Another birthday arrives; Nothing to celebrate, sad to say.

(Some particular days you wake up feeling old. So, no funny business today. Sorry.)

Year Upon Year.

I still like to stroll 'neath the blue late summer sky
Though days run short and autumn's chill feels nigh,
Time was when I'd stride easy towards my leafy glade,
Nowadays a few more slow and stately steps are made.

This cool bower's perfectly placed for stop and rest,
Of late I feel this truth in my bones, and in my chest,
This stout tree I lean on now I've long thought as my own,
From young stripling and sapling, together we have grown.

As I look above those old signs are seen,
Subtle curls of gold amidst the sea of green,
Soon 'nough even summer's greenest leaf must fall,
Tomorrow, or two months hence, autumn reaps 'em all.

Don't get me wrong, I'm ageing happily every day I get,
Still, the years weigh and weary, we accumulate regret,
Every tree has twists and turns, Nature shapes and forms,
Each tree has boughs bent, bowed, scars from recent storms.

Will we weather another winter, to see in the spring?
Older, wisened to the fact the rose holds within a sting?
So take a little time to remember blooms cut cruelly short,
Long life holds more sorrow than we once young 'uns thought.

Today, a thought for Barb.

 

©Obbverse


			

The Great Lone Star State’s Ted Cruz tries to weather his trip storm.

Holiday Cruz.

Well, doesn't Ted Cruz just take the cake?
Taking time off in Cancun for a winter break?
What a tropical hot spot Teddy has chosen
Especially when his home state is frozen.

Well, doesn't Ted Cruz's thinking take some beating?
His one day in the sun sure feels all too fleeting,
Now he's back, flush faced, looking none too thrilled
About getting grilled over leaving his constituents chilled.

Well, doesn't Ted Cruz's excuses take out first prize?
His taking a sojourn down South wasn't too wise,
'Protect our Great borders' strikes a dry hollow note-
Those Washington speeches now stick in his throat.

Well, doesn't Ted Cruz's cool logic simply take it all?
Once happy to build on and bolster Don's border wall,
Now with the frosty reception our border jumper's getting
His thoughts turn toward re-election- boy, now he's sweating.

‘Poor Ted- feeling not so Rio Grande?’

©Obbverse

After the Christmas spend-up it’s now no time be a spendthrift, it’s time to cut back. Hard.

Turn Of The Card.

Hammering the Master Card?
Spending with reckless disregard?
Maxed out the American Express?
Left cents and penniless?

Dangerously low on cash?
Facing your financial crash?
Monetarily strapped and depressed
By sky-high monthly interest?

Remember the good old days
Before receiving your Barclays?
Wanna be freed of debt,
Unburdened by deep regret?

Don't have cash in hand?
Indebted by over a grand
but still enticed by what's in store?
It's all too tempting to ignore.

Deep in the shi in hock?
Fearful of the postman's knock?
Gentle reminders stacking up?
Red lettered demands backing up?

Striving for a happy ending,
To cease this senseless spending?
Over that credit card you've just signed
Instantly returned, discredited, declined?

Here's what I've hard learned;
Don't spend what ain't earned,
Before those bankers block it
Take that card out of pocket.

Time to lift the curse
From wallet or purse,
No more living on the edge,
Time to stop the haemorrhage.

Withdraw that piece of plastic,
We're gonna do something drastic,
No more will you nonchalantly swipe it,
You owe a debt to yourself to wipe it.

Here's my last card tip-
This card must get the snip,
Grab scissors or pinking shears...
This is gonna end in tears...

Time to grab a pair,
It's time to end this affair,
When you're behind the eight ball
It's the unkindest cut of all.

Cut your bastard Master Card in two,
It's the only creditable thing to do,
Ain't no financial gain without pain;
Now, never play them cards again.

(Started off as a few throw-away lines of comment. But I just can’t leave bad enough alone. As my credit card statement shows.)

©Obbverse

The first blush of a hot summer, the sound of an old song and suddenly unsettling feelings resurface. Why? I guess I do still remember that long passed perfect summer. Ah, well: And so it goes.

