More travails from South London. Flippin’ football!

(On losing 0-3 at Selhurst Park to Burnley- bleeding Burnley!)

Same Old Selhurst Story.

Losing to lowly Burnley is hard enough to comprehend
But coughing up three lousy goals at home tends to send
A message to fans and foes alike; if it's goals you're seeking
Come to Selhurst Park, where the home side's goal keeps leaking.

Down, down the table the wounded eagles painfully descend,
Our front boys can't hope to score, our defenders won't defend,
Nowadays Roy's tried and true old school team tactics are creaking,
With the teams average age well over thirty, they're well past tweaking.

We're sinking towards the relegation end,
Waiting to be washed down, 'round the bend,
Roy stubbornly still says his old boys are just peaking
But what a load of old cobblers Hodgson keeps speaking!

Not you, not I dare say old Roy is not well intentioned
But half Roy's hobbled side also deserve to be pensioned,
I'm told I'm sounding ageist with my sage but savage critiquing-
The naked truth is this team of stumblebums is well past streaking.

‘All grey foxes and bald Eagles.’

 

 

©Obbverse

At last, the long awaited cure for the dreaded affliction of Foot to Mouth disease.

Hush a Bye Bye/ Potus Gets The Message.

First, my electoral defeat-
That left me a tad downbeat,
Struck dumb by shock, sad to say,
'Twas indeed a dark blue/grey day...
But now I had grievous cause to bleat
About the GreatesT ever electoral cheat!

Lies, all lies, but lies I'll happily repeat,
Easily flicked out by a simple tweet,
But now I read, with deep dismay
They took my tweet voice away!
Where fantasy and fable meet!
Now my misery is complete.

‘Not Twitter! No, not that! Ach, the inhumanity!”

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

In these Coronavirus times of trouble, proof of good fellowship is just around the corner. If not, let’s shop around. (Somewhat sad and somewhat true.)

Stripped Clean.

I thought it was time to do a quick shop,
Down to my local grocer I’d quickly pop,
But when I stepped in, lo and behold
There was scarcely much left to be sold.

No, there was not a lot left of anything,
The shop held naught but a hollow ring,
Dick’s hadn’t been this empty in many a day,
Bare shelves made his an embarrassing display.

No soap spray, no eggs, no milk, no flour, no pasta,
This little shopping trip was looking a major disaster,
No tinned tuna, no baked beans, scarcely a grain of rice
And I wouldn’t buy Dick’s old chicken sushi at any price.

The manager sidled up, whispered in my ear
That because I was a regular customer here
He could offer me an under-the-counter deal,
But his little bargain soon sounded like a steal.

If I wanted a dab of hand sanitiser I was in luck,
For me, a mere twenty bucks, fresh off the truck,
And a one-off offer of a singularly prized toilet roll-
For another twenty, and the promise of a mortal soul.

After two minutes of character assessment, (time well spent,)
I looked him in the shifty eye and out his dark door I went,
It’s wonderful to be reminded that when in times of need
One common thing humanity never runs short of is greed.

 

©Obbverse

Ladies(?) coming to blows over buying toilet tissue in stores in Australia? Coronavirus madness has gone from mad to viral on YouTube. Watch and weep.

Number Two On The Shi Shopping List.

Whatever happened to sisterly love?
Why all this pissy push and shove?
Why all this bog-roll bulk buying?
All I see is a wee bit of human dignity dying.

Why this unseemly need to snatch and push?
What’s so important about your precious tush?
Why denude the shelves of all the toilet rolls?
All it proves is dinkum Aussies can be real assholes.

 

©Obbverse

The year is all but shot, but this weird year has yet another twist in the tail. What a crazy world we live in. Let those who believe pray for a better one next year. Me? I can only shake my head in disbelief.

In The Arms Of Jesus, Texas Style.

In the God-fearing burg of White Settlement
Off to church the good and faithful go,
To bend the knee, to take the blessed sacrament,
To pray for the sinners in this world of woe.

