is kinda sucky,
Sorry, this boy ain’t no bard.

I’ve no wish to sound mucky
But shit, life’s left me scarred.

If only my life was simply ducky,
But life holds me in low regard.

So, life continues to fuck me
And life is fucking hard.

The President has some reason to get angry. Its hard to reason with him when he gets angry. Now, you wouldn’t like him when he gets angry. So don’t set him off.

Stomping Ground.

Don sat in the Stateroom
Filled with impending doom.

He sighed, set down the remote,
Today even Fox sounded a false note.

He fiddled with a classified file,
Life’s becoming quite the trial.

He would find it hard to explain,
This bit of business in the Ukraine.

Now how he rued the day
Everyone heard what he had to say.

How Zelensky’s voice began to fall
When he got the message in Don’s call.

Zel’s tiny voice on the telephone
Till drowned out by his own.

Looking guiltily at the transcript
He wish he’d stayed tight-lipped.

He dropped that damning folder,
A righteous rage began to smoulder.

He’d dealt from a position of strength,
Their wanted arms he’d kept at arms length.

No guarantee of a shipments arrival
Till given ammo to fire at a political rival.

If a Biden took offence, Don meant none-
No offence, Hunter, you son of a – gun.

He thought he’d done the deal
Till some whistle-blower had to squeal.

He’d release the funds… given time.
Since when’s a white lie a capital crime?

So, Don had asked for a personal favour?
Rudy swears that ain’t criminal behaviour.

Still, there’s plenty left to impeach,
So how to cover (t)his unseemly breach?

How to take a Presidential stance
When filling your big boys pants?

His blue eyes cloud with dawning dread,
He alone has to own the words he said.

But a secret of this size…
All those accusatory eyes…

How to dim their focus?
Try a lil’ hocus-pocus.

It’s a well-worn trick
For a dealer who’s slick.

It’s been done before;
Instigate a bloody war.

He’ll kick his foot soldiers into action,
Smoke and mortars, a fine distraction.

He opens an Army Intelligence dossier,
Something therein might make his day.

He holds the answer in his hands;
Shift the blame on shifting sands.

But Donny sees time is short,
Let’s give it not a second thought.

With a bad man on the loose
Don needed no excuse.

He took what Intelligence he had
And took it out on Bagdad.

A little lacking in tact,
But hardly a war-like act.

Don don’t see it as an excursion
And hopes few see it as a diversion.

Yes, ‘Merica might lose a grunt or two,
But impeachment takes on a distant view.

And, what could go wrong?
We weren’t in Viet Nam long.

That little dust-up in Afghanistan?
That all went according to plan.

The lessons learnt a few years back,
Of riding in and razing Iraq?

After sifting through the smoking ground,
All those masses of weapons to be found?

Though they’d disappeared into hot thin air
Still Don has determined to go there.

Sad to think that, true to form
He’ll unleash another shit Desert Storm.

He’ll fight on until calls for his head cease,
C’mon, he’ll take on anyone who wants a peace.

Few allies want to join his charade  crusade,
How to extricate himself from the mess he’s made?

‘Merica’s allies now don’t think he’s so great,
They’re more concerned ’bout some mental State.

So who, truly, are his friends?
Pal Putin says, ‘that depends.’

And what happens when the dust clears
And his fear of impeachment reappears?

Will he tweet a sorry word?
Will further action be ordure-d?

Will others suffer from his wrath
Or can Don take the higher path?

Don’s more familiar with the low road,
But will his little fingers press the code?

Will Don dazzle us by doing right
Or frazzle us in a flash of light?

Don’s sins I must forgive and forget,
God, please let me live with that regret.

Don’s words are too toxic to call out,
What earthly good is risking his fall out?

A wholly righteous war is easy to start,
Surviving one remains the hardest part.

A plea (in the ear) to Aussie PM Scott Morrison. As their bushfires rage on, their smoke drifts over and engulfs two little islands those Aussies love to belittle. Ps: Lawbreakers born in New Zealand, even if they moved to Oz as babes in arms, can and have been deported ‘back home’ to NZ.

A Call From Your Neighborly Kiwis.

Scotty, pal, mate, sorry to interrupt your holiday,
You’re hot and frazzled but we’ve something to say,
We’ve put up with becoming the dumping ground
For the Kiwi criminal element you’ve forensicly found.

We don’t mind your cricketers condescending views,
We don’t mind pitching over the ditch fresh fire crews,
We Kiwis don’t mind being the butt of your every joke,
But Scott, don’t dump on us with your second hand smoke.

In the Land Down Under, up to now the leaders of the Lucky Country, in thrall to Industry, dismissed climate change as the ravings of the Green and gullible. Might those ‘thoughts’ change now? More likely they’ll still willfully put ’em on the back burner.

Flip-Flop Weather.

National minds won’t change on the weather, ain’t no denying,
When it comes to carbon credits, the great mines ain’t buying,
They have no heart to turn away from their deep black hole,
Australia can go to blazes so long as they can sell their coal.

The mining moguls have dug up a fine solution
To cleanly dispel the dirty question of air pollution,
If their friends in power waver, show signs of doubt-
Whip out the big check-book and wave it about.

Most any Liberal proclaims climate change to be a myth,
They have any number of studies to twist and conjure with,
But as they silently rake over the razed and smoking ground
Has the hazy path towards enlightenment finally been found?