Them Ol' Solid Gold Summertime Blues.

At last those cold clinging wintry days dogging spring are done,
Now there's no better place than on the warm grass under the sun,
And as I doze my mind drifts back to yesterdays unclouded by regret,
Of good old days by the pool, when we wuz young and green and wet.

Those were the days, before our mapped-out lives had begun,
Before a mother aimed her daughter towards a rich mans son,
When the discs spun only for us four; Clare, Marie, me and Chet,
Long gone days, then soon forgotten, but now- impossible to forget.

©Obbverse

President Trump seeks answers to the question HE poses about his own personality? Well, he did ask.

Pity Party At Egos Anonymous.

Sometimes when you wake up feeling sad and blue
On a rare blue moon when doubt bedevils even you,
When the wife’s heart feels cold, the future looks bleak
It’s time to lay your burden down and stand up and speak.

Don is prepared to bare his very soul- if he must,
Though heeding others opinion fills him with disgust.

‘Hello, my name is Donald and I’m a Selfish Neurotic,
Though those in my party prefer the term ‘quixotic,’
And now, as I think back on four hard fraught years
Thinking of a future past November brings me to tears.’

‘Why, suddenly no-one wants to be my Bestie?
Now all my good ol’ boys and Yes-men detest me.’

It’s a rare privilege seeing this side of Donald J. Trump,
In many a throat there his mawkish tale raises a lump,
There he stands, a broken man with his token friends
Ever deeper into self-pitying he maudlinly descends.

‘So, everybody dislikes me because of my personality?’
For once everyone freely agrees with Don, like, totally.

Newly married, whole life ahead of the two of you, and then its all gone. Won’t someone tell him where he went wrong?

Misery Loves Company.

What I cannot abide
Is whatever spuriosities I spout
You won’t take my side-
My righteous words I never doubt.

I don’t roughly ride
Over the husbandly improvements you tout,
I hide my wounded pride
Behind folded arms and surly pout.

Lord knows I’ve tried
Laughing off all you witter about,
If you’d only shut up I’d
Have no need to shout.

‘Goodbye’ said my bride,
She cried ‘it’s over, I’m out,’
…Now it’s so lonesome inside
My strong silent empty redoubt.

©Obbverse.

Every time I think I’ve met the perfect woman some tiny little flaw seems to ruin my hopes of bliss. I can’t imagine why.

Everybody’s Best Bud.

After being rudely ejected from the Nags Head
I wandered up to the Star’s bar and woozily said
‘Barkeep, I’d like a shot of Johnny Walker Black-
Better bring the bottle, save you coming back.’

‘Hey, I’ll sip here quietly, leant against the wall,
Hey, you won’t even know I’m here till last call,
Good old Johnny is company enough for me,
He’s all I’ll need to help erase her memory.’

She wanted the ‘security’ marriage brings,
My freedom in exchange for two cheap rings,
My fancy-free days have come at quite a cost,
She showed me her door, told me to get lost.

Could she dump me so easily out of her apartment?
Forgetting the week I once chipped in with the rent?
The time I selflessly cleaned out the beer refrigerator?
So now she says I’m a drunken loser and see ya later?

She heaved me out, left me with no place to go,
Barkeep, I hardly had a chance to grab a momento,
I took her cookie jar, to remind me of the good times,
I swear it’s mine it’s chock-full of hard-sworn dimes.

Finally everyone but the barkeep and I had moved on,
The time was nigh, even my friend John had gone,
Then for the second time today I was shown the door-
Barkeep, ain’t no hospitality in your business anymore.

Twice this day this bum’s been kicked to the street,
This time by a size fourteen foot direct to my seat,
I tumbled to the pavement, my head began to spin
Staggered he could toss me out in the state I was in.

Another one to add to the list of ‘you’re barred’ bars
It felt fitting to lay there, alone, looking up at the stars
As mien host locked up and pulled down the shutters;
Yet another night, sleeping tight in the Gorbals gutters.

