Our nation’s reputation is already scuffed
The chunter as another punter got duffed
Generation.. blunter advice have rebuffed
Latest sensation of vice Root not chuffed
Spice not once but thrice & chests puffed
No VIP pass in the splice should be stuffed
ECB still choosing Key as yet again fluffed
Are accusing Rob the knob’s gob we huffed
Stokes an a*se blokes boozing not snuffed
Trite this sh*te will be alright they bluffed
A farce losing Brydon Carse as got cuffed
Note: Poem sung using the melody from Stephen Sondheim's Send in the Clowns.
isn’t it perfect
the moment the scales slip off
right when the spotlight hits.
are we a duo
me on the ground pretending calm
you mid-air, mid-morph, mid-blink.
send in the reptiles
the ones with the tailored suits,
the ones who rehearse their humanity
and have suspiciously cool hands.
isn’t it lovely
how they glide through chaos
like actors missing half their cues.
one keeps pacing in circles
one freezes like a statue
both insisting they’re totally human.
send in the reptiles
oh right~
they’re already here
adjusting their holograms
and sipping lukewarm tea.
don’t you love farce
the cosmic variety
where the joke sheds a reptilian tail.
I thought you’d stay hidden
sorry, my dear
you never do.
so send in the reptiles
quick, send in the reptiles
don’t bother~
they’re already here .
'Peace and Love' both admirable traits
but to some they're a lamentable farce
and saying the phrase long and loud
won't ever make them come to pass
known to act naturally (it don't come easy)
a certain famous drummer someone
has oft been heard to quote
those self-same words but not in fun
while forever holding up (4) fingers
(2) in the form of a 'V'
yet if it really makes him happy
then it's plenty good enough for me
Before the chip, before binary code,
Before clocks showed in digital time mode,
Stood an ancient man with furrowed brow
Trying to track time and count numbers in a row.
He stared at stars, watched the sun,
He devised how to count when time had begun,
Using the flanges of his fingers one by one,
Counting seconds, minutes, days, and months done.
He counted numbers digitally on his hands.
One to five, six to ten, on which his pointer lands.
Strange that all our digital devices and displays.
Remembers the term 'counting with fingers' still plays.
Outrage and then revenge..Ensure such' and repetitions
Will never end.' A formula humans know.'
Yet with much drive, and vigour, still scatter and sow..!
The Lies you tell me and then tell yourself
the way you act as a victim in your own web of hell
and if I call out your horse- , you will blame and throw a fit
you cut me with your behavior and words and then don't expect me to bleed
you then after much confrontation say sorry as if it will add to your good deed
its time to make this right and I am done not standing up
So I am going to hold you accountable for these actions that has caused all this mess-up.
Posters painted
By law tainted
Rosaries rattling
Prayers prattling
Police swoop
Spirits droop
Whisked away
Because they pray
For children unborn
Innocent lives shorn
In abortion clinics
Cold cash for callous cynics
The post office
parcel farce
Those in charge
a little bit harsh
asleep at the wheel
give them a bonus
hundreds and hundreds
and nobody noticed
The honours awarded
Community service
Innocent to guilty
that is the verdict
you took their lives
their reps their money
are you obliged
a stint in the prisons
through ruining lives
you made decisions
I think it’s a joke
I think it’s a farce
the head ain’t accountable
only the ****
Makeup never hides the truth
the camera sees it all
Sharply focused through the pain
each mask a futile pall
As clowns embrace the actor’s fears
in painted frozen smiles
The farce goes on in word and song
—a masquerades denial
(Dreamsleep: May, 2023)
This tragedy is a farce,
A play within a play.
The king says one thing,
The queen another
And the pawn, lying broken
May never recover.
Romantic sop,
(he’s quite the fool)
Watching the battle go on
and on . . .
. . . and on the warfare continues -
A game of Armageddon.
With despotic palaver
The pawn is sent
To the enemy campsite
To sow discontent.
Rhapsodic dolt,
(he’s quite the fool)
An equerry running from side
to side . . .
. . . to side with those in grace.
Insane the thought of victors.
Hollow heroes
With noble guile
Bewitch the pawn
In villainous style.
Quixotic soul
(he’s quite the fool)
Standing in line for a Judas kiss.
My latest local farce, oh, what a schmooze!
oily words from his thick lips fairly ooze.
Behind my back, he must think I’m a hick,
ducking and dodging him doesn’t quite stick.
He’ll pop out of nowhere, but I don’t drool,
not when he treats me like somebody’s fool.
I want to purge my mem'ry of his muck.
He’s not really rude, just a roguish puck
or maybe simply an ill-behaved imp.
He’s like a certain, curious chimp.
He chatters away; I skip past his teeth
to hear what is the bewitching beneath -
affections which are a weak, vain attempt
to air his supercilious contempt.
written May 10, 2017
A man who is
Afraid of his own words,
In his eyes, nothing but
The timidity of a rat;
Without guards and
Bulletproof motorcades,
A wasteful wife;
He would pee in his pants:
Crazy he cowered us with violence,
Wasted our lives;
Finger on cheek,
Like a thoughtful statesman,
What a farce!
Based on BBC news article "Fart in parliament: Row blows up in Canada"
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-38037187
Should our leaders discuss debt?
Under which we toil and sweat
How to tax us? Lots or little?
Or somewhere roughly in the middle?
Do we grow and do they borrow?
Or make a promise vague and hollow
Economic conflagration?
Unemployment or inflation?
Do they reason? Time well spent?
No, they argue rectal scent
Flatus, butt burp, toxic winds
Makes eyes water, nose hairs singe
Rear crescendo, basso bum
Call a ballot 'bout the hum
Referendum! Backside notes?
Use some room spray! Gets my vote!
The only door known, stood closed
She raised her hands to push them open
A fear strange clenched at her heart
She pulled back fearing even to knock
Unsure of what her eyes would accost
An expression of joy or impatience naked
She stood at a loss confused and distressed
Her own no longer familiar and known
She remembered the day she was lost at the fair
The colorful scenes had turned bleak causing scare
When the hands that had held her had left her forlorn
She had fought back the tears, pretending to be strong
The little girl within had always acted brave
No one saw the farce and thought she would prevail
She knew not of another way but to courage, fake
And wished eyes caring would to the truth awake
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