I knew an old buffoon
quite the gloomy poltroon
who through a stormy monsoon
flew his hot air balloon
and among the Walloon
and Flemish
much to their surprise
did not meet his demise
but with neither a blot
not a jot
nor blemish
at all
on hand
in the small
6-Government
densely populated
parliamentary constitutional monarchy
3-language country of Belgium
safely did crash land
seasons shift so do eras
moughal era
british india era
parliamentary governance era
america;russia may make an offer to grow to next level
but make india sovereign dependent
britain with brexit may grow english speaking population to next level
but make india again sovereign dependent
china with another fusion sun and gunsmithing may
shoot you down,make india sovereign dependent
find leader in you
rally to polling booths
SONNET TO JORDAN
If you saw Jordan as he is today
You would not recognize the boy we knew.
Back then he was a pest in every way
(He even carved his name once on a pew)
If there was mischief, he was always there.
“He’ll not amount to much,” his teachers sighed.
But yesterday, she saw him in the square,
His wife and family by his side.
The dense crowd hanging on his every word,
Their parliamentary candidate.
But, in her head, the only voice she heard
Was an echo from an earlier date.
Young Jordan, who had set her heart aflame.
She still sits in that pew that bears his name
Prime Minister’s Question Time
That Wednesday morning farce
That starts with the sycophants
Verbally kissing the Premier’s ****,
Followed by the Opposition Leader
Who begs and implores
Answers to his questions
Which the Prime Minister ignores,.
To indulge in propaganda
And very personal attack
When the Opposition Leader
Vey quickly bites back.
Those present in the House
All bay, yell and scream like fools
In way that would bring exclusion
From most decent primary schools.
Democracy in action
There for all to see
The Parliamentary equivalent
Of the The Goon Show on TV
Prime Minister’s Question Time
A misnomer indeed
Behaviour more fitting those
High on skunk, roofies or weed.
A most unedifying spectacle
But thats just how it looks
When any nation is led by
Hypocrites, spivs and crooks.
The honourable resignation
A thing of the long long past
As those in power cling on
Until the very very last.
And loyalty is rewarded,
When the opportunity affords,
By the lifetime sinecure of
A seat in the House of Lords.
We treat politicians with deference
In a manner that confounds
Forgetting they work for us
And not the other way around.
"The winds of change" a Briton warned
In his speech to South Africa,
Meaning that those who were scorned
Might soon rule the republica.
Many heard what he was saying
From the parliamentary podium
But most were probably thinking
He had smoked a shot of opium!
No one made capital from this.
Not even the underdogs!
It is true that their nemesis
Had guns, hippos and dogs!
Clever circles murmured the phrase
But even they didn't backdrop it.
Was it all a wild goose chase?
Was it anywhere within their ambit?
But the winds of change reached the shores!
The apartheid forces resisted!
However, the winds entered the doors!
And universal suffrage was instituted!
British premier Chamberlain was right!
He'd looked from his vantage point.
Democratic South Africa came to sight:
An idea that might have seemed quaint!
4/16/2022
Parliamentary polls on the card
Whom to elect is not that hard
Liquor stores are barred!
The Charge of Boris's Parliamentary Cohort of three hundred lawmakers
I
Forward the light brigade!
Was there a dude dismayed?
Though most should have known
Cameron had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply!
Theirs not to reason why!
Theirs but to do or die!
Spurning the fear of Death
rode the three hundred.
II
Farage to the right of them,
Corbyn to the left of them.
Bannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered.
Stormed at by the press,
Onward they rode in stress
Into the wilderness,
Oh, what an awful mess!
Rode the three hundred.
IV
Can ever their great deed fade?
How high that price they paid!
All the world wondered.
Praise to the charge they made?
Praise to the Light Brigade?
Intrepid three hundred!
Harvard, Princeton or Yale?
I'll take some courses by mail
Engineering or Mathematics?
I'm majoring in Acrobatics
Piano, Violin, Flute or Clarinet?
I'll play my music on the Internet
Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton or Dickens?
Give me a J.K. Rowling tale of Wiccans
Pheasant under Glass with Caviar?
Slice of pizza and fries with that, sir
Sparkling wine, Liqueur or Pink Champagne?
Make mine tapwater -- plain
Mansion or Penthouse Condominium?
A dreary shack, the bare minimum
Representative or Parliamentary Democracy?
