Long Time A’learning.
Just another day in the USA,
This time the place is Santa Fe,
Theres’s guns, carnage blood and gore,
The same old story, retold once more.
Another kid with no concern for the law,
Don’t care what the Second Amendments for,
Still the NRA say ‘don’t dare take our guns away,’
Just another sad and sorry day in the USA.
A Noble Aim.
The president is a humble modest man,
Coolly and quietly calming tensions in Iran
With learned words and reasoned discourse.
And the silent presence of Army, Navy and Air Force.
He’s working with North and South Korea
In the hope Kim Jong Un won’t go Nuclear,
Don guessed Rocketmans words were mere jest-
Able to take a joke even when his button’s pressed.
Why can’t Trumps enemies realise
Don is deserving of the Nobel Prize?
Just peruse Sarah Huckabee’s Press Release
If you wish to get the poop scoop on this man of peace.
Some claim Don is an egotist
But he deserves to head that list,
For Don is spreading peace and goodwill
With a great GREAT deal of diplomatic skill.
Don should be a shoe-in to win-
He would have his Nobel locked in-
IF the new embassy wasn’t locked down
In sleepy quiet dusty lil’ old Jerusalem town.
Friend And Foe Alike/Falling Out,
Oh Don, it’s another great deal you have done,
You’ve got those untrustworthy Iranians on the run,
Your vow to tear up the treaty was no empty threat,
Lets hope your actions aren’t something we’ll all regret.
Don wants to ensure America is Number One,
The countdown to Dons dream has now begun,
And Don, its a lesson the Iranians will not forget;
Consider your aim of America First as- Target Met.
Getting The Clause Out.
Should Mr Cohen’s well-heeled client stray,
Forsake the vows stated on his wedding day,
Take the chance to combine both golf, and play,
Mr Cohen maintains what he’s been retained to say.
But Mr Cohen’s having to work for his pay,
Stormy’s accusations aren’t just blowing away,
Her tongue keeps wagging in a most malicious way,
His advice to the client is ‘assume the position, and pray.’
Press Pass.
I awaited the New Press with eager eyes,
They looked, downcast, at its meagre size,
I’d heard there’d be much content within;
That argument is most evidently paper thin.
Apart from yesterdays news or next weeks TV guide,
My purchase of the Press can no longer be justified,
Claiming ‘less is more’ does not jibe with this scribe;
This is a poor wee paper to which I cannot subscribe.
Bob Dylan Walking Talking Hypochondriac Blues.
I felt moved to put on the trainers today,
The autumnal sky a riot of grey upon grey,
To step out without a parka was tempting fate-
Next time I won’t be so unthinkingly precipitate.
I prefer to exorcise my thoughts on my own,
Soothed by iTunes, ear buds and the iPhone,
To put behind me ruminations of nuclear cataclysms,
Pounding the pavement is good for the biorythms.
I trundled along as a downloaded Dylan setlist played,
Bob mournfully sayin’ how far from home he’d strayed,
When I saw a flash of lightning, and after a moments pause
A thunder clap, then from Heavens above down she pours.
Four miles from home and soaked to the skin,
Without my parka ’twas quite the pickle I was in,
My nice new blue Nikes turning an execreble brown,
Pristine white socks bleeding blue as it pis hissed down.
Four miles splashing home was a long hard haul,
Not helped by Bob’s jolly ‘A Hard Rains A-Gonna Fall’
After ‘Buckets Of Rain’ then ‘Shelter From The Storm’
A coolness towards Bob’s insights had begun to form.
All the way home the storm continued to rage,
It hadn’t rained like this since Noah’s Archaic age,
All my miserable way home the rains continued to lash,
Arrived freezing, sporting sodden shirt shorts and a rash.
So now I’m laid low in bed with a bad case of croup,
My wife offers no sympathy but a bowl of chicken soup,
With trembling hands and lips I croaked a pitiable ‘Thank you,’
She left for work, shaking her head, sniffily saying ‘Man Flu.’
But I knew I was sickening, convinced I was getting worse,
So I staggered to the Doctors, to be told to wait by the nurse,
Here I wait shivering, in anticipation some good Doctor shows up
Before this long suffering drip turns his chillblained toes up.
International Men Of Mystery.
Is it not great to see the blooming Bromance
Between the Presidents of the great States, and France?
First chummy handshakes, then Gallic hugs and air kisses
On cheeks that turned to receive more hits than misses.
My, don’t those two guys get on well?
There is a kinship there, can’t you tell?
As they clown around like kid and older brother
Their wives look quizzically on, one to the other.
Brigitte’s beginning to wonder if she’s lost her mystique,
Melania’s inclined to believe Dons Stormy denials after this week,
Now Mrs Trump and Mrs Macrom may call to console Mses Clinton and Merkel,
Their two jerks ain’t inclined to invite many woman into the Old Boys circle.
