Pure Solid Pyrite.*
Whatever happened to the good ol' Conservative?
Those who serve their country, long as they may live?
Those who yearn to not take it all, but to humbly give?
Where now are those leaders, those ol' salts of the earth?
Who knew the the value of sweat, what hard work is worth?
Why would one revere this man, made a billionaire by birth?
Good ol' values long gone, now old dirty money talks,
Nowadays it's 'carry a big stick, smack anything that walks,'
Around the tower of power the Big Bad Boogeyman still stalks.
There's a statue of Trump proudly displayed at CPAC?
The old bold gold-plated Tin God is mounting a comeback!
Can't the eyes of the wise perceive something's out of whack?
Behind his thin skin of gilt'n'glamour lies a cold heart of brass,
A false idol with tons of bullshit bullion but not an ounce of class;
Still fools bow low, blinded by the shine of this massive stuck-up ass.
*Pyrite: AKA Fools Gold.
Down to Brighton the team bus quietly drove,
To where Palace hoped a point might be nicked,
At best to share the spoils with Brighton and Hove,
A dour nill-all draw the score this Palace fan picked.
But what a strange televised game we saw unfold,
Brighton controlled the ball, a team wholly possessed;
'Twixt his pristine posts the Brighton 'keeper idly strolled,
Never had he or TV watchers seen such a one-sided contest.
But the crosses flew in from the heave-Hove side,
Hot shots blocked by Palace's desperate defending,
Volleys from the blue clad lads blazed high and wide,
Brighton's besieging of the Palace seemed never ending.
Finally, came one brief moment of respite,
A Palace foot hoofed a stray ball down the line...
His untroubled face turned up towards the sunlight
Hove's 'keeper rose from the grass- time to rise and shine.
In came the hopeful cross, from far far away,
But one Palace player had made an exhausted run,
That's how slick-heeled Mateta, against the run of play
Made the most of his chances, or more precisely, our one.
As the Palace players smilingly celebrated
'Twas tragic to see the Seagulls managers pain,
His all-going-according-to plan smile evaporated,
To return once the one-way traffic commenced again.
Palace retreated back in the box, same old same,
Our 'keeper breathlessly making miraculous saves,
Just get to half-time, our is an offensively defensive game-
Endlessly the blue tide washed 'round the Palace goal in waves.
The half-time whistle blew, and scratching his head
The manager of the boys in blue traipsed past, downcast,
His team followed behind, shuffling like 'The Walking Dead'
In the Palace shed, *Roy, head bowed, prayed his luck would last.
Half-time came, ten minutes later it went,
The game recommenced, settings back to default,
Whoever had charge of the console seemed Hellbent
On bombarding the Palace with all-too common assault.
Eventually the Footballing Gods smiled on Brighton,
The football finally found purchase in the ol' onion bag,
Leaning back on his goalpost Hove's 'keeper yawned on;
When you've not even sweeping to do tending tends to drag.
Ninety minutes approached with both teams played out,
Had Palace drawn out a point, with a team of ten at the back?
Then came that miraculous moment that leaves one in no doubt-
Those devilish Footballing Gods keep a joker in play in every pack.
A ball splays out to a man on the wing, gasping his last,
Though cramped up he somehow forces his legs to obey,
Into the Brighton half where he had so rarely trespassed,
He lobs the ball up in the air, anywhere, to get it out of play.
Toward a fresh legged substitute the ball kindly fell;
Our Mr Benteke is known more as Mr Hit And Miss,
But today his shot put us in Heaven and Hove in Hell;
Those Footballing Gods sure can take a trick, and the piss.
'Glad All Over' boomed from the visitors dressing room,
Then chorus after chorus as the London bus drove away,
But in the Hove shed the blue room was as silent as a tomb,
A seaside smash-n-grab, a torn-up **Amex? Crime does pay!
(* Roy Hodgson, the wise old old Yoda of football managing. Or on this day, one lucky bastard.
**Amex Stadium, home of the Seagulls/Brighton and Hove Albion/poor unlucky bastards.)
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.
The impeachment trial of Don's January actions
Is seen vastly differently by the two rival factions,
Democrats are all for piling on now departed Don-
They want him impeached and legally real real gone.
Republicans are all too happy to forgive and forget-
Stirring up Trump's mad mob can still cause regret,
Evil is seen heard and said, but they'll keep on denying,
Those simple silent Republican jurors are hardly trying.
What's My Motivation?
Don's resigned from the Screen Actors Guild,
I suspect most members will be simply thrilled,
After starring in a four-year real life horror show
The audience that's Left is bloody glad to see him go.
But making Disaster movies?
He has no equal.
He's play-acted the President as an anti-hero,
His ability to portray actual facts earns a zero,
He's resigned before they cut off his membership,
Let's hope a jury rewards his efforts with a pink slip.
But fired permanently, please;
Who needs a sequel?
Since Donny and Rudy don't do the ol' business no more
Don's lawyers walk in, speak briefly, then run to the door,
Yet 'nother team of peachy keen lawyers are called in by Don,
Sit down, sift through the evidence, look appalled and get gone.
