Our Jerusalem

– on Donald Trump’s visit to the United Kingdom

*

And in the heat of summer time

Walking by England’s fountains seen

A man who thought he was a God

And King of England’s pastures green

We did not countenance his crime

Drew lines upon our crowded hills

And sang Jerusalem, Trump is here

Among us – dark Satanic chills

Bring me balloons of tan and gold

Bring me cartoons and bold satire

Bring tea and beer; Oh, clowns untold!

Bring me the jokes that will not tire!

I will bring cheese to fuel the fight

Or something silly in my hand

This isn’t Trump’s Jerusalem

And we don’t want him in our land

*

© Gail Foster 12th July 2018

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Button Wars

Little Trumpy stomped his foot
‘Look what Sloppy Steve has put!’
He said, and spitting out a sweet
Went red, and did another tweet

Little Trumpy’s button glowed
As from his tiny fingers flowed
Such foolish words as children sing
In playgrounds when they’re bullying

Little Trumpy, he’s the boy
Just William crossed with Fauntleroy
And Violet, the spoilt chick
Who thcreamed and thcreamed till she was thick

And Little Kim. What can I say
Like who’d want him to come to play
Imagine games of pass the parcel
‘OK Kim, you win’ (you arsehole)

God save us from these little boys!
Their tantrums, and exploding toys!
‘Say, my Dad’s bigger than your Dad’
‘My button’s bigger, and it’s rad’

Call the Nanny! Raise a shout!
Is Poppins anywhere about?
Or anyone who, without fear
Can clip the fat boys round the ear?

Tell them that it isn’t clever!
Send them to their beds, whatever!
Or maybe make a little chart
To stick gold stars on when they fart!

Adults are in classrooms taught
That wars are in theatres fought
And not by little kids at play
Who trash the nursery each day

I do despair. Damn, what’s to do
They’ve barely learned to hold their poo
But wait for one to chuck his ball
Out of his pram, and fuck us all

© Gail Foster 6th January 2018

 

Cosmic Micturation

On the alleged predilictions of Donald Trump

*

I wonder if, at Trump’s inauguration

There will be rain, some cosmic micturation

Anointing him with seedy sacred powers

In shimmered falls of blesséd golden showers

I wonder if America will see

An asset or a liability

In Trump, a man who likes to pay a whore

To do a pretty penny on the floor

I wonder if the world will froth and frown

Or take it on the chin, and lying down

Be sure the satirists will shoot their stings

‘Urine the Whitehouse now’, and sharper things

Some folk may whisper ‘Nothing new in this’

A President who likes to take the piss

What matter if the man’s a tad perverse

It could be sheep, or shit, or something worse

Oh, Bling New World, that suddenly we see

Run by a man who likes to play with wee

Hand on the button, fingers in the pot

America, you’d better like it hot

*

© Gail Foster 11th January 2017

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

God Help the Disunited States

 

Call for the Dalai Lama, Christ

Mohammed, and the Fates

Call the Druids, call the Rabbis

Call the angels, and their mates

Call the scientists, the physicists

To measure and collate

Call psychologists who understand

And artists who create

Call the clowns who see things sideways

And the writers who narrate

Get them sitting round a table, midst

The wildly spinning plates

With biscuits, tea, and fairy cakes

And someone to translate

Doing icebreakers, and mindfulness

And role play, and debate

And let them come up with a miracle

This madness to abate

To stop the Trump thing in his tracks

Or trip him on a trait

For Hilary’s annoying

And her shiny hardness grates

But Trump will make the USA

A horrid hell of hate

Let’s hope that this committee

Of all the good and great

Who wield the wisdom of the world

And spiritual weight

Can devise some cosmic strategy

The Trump thing to deflate

Before America becomes

The Disunited States

 

© Gail Foster 2016

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Trump Flowers

To the tune of ‘Nelly the Elephant’…

 

2,3,4…

 

With dismay

We watch as he has his say

This is the man who would spurn the Koran

And send all the Muslims away

 

One dark knight

Who makes his intentions plain

Force Mexicans all to build up a wall

So they’ll never be seen again

 

On telly the hierophant Donald Trump

Is ringmaster of his own circus

On and on like a trumpety skunk

Trump, Trump, Trump…

 

Donald the hierophant set off a trump

That stank out the political jungle

Blundering on like a trumpety chump

Trump, Chump, Trump

 

Off-white white, is the colour he has planned

For painting the stage for his mad charade

Across the American land

 

What new trick is he going to perform

How bad can it get?  We ain’t seen nothing yet

But the bonfires are awfully warm

 

The arrogant turd is appalling

Not far enough away

So wrong on the Right

With a haircut like sh*te

Followed through-out

The USA…

 

Oh…

 

On telly the hierophant Donald Trump

Is ringmaster of his own circus

On and on, like a trumpety skunk

Trump, Trump, Trump…

 

Donald the hierophant set off a trump

That stank out the political jungle

Blundering on like a trumpety chump

Trump, Trump, Trump…

 

 

by Gail