Socialist Republic, where everything's given to me
Life offers you choices, let there be no doubt
The worst thing you can do is take the easy way out
Clowns bickering over bullying allegations
Imagine the hyprocracy
expressed inside these certain voices
claiming they are defending the indefensible
When they stand totally ignorant
in favour of killing babies
Truth has a backbone to every word
within that which takes away
the value from human life
Brexit Sonnet No. 47
‘Hear Hear John’
‘The wellbeing of the people’ I hear him say,
‘That is what parliamentary sovereignty means’,
He also said, this last year’s man of grey,
This Brixton Boy, dreamer of free vote dreams.
Applaud I must, a decent view no less,
On Brexit’s chaotic canvas a decisive stroke?
No paint by numbers will see us through this mess,
A brush with powerful past for Brexit folk.
As high street creaks with Brexit driven strain,
And factory sites look close at rising sun,
A glint of hope, from man with ‘nought to gain,
‘Let Parliament decide’; with this I’ll run.
Just listen hard for Grantham’s daughter gone,
And you may her utter; ‘Hear Hear John’.
©Keith Murphy
Many a flame, brightens the sky
Such events to re-enact
A plot in vain that would underlie
A pre-determined pact
Brought up as a Catholic child
Beliefs that would not wane
The distinct view of Protestants
Reflecting royal reign
The disapproving treatment then
Catholic Priests and all
Of secret church services
Hidden holes – no fall
A venture to the land of Spain
Discover and to fight
A brave and learned soldier
Gunpowder to alight
Plans devised, against the king
Thomas Winter’s plot
Fawkes informed and now assigned
Such tales were not forgot
A secret meet within the Inn
Robert Catesby lead
A gang adjoined as one to swear
Our plans will go ahead
A parliamentary opening
Imminently placed
For barrels rolled into the night
Hidden without trace
A letter sent to Monteagle
Reward for such a warn
Uncovered act, to light a fuse
The truth of which be sworn
Hidden in the cellar below
O’ Guy to now arrest
A plotters display of guilty heads
The ending of their quest
Written by Geraldine Taylor ©
Predatory Riches Upset French Presidential Campaign
#Fillon, rich and predatory,’s in the slime,
Took public money for his wife so fine.
His campaign to advance
To President of #France
Has people saying, 'He’s passed a red line.'
It's tough on Penelopé,
Who's slaved for her man,
But the money 'enveloppé'
Counts her work as a sham,
So she's on a slippery slope,
Is his dear Penelope.
(French president election 2017 : François Fillon, former prime minister, conservative candidate, is accused of using public money to pay his wife, Penelope in French 'penny lope'), for a ‘fictive job’ as his parliamentary assistant. She is under judicial investigation for ‘receiving’.
Happy Birthday to the Queen!
A royal celebration
Will be the order of the day
Within the British nation.
From fireworks and gun salutes
To Parliamentary praise,
Her subjects will commemorate
With glorious displays.
As for the Queen, she’ll take a walk
Then spend the day at home
Paying just as much attention
To the hoopla as this poem.
The turbulence of a tube in a rusted bowl is akin to a striped sky. Acronyms are quite quick to jump over a lake at dawn. And districts discussed dominatrix in an iron ball. Cavitation clapping in a vest that is pink. And five hundred lemons laid out bare. Interesting how a slug does have no flippers in a watery drift. And a biscuit melting in a cup. Bits. Misused. Miscellaneous page of itemised devolution. Require no more. Thirst is a barrel. And a barrel in a chest. Young. Factions form filled. Gone gone gone. In a honey comb drip. Good. Exemplorary examples. Hahahaha beer bread. Hahahaha fortification fortified fries with forks swinging. *** parliamentary z
The turbulence of a tube in a rusted bowl is akin to a striped sky. Acronyms are quite quick to jump over a lake at dawn. And districts discussed dominatrix in an iron ball. Cavitation clapping in a vest that is pink. And five hundred lemons laid out bare. Interesting how a slug does have no flippers in a watery drift. And a biscuit melting in a cup. Bits. Misused. Miscellaneous page of itemised devolution. Require no more. Thirst is a barrel. And a barrel in a chest. Young. Factions form filled. Gone gone gone. In a honey comb drip. Good. Exemplorary examples. Hahahaha beer bread. Hahahaha fortification fortified fries with forks swinging. *** parliamentary z
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