Always so lovely to have you back
Our favourite hack on all out attack
Not on your nelly HIGNFY telly crack (or old school smack)
Coz seedier media’s been so so slack
Greedier bottom feeder out of whack
Needier all we lack but dole out cack
Deplore how on the poor they snack
Hislop strop stops slop gets us on track
Everything broken & black he's our jack
Still got the knack got em on the rack
Leader of the pack with a stack of flak
Won’t change tack will get em the sack
Burn baby burn.. the return of the mack
Rad mad hatter batter approach
Kiwi coach who Key did poach
It seems he is beyond reproach
When it really matters in tatters
Castle clatters Ashes hope shatters
Our guys bowling pies on platters
Memes scatter legacies splatters
Egos not heroes BazBull flatters
The urn won’t return with the Mac
Yearn but burn totally out off whack
Concern can’t learn not got the knack
Brendon a torn forlorn tendon on the rack
But will still earn a packet deserves a smack
Bitten not smitten his racket of cricket crack
Wouldn't change tack and deserves the sack
The hack pack giving him a stack of flak
Finally a step back from just all out attack
Too little too late the recurring soundtrack
Whittled & skittled fate well we were cack
Drunk monkeys just sunk spunky flunkies
Lack guts gumption gusto were so slack
The lies spool pulls over our eyes the wool
Must backtrack no crackerjack comeback
Debunk the funk & gist of narcissist gunk junkies
Cool over old school fool rule of Baz (load of ) Bull
Time these harlots & charlatans brought Test best back
I write with the left and fight with the right
cross dominance thinking prone to insight
the right hand said that the left hand’s cack
the left hand said that the right’s a prat
but I’m never sure which hand I’ll draw
I can write with the right but the right gets sore
so I switch to the left and the left writes pure,
but my brain won’t let one hemisphere rule
so I think out of sync with the other people
staying rationalised while their passion lets fly
they see what suits while I see both sides
and I can’t decide so I seem less wise
I think they think cack through selecting facts
and I’m outnumbered by the stupid prats
Baby sheep’s mama was white, his daddy was black.
He was a sharp lamb with a rat-a-cat-dack-rack-a-cack.
He had the coloring of both his parents who him did adore.
Adorable with his black head and polka dots galore.
Princess Kim fell in love with baby sheep and named him Dot.
He is always on her shoulders, resting, his ideas often sought.
She is making him her advisor, for he sees the world in many ways.
She barely puts him down long enough to slurp gruel or to graze.
Can we have our baby? Mother and daddy sheep often Princess Kim.
The princess pretends not to hear, as they beg and plead for him.
Dot likes where he is, on his patron’s shoulders, where he is king.
He sneaks back sometimes to see his parents, who shout and sing.
Space is where we put Utopias.
Where Paradise Lost, was first in space.
Where else can hope, for better there-after, be put?
In the mirror, I see myself in space,
over there, where I am not, cack-handed.
My shadow tails me every where,
bending my space-time dimensions
with guilt and dark matter.
The cemetery is space-in-common,
for tombstone pyramids with tickets
in time-capsules to after-life in space.
Space is a mesmerizing conundrum!
A vacuum never ever filled to continuum.
A waste of space for storing
dream-catchers caught napping.
Nothing to lose if lost.
Imagine?
UNSUPPORTED CODE Truthward Steer
UNSUPPORTED CODE Who knows the right and wrong of
foreign wars with truth so hid that
none can tell the cause? For
fact and fiction come in strange
disguise. God’s truth for one is
for another lies. Each land should
go its people’s chosen way and
we, till clear, a cautious
distance stay.
The world is now a complex game of
chess. Cack-handed players leave
the board a mess. Each one will
say, “the truth is on our side,” but
that my friend is all too fatal pride.
New fact can turn belief upon its
head and leave you with a hand
that you may dread. Never be
afraid to change your mind,
for oft the track we tread
is false or blind.
Your honour is a precious thing to lose,
check well motives of the leaders you
may choose. When they say, “the
time has come to intervene,” consider
every outcome that can mean. Beware
of those who woo you with their power
for demons rise when ere they sense
the hour. As wind and tide combine
the ship to veer, hold firmly
to your wheel and
truthward steer. UNSUPPORTED CODE
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