(Posted after a prompt from Chel Owens A Mused Poetry competition, prompt being ‘New Year Resolutions’ limerick style.)
It's time to repeat the same damned vow I swore
This time last year, as I've done many years before,
My now traditional annual end-of-year vow-
'Next year I'll be a better man than I am now,'
So many broken promises, still plenty more in store.
We two stood together apart for five minutes or more,
Waiting on an (American) elevator or (British) lift,
No way was I considering walking up to the top floor;
That exercise in futility received lightning short shrift.
Finally Otis arrived, and I stepped towards the door
Only to be, first, left standing, secondly, left miffed
As she swept past me, and with raised red painted claw
Jabbed her button first, cementing our yawning social rift.
She looked down upon the funky grungy garb I wore,
This high-end consumer looked to be no fan of my thrift,
Lifting a perfectly plucked eyebrow at this walking eyesore,
Pointedly tilted up her snooty aristocratic nose as if I whiffed.
Soon an unpleasant presence appeared neither could ignore,
Stuck in the close confines I retchedly gagged while she sniffed
Before showily reaching into her Gucci and spritzing more Dior,
But she wouldn't catch my watering eye, if you catch my drift.
Punch That Ticket.
Well kiddies, school has played out at last,
These past four foolish years have painfully passed,
Now it's time for you dummies to wise up fast
Before you're forever classed amongst the dumb-assed.
The class clown has run out of time to run amok,
The idea of not being centre stage causing a nasty shock,
The ol' bone spurs have slowed down the cocky Jock?
Now not even his full Court press can stop the official clock.
Now that the leader of that MAGA hatter band
Must try to understand he is losing all sole command,
Perhaps a few will rise, principles cupped in hand
Stepping from the silent shadows to take a belated stand?
Agin a guy whose self beliefs lie towards the compulsive?
Whose vile denials truly do border on the sickly revulsive?
Why stay and placate a man so childishly impulsive?
Surely not all clad in Republican red are that repulsive?
Even as the road to reality continues to widen
Any fool would concede the trail leads back to Biden...
If you must be part of the wreck Democracy died in
Buckle in, Bub- the Pity Party Bus will get rough to ride in.
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.
Takeaways From Thanksgiving.
It's the family tradition, every Thanksgiving Day,
The clan all gathers here come near, come far away,
Holding hands, around the turkey together they pray.
Next year there will be less left to give thanks-
The Lord alone knows why He's thinned the ranks;
It's sad and lonely scanning these photos, seeing blanks.
(Not in the best taste after a hearty Covid Thanksgiving get-together, I know.)
Head In Our Hands.
At sixty years God has substituted Maradona,
No more muddy fields, he's off to a higher honour,
No dribbling then blowing past defenders any more-
He always had a nose for goal- and a damn good score.
For the true unblinkered unbiased football fan
There was no finer player than the wee Argentinian,
It's only the red white and blue 'uns of Old Eng-er-land
Who'll still send you off on your way with a heavy hand.
(one for the football fans. Some still recall the infamous 'Hand of God'. Don't we?)
(This began as an entry for Chel Owens A Mused poetry comp but snuck off on me. Again.)
Christmas Catch Ya'll Up. / John Deere Letter.
Hi guys, it's time to keep ya'll in the know,
With the festivities near we've horns to blow,
Folks do tell 'times is hard and the 'conomy's shot'
But we're happy as clams, cause we've got the lot.
Hubby Bubba's gone up yet another pay grade,
He must've sold every pickup truck Jeep made,
The twins is gettin' schooled and topping their class,
We're hopin', with luck they'll scrape a C and even pass!
Cody done won the Jumbo stuffed bear at the tri-county fair,
Took down them three ducks with two rounds to spare,
At the bake sale mah apple pie took out first prize as well,
The only Blue Ribbon you'll stick on this Southern belle.
Our Jolene is playing Virgin Mary in the nativity play,
Their damn Rodeo's ain't playing Joseph, if I have my way-
No mistletoe kisses a'tween Jo Hatfield and Rodeo McCoy,
I sez 'Jolene, you don't have no truck with that bad boy.'
But then that dang new preacher had to up'n speak
'Let's try to forgive and forget, turn the other cheek,'
If I believed that liberal trash I'd be a'wineing at Mass-
This Southern Baptist knows Rodeo's coveting Jolene's ass.
Still, I must say they look good together, they act pretty tight,
They've practised at the Church Hall religiously every night,
Now Jo is a shining star as Mother Mary, positively glowing,
We're praying, when Christmas comes Jo won't be showing.
Living The Wild Life?
I'll never again fly Alaskan Air,
Not if you made me a millionaire,
If the flight alone wasn't a nightmare
The crappy landing was too much to bear.
Dicey icy touchdowns in the middle of nowhere?
Alaskan Airlines happy landings are mighty rare,
But there was nothing on that safety card to prepare
Us for seeing a bear using a runway as a thoroughfare.
So I'll be demanding a total refund on my fare,
Plus costs for trauma, shock and new underwear,
And could we spare a thought for that gristly bear?
A wing ding of a departure; poor bear hadn't a prayer.
Wanna make our hero an anti-hero?
Try the four lines below as the opening verse.
The wife's nagging drove me to despair,
There are no burning embers lingering there,
So I hooked up and lit out with the air-headed au pair
But red-blooded animal behaviour crushed our holiday affair.
A Real Tear Jerking Soap Opera.
Ever since blow-dry Don woke post election day
The Golden Boy's looked washed out and gray,
And though he will not go quietly into the night
To see this ass silver fox turn tail is a welcome sight.
What happened to our old gold Don Juan Don?
A cold reality shows his brash charm has gone,
And after four seasons his shit show is simply trying
And his is a stinker of a final act, ain't no denying?
Don's lost his "Suburban Housewives' Choice" popular vote,
This poor actors star turn is done, and that's all she wrote,
He's lost his gloss, he's now less desirable than Charlie Sheen,
Our Greatest li'l boy lost burnt-out washed-up broken down big time small screen has-been.
Say A Spittle Word?
Today we're here to see Pete Sutcliffe go west,
The charitable say 'God only takes the very best,'
So, before someone sets down this thorny wreath
Who wants to pay tribute, before Pete's laid beneath?
Or toss a clod on the casket, as per popular request?
Let us pray in the hope Pete has a long uneasy rest
In his interminable internment as Lucifer's house guest,
There's not a welcoming devilish smile, merely clenched teeth;
Pete promised the devil his due, but Pete had nought to bequeath.
Poor Devil, getting stuck with an ass soul he forgot he possessed.