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

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

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

 

© Danny Kruger 6th December 2019

 

The MP for Devizes, Claire Perry

Written to mark the occasion of the Rt Hon Claire Perry MP’s recent appearance on Question Time…

*

The MP for Devizes, Claire Perry
Used to be fragrant and merry
Now she’s pointy and bitey
And not that politey
And bitter as bargain bin sherry

Our MP, the Honourable Claire
Has teeth that she quite likes to bare
In public debate
But her hair’s really great
And she did crack a blowjob joke. Yeah.

Claire Perry, MP for Devizes
Is worthy of Parliament prizes
At home we handle
Our bell, book, and candle
Whenever her presence arises

*

© Gail Foster 17th November 2018

Humpty Trumpty

*

Humpty Trumpty built up a wall

Of hatred and bullshit, in no time at all

So full of hot air and albumen

Bumptious Numpty

An egg amongst men

Trumpty Bumptious, sat on his wall

Infusing the air with a sulphurous pall

Obdurate ovoid, and odious smell

Truly Trumptious

The egg from hell

Rambunctious Trumpty, sat on his wall

A slug on his own at an ugly bug ball

Blot on the skyline, and bombastic bore

Humpty Dumptious

An egg to ignore

Dumpty Trumpty, sat on his wall

The King of the Fools looking down on the small

Dark is his shadow and yellow his yolk

Unctuous Humpty

The egg that spoke

Trumpty the Numpty, sat on his wall

Stirring the winds of the world to a squall

Summoning forces too violent to quell

Presumptious Trumpty

A shit in a shell

Humpety Trumpety, sat on his wall

Spitting out poison and hubris and gall

As stable and safe as a knife on a ledge

Precarious Numpty

An egg on the edge

Trumpty the Terrible, sat on his wall

The sun on his hair and the land in his thrall

Waiting to hatch from his keratin keg

Horrible Humpty

The dangerous egg

Humpty Trumpty; the egg with a plan

To set race against race, and man against man

Let us conjure a mischievous wind to unseat him

Fry him in Mexican spices

And eat him

*

© Gail Foster 2nd Sept 2016