What thoughts spring to the Mighty Ones mind as we march towards the third of November?

Going Postal.

A day after another inauspicious red letter day-
150,000 Coronavirus victims went on their way-
Donald turns away from figures that make him squirm
And focuses his GreaT mind on securing a second term.

Dons polling is of concern, despite what he does say,
From where he sits perhaps its time to kneel and pray?
Or since Roger Stone’s now free to come up with a suggestion
He’ll open the whole Democratic Election system into question?

In his empowered position Don feels a powerful need to stay,
So now’s no better time to suggest just a slight election day delay,
An election free of mail voting, who could think of anything greater?
Like his Pandemic plan Don vows he’s bound to get to it, sooner or… later.

©Obbverse

Colourful character Brazilian President Bolsonaro contracts a Covid cough; Sounds like a case of Karma to me.

Sniff.

So, the Brazilian President has a teeny touch of the flu.
Boo hoo.
Both green and red-faced, but consumptively battling through.
Aaaatishoo!

‘Simply donning a mask could’ve protected me- and you?’
WHO knew?
Now he thinks wrapping a mask over his mouth is the right thing to do?
Waaaaay overdue.

He could have picked the itchy nose he had as his first clue;
It grew.
He sees the look in the grave eyes of his masked medical crew.
Code Blue.

©Obbverse

Donald J. Trump, or in his mind, the Lone Ranger; The latest mutterings and musings from behind the mask. Hi-Yo psychosis away!

Who Sees A Problem?

Has our unmasked hero decided to stand up?
Donnny says he has masked up and manned up,
He says that mask makes him look like the Lone Ranger-
No more will he be laughing loonily in the face of danger.

But the Lone Ranger wore his mask to cover his eyes
Not as a medical protector but as a personal disguise,
Then, Don feared wearing a mask wouldn’t look Presidential, right?
Pushing a mouth mask up over his peepers, now don’t he look a sight?

Hey, even getting Don to consider any mask ranks as a bonus-
As his long-standing contemptuous sniffing at Corona’s shown us-
So even if he stumblingly emerges from the darkness, dimly blinking
At least it’s one baby-step on his journey out of blind blinkered thinking.

©Obbverse

Walking through the backwaters of the ol’ neighbourhood I literally stumbled over a leafy landmark. So I sat back on the grass and recalled days of rash deeds, youthful foolishness and pure dumb luck.

Barking.

My young bro had a best buddy, Carl ‘Crazy’ Miller,
This singular boy did not possess one single scintilla
Of simple common sense the Maker bestows on mankind;
Carl could be big trouble, but very little troubled his mind.

Carl was a prospective member of the Punch  Bunch-
The kids who only went to school to share your lunch?
By the time Crazy had attained the heady age of eleven
‘Twas obvious he wouldn’t be heading to Varsity, or heaven.

Anyway, down at the dead end of desolate Ingoldsby Street
The long promised demolition of a fine old fixture, complete;
The barn-like Theresa Green Home For Refined Retired Gentlefolk
Finally lay laid waste, ‘neath the shadow of a high and mighty oak.

My brother and Carl, being at that tender age-
Before girls turn one’s head and hormones rage,
Before teenage hi-jinks result in serving hard time-
Saw a tree sat on now public land, and free to climb.

Previously protected behind a palisade ten feet tall,
Its private land and croquet lawn, now turned over to all,
Carl’s eye beheld that crazed glint of the devil-may-care,
This oak would be Carl’s Everest and my bros nightmare.

Up a handy branch Crazy sprung, with a single bound,
With simian agility up he swung, foregoing safer ground,
Monkey see monkey do, my bro followed, but slowly, in kind,
Leaving those below looking up at bro, pale, dragging behind.

Halfway up bro heard the sound of dry wood snapping
Followed by Carl plummeting past, arms crazily flapping,
My brother followed Carl’s progress aaaaall the way down
Waiting for one stout branch to stave in Carl’s thick crown.

As a switch took a swatch of Carl’s curls it dawned on him
That if he hit this tree they could both lose a healthy limb-
Now the blood curdling uncontrolled bladder loosing scream,
Oh- did I mention this tree was perched by a tinkling stream?

This body of water was contained by a concrete culvert,
But wherever Carl chanced to land had to bloody well hurt,
Came the sound of a splash and his pals dashed out to aid him,
Amazingly, Crazy landed in water and, miraculously, could swim.

He waded out of the chill waters, shivering but safe, Christ be praised,
All gathered gazed on amazed, yet Carl looked imperturbably unfazed,
A bump on the noggin, a broken fingernail, but not one broken bone,
I’d say Carl had the luck o’ the devil- but he’s known to look after his own.

©Obbverse

When you’re a Great – a really great, so unbelievably great- reality TV star, why would you hide your best asset?

That Open Infectious Smile.

Here’s a question too few Trump flunkies dare to ask;
‘Mr President Sir, why don’t you deign to don a mask?’

Even when Mr doting lap-dog Vice-President Pence
Says wearing a protective mask makes Great sense?

Now, covering up old affairs Don sees as only sensible,
No-one, certainly not Don, wants to look reprehensible.

Don believes his cherub-cheeked face is his shining glory,
That his sunny saintly smile can sell any half-assed story.

See, he wants his words to ring out strong and clear,
To spread his sick sad soliloquies into the atmosphere.

Ask about his taxes though, and he draws the veil,
When it comes back to taxes, privacy must prevail.

Don has facts he’ll openly doctor, and grudges to nurse
So why would he mask the brightest star in his universe?

