Politics

Mr Sheen

Imagine, if you will, the sorry scene
The morning after, when, for all their sins
You've had to go and empty all the bins
At Downing Street. You didn't want to clean
Who does? You spray a mist of Mr Sheen
And polish, then you pick up all the tins
With fag butts in, and bottles of fruit gins
With lipstick on, and wonder who has been
The twat who spaffed the red wine up the wall
Or drunk enough to decorate with sick
The silken carpets running up the hall
If you were rich you'd tell them where to stick
Their fucking job, their fag butts, and their wine
- You spray a bit more Mr Sheen, and shine

© Gail Foster 26th May 2022

Boris Had A Little Do

Boris had a little do
With biscuits and with cheese
As little bits of blossom blew
Upon the British breeze
It was against the rules but hey
As if he gave a toss
It was a warm and sunny day
And Boris was the boss

Be sure your sins will find you out
And somebody did tell
And everyone began to shout
'What is that horrid smell?'
'It's Boris Johnson's lucky pants
He coughed and followed through!'
And suddenly the sycophants
(Except for one or two

Or three or four or five or six)
Did hail a passing bus
And chucked him under it. Mud sticks
And no-one wants a fuss
'Alas poor Boris. Knew him well
But didn't want to be
Associated with the smell'
They said. 'It wasn't me!'

Said Boris, bleating like a lamb
His back against the wall 
'I'll go get Jonathan Van Tam
And he'll explain it all'
But silence was the stern reply
Expedience the crack
And so the shit began to fly
And Boris got the sack 

Or did he? Will he? Won't he? What? 
His fleece is white as snow
And even though he's lost the plot
There's still the book to go
'It wasn't me!' he said. But there
Was no-one left to hear
He ran his fingers through his hair
And poured another beer

And waited for the storm to pass
Which only took a while
For being of a certain class
And of a certain style
The shit slid off him easily
So shiny was his skin
And sure enough and sleazily
He slipped his way back in

And had another little do
With biscuits and with cheese
And laughter on the breezes blew
All through the London trees
And all was well for Boris, hey
For no-one gave a toss
It was a warm and sunny day
And Boris was the boss

© Gail Foster 11th January 2022

Hancock Goes Shopping

Matt Hancock went down to the shop
With his knob out. ‘It’s OK I’ll pop
A mask on my face
And leave plenty of space
And I’ve got lots of flags on my top’

Matt Hancock, enjoying the breeze
Round his gonads, went round by the cheese
And selected salami
Some gherkins, pastrami
Some wonky bananas, and peas

Matt Hancock then picked up The Sun
And saw he was in it. ‘What fun!
And, may I say
What a glorious day
For getting, er…everything done!’

Matt Hancock skipped out to the car
Where his bird (altogether now, ah!)
Was waiting. ‘It’s hot’
She said, ‘and you forgot
Your trousers again. You’ll go far’

Matt Hancock relaxed in his seat
With his knob out, and put up his feet
On the dashboard. ‘Drive on’
He said, then they were gone
Leaving skidmarks all over the street

© Gail Foster 25th June 2021

Nothing Fair In Love Or War Or Ever Was In Politics

(a parody of The Major-General’s Song by Gilbert and Sullivan)

I am the very model of a Police and Crime Commissioner
A Master of the Hunt and a Conservative practitioner
A fine upstanding Councillor and long standing parishioner
Consider me when voting for your next Tory Prime Minister
(Consider him when voting for your next Tory Prime Minister)

I know a man who knows a man who said that it would be OK
Nudge nudge wink wink and say no more and go and do it anyway
I claim the moral high ground but it’s not an easy thing to do
I have to climb a horse so I can see over the top of you
(He has to climb a horse so he can see over the top of you)

I’m very good at plastering my posters over all the land
The farmers in the area all know me well and understand
That I have little time to practice pleasantness or charity
And I consider hunting an acceptable barbarity
(And he considers hunting an acceptable barbarity)

A major in the army once I was but not a general
Some say that my position there may well have been untenable
But here in Wiltshire no-one gives a toss about your history
As long as your rosette is blue the rest may be a mystery
(As long as your rosette is blue the rest may be a mystery)

I’m interested in most matters appertaining to the law
And glad that you have understood exactly what your vote is for
And even though I’ve proved to be entirely unselectable
I’m not at all apologetic that I’m unelectable
(He’s not at all apologetic that he’s unelectable)

Sound the horn the battle isn’t over till the fat boy’s won
I’m not averse to blasting pigs apart and yes I’ve got a gun
And woe betide you if you didn’t buckle down and vote for me
Or worse you are a person who’s inclined to writing poetry
(Or worse you are a person who’s inclined to writing poetry)

In past lives I may well have been on rampages and pillages
And been the subject of some whispered gossip in the villages
But nothing you have ever heard is anything of note to me
As long as you still doff your cap and go along and vote for me
(As long as you still doff your cap and go along and vote for me)

Onwards ever onwards from the Plain and up to Swindon Town
With thousands of my followers all following with noses brown
Be reassured it’s nothing that the Tory party cannot fix
There’s nothing fair in love or war or ever was in politics
(There’s nothing fair in love or war or ever was in politics)

So if you voted for me why I thank you for your interest
And all the pictures posted on the bus stops and on Pinterest
And even though I’m not the new Police and Crime Commissioner
Consider me when voting for your next Tory Prime Minister!
(Consider him when voting for your next Tory Prime Minister!)

