Politics

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

Owen Smith Doth Take The Pith

*

I’m not impressed by Owen Smith

Methinks that he doth take the pith

Just wasn’t sure until today

What moved me so to feel this way

 …

Today; the leadership debate

I didn’t have too long to wait

Once you’ve seen it, it’s distracting

Owen Smith is over-acting

…

See him roll his sleeves up there?

He’s channelling a bit of Blair

Then he’s Harry Potter, then

He’s Brutus dressed as Mister Benn

…

Jazz hands.  What’s that all about?

Turn it down, no need to shout

For no-one needs a politician

Who thinks he’s at a Glee audition

…

Now Jeremy, he plays it calmer

More yer kitchen sink type drama

Monochrome, with moody stare

More Alan Bennett, to be fair

…

Owen’s acting sounds to me

Like desperate soliloquy

His every cliché rings a bell

And all his soundbites bore as well

…

I reckon Owen Smith’s a fake

He’s on the stage the pith to take

Off, off, and let the curtain fall

I don’t trust Owen Smith at all

*

© Gail Foster 18th August 2016

All Out For In, Boys; Vote Remain

* 

I’m all out for In, Boys, I’m all out for In

I’ll not consign dear Europe to the bonfire or the bin

We’ve fought too many flippin’ wars to call this thing a day

And isn’t such division just a little bit passé?

We’re a tiny little island, all surrounded by the sea

And the days of the Empire are consigned to history

Let’s not be cast adrift, Boys, in some Captain Pugwash boat

Vote to stay in Europe, Boys, it won’t dry up the moat

What say you?  Immigration?  What, the white ones or the black?

Which ones, which precisely, are you wanting to send back?

The ones who work for naff all cash, in dirt and sweat and mud?

Or the ones who ran from ISIS just to save their children’s blood?

What say you?  Benefits?  Well now, you’d best look in to that

It isn’t quite that easy for them all to get a flat

There’s rules to do with public funds, and residence as well

And doesn’t all that tax evasion leave a nasty smell?

And what about Intelligence, and Military Alliance

Employment, the Economy, and Human Rights compliance?

What will happen if we leave, well, lovely Boys, it won’t be pretty

There’ll be rhetoric on rhetoric, committee on committee

And all of flippin’ Europe will be looking down its nose

“You’re not with us, you’re against us” will be how the anthem goes

And Boris, hey don’t start me off, don’t listen to the bloke

Unless you went to Eton you’re the punchline of his joke

“More Bolly, Boris?”  “Do you know, I don’t mind if I do

Oh dear, I fear I’ve drunk the lot, and now there’s none for you”

And Dave isn’t much better, though he’s talking far more sense

Hey, even Ms Claire Perry’s on the right side of the fence

And what about the Berlin Wall, the night that it came down

You could hear the cheers from Germany from old Devizes Town

We all thought that was progress, some sure sign of evolution

How can leaving Europe be a sensible solution?

And would you trust the Government to sell you a used car?

I’d rather have them supervised by Europe, thank you, ta

So, Votey McVote Face, it’s all down to you

I’m all out for In, Boys, and I hope that you are too

*

© Gail Foster 2016

 

The Democracy Lark

The sweet song of the democracy lark

Once told of a bright and hopeful dawn

Now there is only a strident bark

And the whimper of sycophants that fawn

And worship the Trump and his massive wad

Lovers of money, with racist views

Vote for Mammon’s dodgy God!

The democracy lark is singing the blues

 

© Gail Foster 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 

Well, Well, Welby

Well, well, Welby

Beg your pardon

He’s got three Poles

At the bottom of his garden*

And joining in with daily prayers

Some Syrians beneath the stairs

Asylum seekers in his shed

And Communists

Beneath his bed

 

He’s just doing what he can

To pander to the ‘common’ man

To separate the issues, see

Of race and the economy

With good intent to bridge the gap

‘Twixt logic and the racist cr*p

For Welby is a diplomat

Just in case, and just like that

 

It’s not that we’re a racist state

Good luck with that one, Welby, mate

Imagine pubs across the land

The dodgy banter, beer in hand

That Archbishop got it right

We’re all white mate, we’re all white

Share our wealth with all the planet?

Outrageous! (outraged Bob from Thanet)

 

But what of all the fish and bread

With which five thousand mouths were fed

Would Jesus Christ have found it hard

To put up Poles in his back yard?

 

by Gail

 

* A play on the words of an English joke, “Well, well, well, three holes in the garden!”

Apple Barrels

Apple Barrels

*

Some apples make cider

And some apples not

Some ferment as expected

Some do not

There may be statistics

I suspect not a lot

That predict the existence

Of possible rot

Schrodinger’s cat

Is wise to the plot

A cat in a box

Or a wolf in a cot

In the barn there are barrels

To keep cold or hot

The cider is coming

Ready or not

*

by Gail

Choosing Choice

dreamland knickers

The Devizes Neighbourhood Plan referendum

at the Town Hall on Thursday 17th September

*

My alarm clock shouts at me with noisy voice

“Wake up!  It’s Thursday and you have a choice!”

Of what to have for breakfast, eggs or bran

And of voting or not voting on the Plan

I’m not that sure quite what it’s all about

Perhaps I’ll go online and check it out

The library know their stuff, they’re pretty fair

Could ask at the Town Hall, there’s people there

That funny poet woman says “Vote Yes”

Or otherwise the town will be a mess

Without a Plan we just won’t have a clue

Of what outside developers will do

But other folk are saying “No! Vote No!”

I’m so confused about which way to go

If I don’t vote I haven’t had a say

It’s only a few moments from my day

I’m going to go to town now and the Market

Could take the car but it’s a job to park it

Might take my bike or simply take a walk

And wander round and meet some friends and talk

I wonder what they think, I’ll ask their views

They might, like me, be wondering what to choose

Meat from the butchers, or some humble spam

Or whether to have a quick one in The Lamb

I’ve chosen breakfast eggs, I’m on a roll

I’m going to town, I’m going to simply stroll

I’m going to look at options and take note

I’m choosing choice and I am going to vote

If stuff goes wrong I’ve got till ten o’clock

The day is long, I’m on it (where’s that sock?)

 *

by Gail