Unfortunately there’s one in this day’s congregation
Whose devil’s work is not yet done,
The good flock are in for one hell of a Revelation
Finding one congregant puts his trust in a gun.

He flung aside his coat, took his gun, a shot rang out,
But this gunman wouldn’t go on a rampage,
The Lord might well protect ’em but there’s always doubt-
Texas pew-warmers pack heat in this day and age.

With half the damn congregation blazing away
The church was filled with cordite smoke,
The gunman was offed, off to his Judgement Day;
Sweet Lord above, what a dark cosmic joke.

Forget the good Lords lesson
But not your Smith and Wesson?
What can you say except
Christ Almighty, Jesus wept.

 

©Obbverse

Christmas is coming, get ready for the festivities, the revelries, the tinsel, the happiness, the seasonal joy. Yet amongst the all this sappiness let us retain a memory of Christmas past.

All About The Christmas Presence.

Down at the mall they’ve stuck up the tree,
There’s Christmas carols blaring out repeatedly,
Every jangle from ‘The First Noel’ to ‘Jingle Bells’-
Peace and harmony, at nigh on a hundred decibels.

Belafonte’s belting out ‘The Little Drummer Boy’
Crosby’s ‘White Christmas’ is beginning to annoy,
I know by heart ‘Snoopy’s Christmas’s’ idiot refrain,
And round comes Harry’s pa rum pum pum  again.

Stretched shopping bags are groaning,
Once chatty assistants are monotoning,
In their empty eyes the thousand-yard stare
As you join the queue you share their despair.

Standing in line, time pointlessly expended,
Praying your line of credit isn’t over-extended,
Stuck behind a snotty kid who tromps on your toes;
Wouldn’t you love to give Rudey a bloody red nose?

But

There’s more to Christmas than spending scores in stores
And we’ve lived too long to believe in a jolly Santa Claus,
What would we give to spend some Christmas cheer
With a select few who’ve gone on and left us here?

Old people, they say ‘the youth of today ain’t what they used to be.’ Ok boomer, this attitude needs to be seriously readdressed! Then again… (Based on an all-too-true story.)

One In A Millennial.

Last Friday they showed this dude around,
He was young and bright and seemed keen,
Had, at long last, my Masters apprentice been found?
This smart dressed man-bunned stripling of seventeen?

With forms signed, a shake of hands and smiles all round
Early Monday morn this happy meeting would reconvene,
Seems at least one millennial has feet planted on the ground,
Why yes, we could polish this raw wood, immature and green!

Dawn, Monday and our dismay was profound-
Nary a sign of the fine young master to be seen,
Through his bleeping alarm the poor little lamb slept sound-
Let’s leave him in peace, dreaming on of what might have been.

 

©Obbverse

When the team you support’s been soundly beaten, some humble pie must be sadly eaten. England 19, All Blacks 7.

Black Out.

Would our mighty All Blacks stack up?
Could our twice World Cup winners back up?
How many points agin the Poms would we rack up?

But those big bad butt-ugly Blighty boys broke our attack up,
An hour in and its either reach for the Prozac or crack up-
At full time its back to the Hotel to weep, then pack up.

 

©Obbverse

Another winning writers contest comes and goes. Just what makes for a funny submission? Who knows? (Not bitter or twisted, just befuddled.)

Nolo Contendere.

Checked my E-mails, same old dull routine,
Then a new missive lights my dull grey screen,
News from a competition entered loooong ago,
Click ‘open’, oh, but don’t get my hopes up though.

I’ve so hoped for the best before,
And I’d be disappointed once more.

Again, rejection, painful but not unexpected,
Again my select name amongst the unselected,
But after a sigh, a roll of the eyes and a rueful smile
I thought I’d read what wonders had topped the pile.

Perhaps, judging by the mood I was in
I shouldn’t judge- but where can I begin?

One thing required in a humourous poetry contest
Is some content that leaves one laughing, not depressed,
I’ll agree it is the good judge’s call to be fair, firm and tough
And I’ll allow my work this year- and hers- ain’t good enough.

 

©Obbverse