Donald wants to show his public the full-frontal view,
The fake tan, the pearly white teeth, the eyes o’ blue.

Squint below the tinted TRESemme-ed locked-down hair
And see what cold soulless depths lie deep down there?

But, clothing his mouth… nope, Don could never embrace it;
He’d look even more like a bandit in a bandana, let’s face it.

 

(Background theme for this could be Frank Zappa ‘I’m The Slime’.  Just a thought, I’m in a whimsical mood today.)

©Obbverse.

Tennis star Novak Djokovic’s stubborn stance on playing through the pandemic proves problematic.

Return Of Service.

Oh, naive Novak Djokovic, where have you been?
Traipsing around Serbia, serving up Covid-nineteen?
Showing unmasked contempt for any possible vaccine
Till a routine swab returns results Novak hadn’t foreseen,
Novak was positive his snot samples would come back clean:
Gone from playing in open tournaments to staying in quarantine.

 

©Obbverse

I’ve been reminded lately of those misty-eyed memories of innocent school days. Lets start the lesson, shall we?

Done Learning.

One thing you’ll do as you approach a certain age
Is to take more notice of the ‘Family Notices’ page,
Though todays tabloid lacks yesteryears broadsheet heft
It’s a morbid pleasure checkin’ out who you know has left.

I like to read the morning paper before the afternoon
So one morn I ordered brunch and opened the Tribune;
The usual ho-hum news, more plague, pestilence and war,
Then I fell upon some news that shook me to my souls core.

The sweet mochaccino suddenly took on a sour taste,
The ever sunny tan faded as I sat staring, chalk faced,
For there, amongst the fine print writ bold in gothic font
Was news of a loss so heavy I dropped my damn croissant!

My old Deputy Headmaster of dear Hagleigh High- dead?
I raised my trembling hands up to hold my shaking head,
I thought of the lessons that Bertie had dutifully imparted,
How his role as leader was never less than whole-hearted.

I recalled the angles and planes of that indomitable face,
All those deep-seared lifelong lessons time cannot erase…
My concerned wife said I appeared to be the picture of grief,
She handed me some tissue, which I took with tearful relief.

The old Alma Mater had supplied a glowing obituary
For one most considered Hagleigh’s highest luminary,
The tale they told of this sainted man of the highest order
Compelled me to compile my thoughts on the Tribunes border.

In my day, at Hagleigh High the most I hoped to achieve
Was to gain School Certificate and honourably leave,
Unfortunately, to gain this certificate one had to pass
Both English and Mathematics- a step too far for me, alas.

To fail in either one meant one hadn’t made the grade,
You’d be cast off to the Armed Forces, or off to get a trade,
And the Deputy-Head taught my class Mathematics- of course!
One lousy week in his class saw him flogging this flagging horse.

I was made painfully aware I had deficiencies to overcome,
Not heeding screamed instructions? to him I’m deaf or dumb;
In my first month I knew mathematics could not be mastered
Thanks to a sneering confidence-sapping bat-crap crazy bastard.

I was left an an utter loss by Berties scrawlings on the board,
The answer I came up with was ‘shut up, pray to be ignored,’
Yet my English improbably improved with every word I wrote-
Penmanship forging ahead; I forged a most convincing sick note.

Pre-math class every morning you’d find me sitting, sweating
In the toilets, relieving myself of any chance of pants wetting,
Every other cubicle engaged by four-fifths of the Fifth Form,
Every coughing, wheezing weedy Kool kid smokin’ up a storm.

I do still recall those chill mornings, getting my knickers in a twist,
All I need is to roll the Rolex up, count the livid scars on my wrist.

So, to end my little bye bye Bertie story, I’m glad he’s gone to Glory,
But first, let’s hope, like me, he does three full years in Purgatory.

 

©Obbverse

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.

Donald guilessly says, when talking up his unemployment numbers, ‘Hopefully George Floyd is looking down right now and saying “this is a great thing that’s happening for our country.” ‘ Huh?

The Usual Pigs Ear.

I used to think Don was a proper moron
But he’s proved me wrong, sad to admit,
As his latest speech ramblingly wore on
His words confirm he’s the complete half-wit.

After George Floyd’s life was thuggishly taken
By some swine misrepresenting the police,
Wouldn’t any prescient President worth his bacon
Speak less of unemployment and more of peace?

To say George is up there, agreeably beaming
Shows Donald’s both tone deaf and color blind,
At best, let’s just say Don’s delusionlly dreaming,
At worst, he’s simply out of his tiny freaking mind.
 

What, another dose of nasty medicine Don prescribes to fix what ails us?

Imperfect 2020 Vision.

The bright new year started with a descent into sickness,
But never fear, not when we’ve our Doctor Don on your case!
Don dispensed with any treatments with breath-taking quickness,
Doctor Don’s considered response took up too much breathing space.

After all, his diagnosis was Mild Chinese Influenza,
He couldn’t imagine it would settle in these here parts,
For the Genius who’s applied for membership of MENSA
Admitting making such a dumbass decision definitely smarts.

Dimly Don saw poor common people being sorely afflicted
Then, hot on the heels of covid came the stock market crash,
Mortality rising, property falling means he’s personally affected,
Don sobs at seeing the figures, the senseless loss of cold hard cash.

But now, with masked criminals roaming the dark streets
Generallisimo Don’s response is sure, swift and mighty hard,
Now its time for cool heads, Big Whopper Don turns up the heat!
Soon you literally won’t be able to breath for all the National Guard.

©Obbverse