© Gail Foster 11th May 2021

Carrie Symonds and the Fish

Carrie Symonds sniffed the air
And wondered what the smell
That came from Cummings’ office was
Now he had gone to hell

How odious the man had been
And oh how he did hate her
So much that he had left a fish
Behind the radiator

Carrie Symonds got the fish
And threw it in the bin
How very nice the office looked
Without the Cummings in

But all the same there did remain
A funny sort of smell
And so she had it swept and cleaned
By MI5 as well

© Gail Foster 14th November 2020

Cummingsland

What land is this where we allow
The likes of Cummings to be king
All England bow and kiss his ring
For this is Cummings’ country now

What land is this where we allow
One man to say if birds can sing
Or bells be rung, or bees can sting
Must this be Cummings’ country now?

What land is this where we allow
The likes of Cummings to dictate
Are we the masters of our fate
Or is this Cummings’ country now?

What trick of light, what sleight of hand
Turned England into Cummingsland?
Good men of England, take a bow
For this is Cummings’ country now

© Gail Foster 14th February 2020

The Elusive Danny Kruger

Why Danny, so cute, but elusive
Ornamental and yet unobtrusive
Preferring to stay
At the end of the day
In locations a tad more exclusive

Why Danny, you see, while there’s cheese
In the pond and the voters to please
You could pop into town
Take the M4 and down
To Devizes (one ‘z’ and two ‘e’s)

Why Danny, you’ve come from above
Like a glorious bright Tory dove
With the light on your wings
And your parachute strings
And a note signed from Boris with love

Why Danny, we’ve hoodies that you
Can hug if you’re so moved to do
And a little white horse
And a Poundland of course
(that’s a ‘P’ and two ‘d’s and a ‘u’)

Why Danny, we wish you were here
Come the day will you even appear
Perhaps in The Bear
Or the Pelican, yeah
Bet you won’t pop in there for a beer

Why Danny, Devizes is nice
But in Wiltshire there’s mud and there’s ice
And Hammersmith’s so
Very pleasant you know
(Spell Devizes? One ‘D’ and ‘e’ twice)

Why Danny, you’re cute enough, true
But you’re Boris’s man through and through
And you’ll only appear
About four times a year
(There’s no ‘u’ in Devizes. Who knew)

© Gail Foster 4th December 2019

UPDATE: This morning, much to my surprise, I received a poetic retort from Danny Kruger (see below). Whilst I won’t be voting for him, one has to say Well Played.

Leaving Brexit Behind Us Forever

Why Gail, so full of surprises!

Thanks for the tips on spelling Devizes

I’m sure that we’ve met

But I haven’t seen yet

Through one of your many disguises

Are you the farmer from Manton who said

Have Defra gone off their head?

They’ve banned neonics

(The fleabeetle fix)

And so half my rape crop is dead

Or were you the soldier who proudly explained

This is how Yeomen are trained:

We leave them out in the rain

For a month on the Plain

And those that survive are retained

Perhaps you’re the teacher from Oare

Who said schools badly need more

Money – they’ll get it!

Sajid has said it!

The Budget will cough up for sure

But seriously, Gail, I’ll endeavour

To bring our country together

We’re badly divided

(Did you vote Leave? I did)

And I want Brexit behind us for ever

American Heresy

I am, said Trump, the Chosen One
There are no other Gods but me
Fall on your knees before the Son
I am, said Trump, the Chosen One
Come not with peace but with a gun
Not for me then against me be
I am, said Trump, the Chosen One
There are no other Gods but me

Quis? Ego

~ on the anointing of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson

So what if it was just a drunken dare
Quis? Ego! Made at Eton long ago
I dub thee Boris of the Golden Hair
Servus, servum, servi, servo, servo
So what if afterwards they went to town
and ordered tiny sparrows stuffed inside
six rare exotic birds and chased it down
with virgins’ tears in mouths so open wide
one could believe designed to fit the poor
in at such times there are no partridges
Amo! Amas! Deus! Deum! and more
Dom Perignon! To Boris! Boris is
The Chosen One! So long ago, the dare
At Eton, or more probably, elsewhere

Boris Made A Little Bus 🚌

Boris made a little bus
That’s lovely, Boris, Nanny said
Another bus. That’s nice for us
And went and put it in the shed

Boris made another bus
And painted it in blue and red
That’s nice, said Nanny, made a fuss
And went and put it in the shed

He’s made another fucking bus!
The Nanny to the butler said
You know I like it when you cuss
He said, a quick one in the shed?

I would, said Nanny, but it’s chock
Ablock with buses. Little shit
‘I’ve made another bus!’ The cock
And straight in to the shed with it

Boris made another bus
I made it all myself, he said
Another bus. That’s nice for us
And went and put it in the shed

Boris made another bus
Enough! said Nanny turning red
I’ve had enough of buses, plus
There’s no room in the fucking shed!

Boris bought another shed
Look, Nanny, now there’s lots of space!
That’s lovely, Boris, Nanny said
A little smile on her face

gailfromdevizes

poetry, photography, prose