The Lobbyist

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 Have you sat in a lobby
 watching them come and then go?
 In and out, to and fro,
 wondering where in fact they go.
  
 They say Life is like a lobby
 with a revolving door; 
 In and out, to and fro,
 where in fact do we really go?
  
 See, watching in a lobby 
 is becoming my hobby. 

The Second Coming

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I won, he muttered to himself, in a moment of reflection sitting at his desk in the Oval Office.

This was not happening, I won on the night, fair and square. The election was rigged. Fake votes, fake news. To lose was unthinkable, to lose to Sleepy Joe, no way. Seventy million voted for me. They follow me, they love me. I am The President. I will show that I won. I won! I won! I won!

Don’t they realise I saved Americans from the China Flu? I have given them the cure. (Anyway, I had China Flu and it was no big deal). And I’m Making America Great Again, I deserve a second chance and I…

“Christ!”

“That is me, My Son”

Standing in front of him was a swarthy, tall man with shoulder-length black hair dressed in long white robes. He wore leather sandals on his feet and held a long, slender piece of wood that was curled at the top.

“Security,” The President yelped. “Help, Security.”

 “There is no reason to fear me, My Son. I come in peace.”

“Imposter, Bin Laden, armed terrorist…”

The President fumbled under his desk for the button. “Oops, not that one, that’s for Kim. Here it is, the security button.” He pressed it, nothing happened, no alarms, no security staff rushing in. In a lather he then sprang to his feet and rushed to the office door knocking over an American flag on the way. The door was locked. He banged on the door, “Help. Security”. But there was no response.

The President was isolated. He turned to the imposter who was impassively following his movements. He then thought of a gun and searched feverishly for a weapon. A gun, there has to be a gun, all Americans have guns, but no gun.

Sweating profusely, his face florid, The President then picked up a paper weight from his desk and confronted the imposter.

“Who are you? What do you want? How did you disable my security?” The President held the paper weight above his head threatening the impostor. “You will be killed for this.”

“I am Jesus Christ.”

“Oh, sure you are – and I’m Donald Duck.”

“My Father, the Lord God has sent me to save Mankind.”

Slightly placated, The President cautiously placed the paper weight back on his desk. He was still concerned about the long piece of wood held by the so-called Christ, but it did resemble a shepherd’s staff, not a dangerous weapon. The imposter looked harmless enough, and even had some type of circular light hovering over his head which gave off a peaceful aura.

The guy might just be a loony, The President thought, and there were plenty of those in America. He might even be one of those crackpot Democrats!

“Look, Jesus or whatever you name is, I promise I won’t have you killed. We have plenty of aid programs for the mentally disturbed. I’ll personally have you committed to a mental institution and you’ll get plenty of help.”

“I wish to talk with you about God’s Kingdom.”

Must be one of those climate activists upset about my withdrawal from the Paris Accord.

“Look climate change is fake news, fake news. Coal is good…”

The Christ guy looked at him with a slight smile but did not comment.

That didn’t seem to work. Maybe he was here to protest about something else like racial abuse or the plight of the poor.

“If you are here about black people or the homeless. Look, I can see you’re poor and kinda black. I can help you get a job, I’ve got an empire you know”.

“I have returned to save all Mankind. For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

A Bible-basher, has to be. Better not upset this guy as he might be one of my God-fearing followers, The President mused, now sitting at his desk.

“OK, I think we are done here. You’ve got your 15 minutes of fame, for whatever you believe in. I’m extra busy trying to prove that I should have a Second Term. Now it’s time to reverse the magic trick and allow the security system to work again. I’ll let you go without conviction.”

“The Lord is my Shepherd…”

“I’m getting mad again. If you’re the real Jesus Christ and you’re back, then show me a miracle to prove it. Something like turning stone to bread, feeding the five thousand…”

“I have encased your world in silence so we can talk about the future of the world.”

The President pondered. Wait on, this guy might be legitimate. Who could disengage the security system of the greatest country on Earth? This was a miracle, not magic. It could very well be the second coming of Christ.

“Alright, I’m starting to warm to you as Christ, starting to believe. Look, I need some help to win the election I did win. Like you, it should be my second coming. I can take a selfie of us and post it on Twitter. ‘Jesus Christ endorses The President for another term.’ It’ll go viral. That’ll trump everything.”

Christ looked bewildered.

The President then rubbed his eyes. He was under his desk in the foetal position. Christ was gone.

“Hell!” he yelled.

Butterfly

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 A butterfly flew on by
 Flittered, fluttered
 Caught the eye
  
 It flew into the sky
 Blue, azure
 Flew so high
  
 Higher than I could spy
 Gutted, I muttered
 ‘I hope it will not die’. 

Turning 60

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When I turn Sixty –
I’ll hike the Kokoda Trail
(No way my body will fail),
I’ll bound up the highest mountain,
Frolic naked in a city fountain.
 
And when I turn Sixty -
I’ll photograph like a kid,
No lines, wrinkles, nothing hid,
My skin pristine, cheeks a flush,
OK they might use the odd air brush.
 
