Category Archives: verse

Prince Charles is feeling a little poorly, thanks to some common and ordinary unpleasant little virus.

Buck Up Chuck.

Be you rich man, poor man, beggar man or thief
This common coronavirus’ virulence beggars belief,
Now poor Prince Charles, perpetual king in waiting
Lies in the royal bed chamber, genteelly expectorating
Into his hand-woven silken Union Jack of a handkerchief.

 

 

©Obbverse

Some of us hope those old ‘someday my prince will come, a marriage made in heaven, happily ever after’ stories might just come true. This rarely happens to the average Joe though. Still, sometimes the fairy tale can happen. So I believe.

Daddy Of Them All.

She claimed she was oh-so-pure,
Maintained it was none but he she’d love,
Gave her cross-my-heart swear-to-god word,
Then her bitter tears cascaded to the ground
And she wailed for all she was worth.

So sweet, innocent, oh-so-demure,
Inculpable of what he was thinking of,
Still, that ol’ devil doubt uneasily stirred,
He looked up, but no answer there he found;
Can angels fall, down here on earth?

Sure, now  he might not be quite so sure,
But hadn’t his love sworn to heaven above?
Then when the magical miraculous event occurred
Rather than let the bad word get spread around
Father Joe and mother Mary announce: a virgin birth.

 

(I fear an apology is necessary,
So, sorry.
If I’ve offended I meant no harm,
So, so sorry.
Sweet Jesus, Joseph and Mary,
Christ knows I’m sorry.
I pray the third one’s the charm?)

 

©Obbverse.

The parable of Pope Francis and how he mingles with the masses. Let’s have a a big hand to anyone who can see signs of someone getting cross?

Sorry, Apology.

As your Pope I deeply and profoundly regret
If my slap-happy action caused the lady upset.

But to my flock all I ask is to patiently stand
And let your pontiff extend his blessed hand.

Kindly wait for your trembling hand to be taken,
To grab it in a death-grip will surely leave me shaken.

Remember, we don’t press the flesh in the Vatican,
Your man of God is frail and fractious at eighty-one.

To cling to His Eminence’s hand may be no mortal sin
But my patience and arthritic bones are now wafer thin.

So ma’am, forgive me, I’ll be eternally in your debt,
I’m only human, with no certainty of a sainthood yet.

 

Obbverse

Donald Trump is moving to Florida. It seems New Yorkers have not been ‘nice’ enough to him. You can guarantee Governor DeSantis will be on his knees putting out the welcome mat.

Shady Acres.

Donald’s upping sticks and leaving his home town,
He’s set his mighty mind on moving South and down,
Sunny Florida is where he wants to go,
Home sweet home, Mar-a-Lago.

He’s heartily sick of crawling traffic and stalling rents,
Don’s grass looks greener on the other side of the fence,
Don no longer seeks the Big Apples seedy streets,
He’s at home, on the course, teeing off as he tweets.

 

©Obbverse

A friends best friend came to the end of his run and made that last trip to the vets. Now another friends friend has come to the end of his tether as well. A tribute to two of the best.

Dogs LIfe.

Where does one begin
To talk about a dog like Finn?

You acquired a dog one joyous day
For what seemed a fair price to pay.

His whining kept you up half the night-
Oh, you’d been sold a pup all right.

Want to take a drive, go for a ride?
Open the door, be brushed aside.

A quick stop outside the butchers shop
And the drooling would never stop.

Return to excited nose prints on the glass-
Open the window- his farts will pass.

Take him for a walk in the park,
That hound was bound to leave his mark.

You get a doggy grin and a tail wag
And a steaming Pak’n’Save bag.

Then, once walkies were done
Finn might well fire off another one!

That dog was trouble, right from the start
And then he goes, and breaks your heart.

So farewell Finn and farewell Smith,
Proof mans best friend is no mere myth.

Tim Conway, quirky comedian, leaves us with a smile.

Time, Tim.

Just days after the departure of Doris Day
Tim Conway has gone and gone the same way,
He’s done last his run, he’s taken his final bow,
He’ll be asking Saint Peter about any openings by now.

Who could ever forget
Tim cracking up Carol Burnett
And leaving the entire set
With cheeks and tidy-whities wet?

So Tim has sadly gone, and only God knows why-
Perhaps, these days, He feels He needs a funny guy?
Lordy, it’s not for us to question the likes of Thou
But he’s gone, and left, and it’s a sadder world now.

The Rolling Stones front man goes under the knife for a little bit of maintenance. Time waits for no man, Mick my boy.

Surgery For The Ol’ Devil.

Old Sir Mick just keeps on a’rolling,
Geriatric Mick prefers jiving to strolling,
But now, in his seventies his step’s begun to stutter
His high-living past has set his stony heart all a’flutter.

A dickey heart valve needs refurbishment
For Micks old ticker’s taken some punishment,
There’s no doubt when it comes to wear and tear
Micks plucky organ’s done more than its fair share.

Now the old pump is suffering from overuse,
But in Micks case it sure ain’t down to self abuse,
Cigarettes and bad habits have contributed to his current issues
But his old wives and girlfriends won’t be reaching for the tissues.