(The Gorbals is  a less-than-salubrious part of peaceful bonny Glasgow town.)

 

©Obbverse

On April 25 Anzac Day dawns and it’s time to recall all those noble young lives sacrificed by warmongering old bastards. Peace is hard to come by.

Let’s Not Forget.

The great world powers had a Great big war,
The survivors prayed ‘one Big One, to end ’em all,’
But if One was great, let’s power up one more;
So, twice the names tacked up on the memorial wall.

As dying autumn leaves fall soft from the bough
Let’s remember old comrades who dutifully fought,
Ev’ry year leaves less to sadly gather in the here and now,
To recollect the fresh faced fallen, lives cut cruelly short.

In some sodding graveyard in some far-off land
In lush spring green fields flecked with poppy red
Soldiers untold lie silent while white crosses stand,
One war or Two, there’s no accounting for the dead.

From heights Olympian to the hum drum. I read a frazzled woman’s blog, I heard her frustration and imagined her next step. (Too much time on my scrubbed clean covid and germ-free hands, I imagine.)

Left In The Dust.

At school I’d daydream through the long boring classes,
Heroic tales of Hera and Hercules, so the lesson passes.

Exchanging today’s tedium’s for yesterday’s mythic stories,
Tall tales of ancient battles, of Achilles and Paris’s vain glories.

These days I’ve a Hades of a life, dragging the kids out of bed,
Getting ’em washed and fresh-faced and dressed and fed.

No honeyed milk nor sweet ambrosia bless this houses breakfast table,
Three growing boys, fling in food fights and I’m left an Augean stable.

Packed lunches, back packs and pack ’em in the Minivan;
Every morning this Moms labors become more Herculean.

Whatever happened to those long lost schoolgirl’s dreams?
Romantic fantasies of Helen of Troy, of a thousand triremes?

…Waiting at the red light, back to the past I absently wander
Till horns and a green light remind me my Odyssey’s a Honda.

The journey to school has all the usual boystrous push and shove,
A display of more pokes pinches and punches than brotherly love.

Spilling out the sliding door, off with nary a backward glance,
I’m rueing too many wasted days- and three nights of romance.

The Greek God I thought loved me eternally now no longer cares,
I naively married a Narcissus interested in his silly human affairs.

This ever-smiling mother, his secondary lover is going to disappear,
There is a Troy, a Carthage, Athens, Paris, Texas- anywhere but here.

 

Obbverse

Any time is a good time to go on holiday, to travel, explore new horizons, enjoy the pleasures of warm and close companionships. Up until very recently, anyway.

I was sick of works demands,
I wished to see some idle hands,
So I booked myself a sea cruise,
Well, what did I have to lose?

A life out on the ocean wave,
A licence to frolic and misbehave,
To stroll in Speedos with tanned chest,
Pull in the gut, leave the lasses impressed.

To what depravities I sunk,
Every night in a new bunk,
My lustful life was never finer-
I love life on an ocean liner.

But come one fine morning I awoke
Feeling like when I used to smoke,
But the ships Doc’s there for such ills-
Plus, I needed more lil’ blue pills.

The Doc’s voice took on a worried note
As he peered down my ticklish throat,
And as we approached American waters
I found I was confined to my quarters.

No more late-night fun and games,
No more early morning walk of shames,
Into my teeny tiny cabin I was shown
To spend a fortnight all on my own.

I’ve got a Gideons bible and a battered paperback,
Grand Cruise brochures litter the magazine rack,
Free Living and Disney channels are all very nice
But I wish they’d arrange Wi-Fi for my De-Vice.

I don’t mind being forcibly detained,
I realise a nasty virus must be contained,
The Cap’ns bound to put in protective measures
He doesn’t care a toss about my fleshly pleasures.

Here we’re moored, off San Francisco Bay,
And what to do to while the time away?
It’s ten more days till I’m back on deck,
Idle hands mean I’ll be a physical wreck.

 

©Obbverse