satire

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.

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.

A poem about cows and climate change

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A CHANGE IS IN THE WIND

 

Belch!

 

They’re watching us, these things called humans

Pens out, monitoring our rumens

Cows no fun

 

Pointing their fingers, shuffling their sheets

Murmuring about the planet’s heat

Cows help sun

 

Worried faces, showing their petulance

About our burps and our flatulence

Cows need bung

 

Uttering words, the most common ‘methane’

Hoping us cows would kindly refrain

Cow’s bad bum

 

With a gut like a still, it’s our only torment

Grass sloshes around, slow ferment

Cow’s big drum

 

Big cows with balls are the worst offenders

Blame males, that’ll help defend us

Cows well hung

 

They think it’s best to fit us with gas masks

Give us new grass to stop all the farts

Cow’s new tum

 

They’ll want us to dispose of our very own cow pats

Placing them into some underground vats

Cows no dung

 

See they carve us up or milk us bone dry

Now they say that we make all things fry

Cows hard done

 

No bull, we’re so over their bovine jokes

Go away and pick on some ‘udder’ folk

Cow bad pun

 

And don’t they belch things out, that’s a fact

What’s spewing from that factory stack?

Cows not dumb

 

See all we want to do is chew on our cud

Moo, poo, and trudge though the mud

Cows hum drum

 

So it’s over, all of this crap is enough

We’re taking a stand, getting so tough

Cows done fun

 

Let’s fight for ruminant freedom

Run with the buffalo, the sheep

Let’s herd together, fight to the end

Cows are one

 

Let’s stampede the Golden Arches

Go on long protest marches

Fight on beaches and on pastures

Even take to the air in the fastest

Cow Top Gun

 

And now the end is very near

The day that all of us cattle fear

The last to the abattoir is to be tanned

The fight was called ‘Muster’s Last Stand’

Cows out gunned

 

So if this story shocks, scares and amazes

That we Daisies could be ‘pushing up daisies’

Next time you question our windy emissions

Consider the risk of milk and meat omissions

Cow’s life done

 

(Author’s note: It is reported that ruminants, including cows, are directly responsible for 6.3% of anthropogenic global warming. Apologies to Dana Lyons for using some ideas from his song ‘Cows with Guns’)

 

 

The Bachelor: a sonnet

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I really want to be The Bachelor,

Inviting morsels for me to trawl,

Flicking them off, so spectacular,

I wish I could taste them all!

 

And I find The One, The Only One,

“My love is like a red, red, rose”,

The final, millions watch, she’s won,

A moment in time that froze.

 

But is it real this game of love?

Is it only a scripted illusion?

Parts are acted, the producers shove,

All in all, a romantic delusion.

 

To be The Bach my looks will hinder,

I’ll go back to finding real love on Tinder.

 

Phubbing

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When you’re in a crowd

And someone comes towards you

And ignores you

On their phone…

Phubbing

Phone Snubbing

 

When you’re on a night out

At a restaurant

And your date

Constantly goes

On their phone…

Phubbing

Phone Snubbing

 

When you want to have a conversation

With your teenager

And they just have to go

On their phone…

Phubbing

Phone Snubbing

 

When there are laws about not

Phoning and driving

But people

Still drive

On their phone…

Phubbing

Phone Snubbing

 

When you’re reading this poem

On your phone…

 

Fried Beauty

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Oily fies

Glory be to God for all fried things –

For well-done patties full of whatever;

For savs encased in thick, crusted batter;

Oily fish and chips; chicken wings;

Chiko rolls – folded, aromatic, full of flavour;

And other beauties, how can they make you fatter?

 

All fried things crisp, ooey, gooey, strange;

Whatever raises cholesterol (who knows how?)

With ingredients that must keep you trim;

Let’s buy another scallop with the change:

Praise him.

 

(Author’s note: Apologies to Gerard Manley Hopkins for the take on his poem ‘Pied Beauty’)