The best of lawyers powers can be negated
When the evidence rests, so heavily weighted.
It's a rare day indeed a lawyer will find a client indefensible,
When scruples long put behind scream 'this is reprehensible,'
Now two more of his latest greatest sign on to right his wrong,
Quick, place your bets, its short odds they'll be gone before long.
When it's a case of nothing to win, everything to lose
Let's face it, a plea of insanity's the best you can use.
Morning Has Woken.
Isn't it great to wake with a smile in the morning
And find the world's not facing another Armageddon?
That trusted policy hasn't flipped without warning,
There's no mobs clogging the streets he's wittingly egged on?
Isn't it a great comfort knowing there's a calm hand on the tiller,
To not be Bermuda Triangle bound, led by a First Class egocentric,
Back on a course charted by someone with a functioning Amygdala
Not by some Captain Crazy, sailing in circles increasingly eccentric?
Isn't it great to gratefully head happily to bed at night
Knowing in ten minutes you'll be peacefully snoring?
That yesterdays fading red dawn is turning blue and bright,
The days will be quiet, safe, secure and delightfully boring?
Isn't it great to not wake with the cold sweats
Without night terrors brought on by ghastly Tweets?
Not dry-heaving with gut-wrenching tummy upsets
With no further need for Laudanum or rubber sheets?
Notes In Passing.
At the last possible moment, as he counts down the hours,
Before dawn arrives and he leaves with red downcast face
With twitchy fingers, with the last grasp of his fading powers
Don leaves Joe a post-it, writ with ill and begrudging grace.
The first word he's addressed to Joe not meant to mislead,
Nevertheless the closest thing Don could get to a farewell note,
Not a welcome nor a final word, Don refuses to concede,
Simply 'Good luck, Joe.' Don confirms 'and that's all I wrote.'
It's amazing Joe didn't reach for a flippin' Zippo and burn it,
Or rip it, rend, rive or tear it rather than cooly and calmly read it,
But, with a wry smile, add his footnote, sign it, seal it and return it;
'Don, I can't accept you wishing me luck, you're sure gonna need it.'
‘Deer Joe- gude luk – good luck.’
(Let’s hope there’s no more to be said on the misdirected unwrapped parcel of wholesale lies that is Don now that Trump, Inc. has been withdrawn from public consumption .)
Snakes On A Plane.
His final flight is ready to take off,
The ex-President is set to snake off,
His eyes look out, dark, cold, reptilian,
Farewell, you contemptible low con man.
Fly away to your welcome in Mar-A-Lago,
Fly, fly off, off to to your hidey-hole you go,
Go to ground, wait for the storm to pass...
Natural, for an old snake in the grass.
A man is known by the company he's among,
So visitors, cock an ear for a f-f-forked tongue,
Hisss twisted words hark back to original sin,
And he sheds friends as he does his thin skin.
So Don, slip out and lay back 'neath the Florida sun,
Relax, uncoil, your long retirement has just begun,
Or scale back the sun bed regime, let down your hair
Then slither under a rock and stay- at home- there.
‘Warning- Contains Lingering Traces Of Venemous Vitriol.’
They talked of changes in the neighbourhood...
Still, its breathtaking how swift it's come about,
That unwelcome squatter hung in as long as he could
But patience has run its course, he's been turfed out.
The last big ass U-Haul truck idles at the back door,
All the furnishings of House and Office packed away,
One last look, a heavy sigh echoes round the empty floor,
It's a Sad day being told you've overstayed your stay.
He'd done his very worst to extend his lease,
He'd searched for an escape clause to no avail ,
He'd not leave, not without forever saying his piece;
Threaten him with debtors prison, he won't bail.
Yet more misdemeanors to add to his damning list;
Sending rude messages, annoying parties all night long,
Breaches of the peace, refusals to cease and desist,
Ignoring calls to tone down what just sounds wrong.
The dumb dude simply will not see sense
So his crew of party pals quietly dwindled,
Facebook 'friends' deleted his comments-
Too many to repeat claims he's been swindled.
But this guy's used to acting with reckless impunity,
So now to be told by sumbitch he'd backed as a friend
That your excesses upset the best of the community,
'You and your terrible properties have been condemned.'
It's bad enough being told you just must leave-
Oh, the ignominy of a common squalid eviction,
Once secure, at home, going now is too hard to believe -
And threatened with criminal trespass, with real conviction.
The prime location of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue
Cannot be cheaply bought, it can merely be rented;
Thence after four years there comes a tenancy review,
And friends and neighbours have become discontented.
He's proved he's not the best of Housekeepers,
This whole historic property he's badly mismanaged,
Unfinished walls, the surrounds ass-deep in creepers,
Our once firm foundations cracked and damaged.
So wave cheery-bye to the ex-President,
He's off to his latest guilt-edged address,
Now let's welcome in a better-suited resident
And hope he cleans up that Losers! unholy mess.