And when I turn Sixty -
There’ll be no stopping me,
Watch me climb the tallest tree,
Hey, I will be the living proof
Of the meaning of Eternal Youth.
 
And when I turn Sixty -
I’ll prove that being Sixty
Is the new Fifty, Forty, Thirty,
On the wrong side of middle age?
No, Sixty’s got to be all the rage.
 
But now that I’ve turned Sixty -
I’ve started to feel a bit ditsy,
Memories start to make me misty,
And the old back is playing up,
May be no longer the young pup.
 
And now that I’ve turned Sixty -
I think I’ll take Sixty lying down,
Curl on the couch like a sleepy hound,
Snooze, then pop open a can of VB,
And watch adrenaline sports on TV,

Four winds

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NOR’EASTER

Glad you’ve arrived –

Not a minute too late!

 

Look at you:

Waltzing in

Flitting about

Skirting the crowd

Twirling for all to see.

Coquette!

 

Is that you?

Titillating sails

Winking at waves

Flirting with flags

Refreshing to all.

Strumpet!

 

And now you’re gone,

As fast as you came.

Fluky damsel!

Are you really

‘A breath of fresh air’?

 

 

NOR’WESTER

Bellows fan Satan’s pyre

engorging the limp land

flaming prongs that

pierce Life.

 

Acrid, blackened sky

maelstrom of eucalypt burn

couple with Death’s crackle:

A bush holocaust.

 

Helicopters hover

like giant dragonflies

above a scarlet pool

damping

the inextinguishable.

 

Ashen faces face

the Devil’s inferno

emboldened only

by their past.

 

And people wait

at their gate:

‘Will it slow?

Or will we go?’

 

Blow out, evil wind!

…I beg you.

 

 

SOUTHERLY BUSTER

Blustering in from Antarctic climes

Whitecaps on a simmering sea

Boats scuttle to safety

Like mice to holes

-Refuge.

 

In winter: harbinger of colder times

Overcoats and beanies

Frosted ground

Land and Man

-Shiver.

 

In summer: waking back porch chimes

Cooling frayed tempers

Turning bush fires

Inward

-Relief.

 

 

SOU’EASTER

Watery wind

blowing from o’er the foam

Syphoning Life

from the oceans you roam.

 

Maritime mother

drawing us to your breast

Suckling the Land

with moisture on request.

 

Damp day

sky and sea

coalesce into grey.

 

The Love Song of a Little Leech

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And here I lie on the ground,

Just waiting to be found,

Thousands of teeth at the ready,

In a slither of mucous jelly.

 

Hey, there’s no need for fright,

You really will love my bite,

I’m only a swipp’ry little sucker,

With one big, slobbery pucker!

 

So please keep coming – I won’t hurt,

Like Dracula, I just want to flirt,

Only a little blood will do,

Oh…I’m now so stuck on you!

The Pigeon (a sonnet)

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What is the point of a pigeon?

Have you ever pondered this thought?

I’ve scanned the books, all religions,

And believe this bird to be a rort.

 

There you waddle, pecking at refuse;

Fat head bobbles, you coo and scratch;

And you can home (that’s no excuse);

Those other birds you cannot match.

 

But God must’ve something in His mind:

A niche, a role for you my friend;

In pity I wink, reason sure to find;

Stop this poem reaching a sad end.

 

But now white goo splatters my eye;

Then a wink from pigeon up on high!

 

Runny nose poem

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RED, RED NOSE

O my Love’s like my red, red nose,
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Love’s like an allergy,
That helps us snore in tune.

Now you’re so cool, my bony lass,
But so deep in snot am I;
And I will love you still, my dear,
Till all my sinuses go dry.

Till all my sinuses go dry, my dear,
And we can have some fun;
But I will love you still, my dear,
When again my nose does run.

So see you soon my only Love,
And see you, for a while!
And I will come again, my Love,
With one big snotty smile!

(Author’s note: Apologies to Robert Burns for the take on his poem ‘Red, Red Rose’)

 

 

Book lovers poem

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AT A BARNES AND NOBLE

I met her at a Barnes and Noble

She was young, I was much older

Coo-coo-ca-choo, she behind a folder

Our eyes then met, and I told her

I’m looking for a book

At a Barnes and Noble

 

We made love in a Barnes and Noble

It happened in the non-fiction section

Between Religion or History on reflection

No one noticed, no detection

Only the books saw the action

At a Barnes and Noble

 

We were married at a Barnes and Noble

It was literally a fine celebration

Filled with friends and the odd relation

Books and us – the ultimate creation

Books hailed our matrimony

At a Barnes and Noble

 

Our children live in a Barnes and Noble

Reading books is our only pastime

Other kids play Xbox, games of that kind

But this line I’m struggling to rhyme

I will get the answer

At a Barnes and Noble

 

This poem is brought to you

By Barnes and Noble

‘Book a Life’

At a Barnes and Noble.