Political Parties

Recently I find the political situation in the UK to be a rich source of inspiration for poems. 

During a time when the government imposed strict rules to limit the spread of coronavirus, the population made sacrifices - one of the most heartbreaking being the restriction against being with loved ones in their dying hours.

Reports of social gatherings and parties within government were at first denied, then deflected by the Prime Minister. As evidence emerged, stories changed, eventually leading to a supposed apology in the House of Commons. At the time of writing, criminal responsibility and political fallout has still to be ascertained. 

This is the background to this poem.

 Political Parties

The PM said there were no parties,

then said that they followed all guidelines,

then in a knee-jerk

later claimed it was work,

hoping it was consigned to the sidelines.

Enraged that there "could" have been parties

The PM denied that he'd known,

Enquiries were needed

before he conceded

that any lockdown rules were blown.

When photos of Downing St garden

showed people with cheese and with wine,

it was merely a meeting

and no one was cheating -

the PM said all this was fine.

Whilst investigations continued

The chap at the helm stood aside

It was for the best

As a conflict of int'rest

made him the wrong guy to decide.

The PM still denied involvement

in parties around Number Ten.

A picture was posted

of a quiz that he hosted -

a party hat meeting again?

One hundred were emailed in lockdown

To make the best use of good weather,

to bring their own booze

if they should so choose,

to drink, socially-distanced, together.

It emerged that forty attended

with trestles set up with some nibbles.

An unlikely meeting

With boozing and eating;

Mistaken for work, came the quibbles.

But who could have made such an error?

The PM himself had attended

At first he'd not twigged

As the attendees swigged -

at least, that's how it was defended.

So now what does ev'ryone think?

When he said that no parties occurred

He'd not just been wrong

He'd been there all along

Denials are simply absurd.

The PM had lied to the House.

He'd partied and broken the rules.

Whilst Britons had died

He had partied and lied

And treated the people like fools.

Apologies will not suffice.

Whilst rare, don't believe they're sincere.

He won't leave by his choosing;

When his party fear losing,

Maybe then there's a chance that day's near.

The Unexpurgated Dickens

Imagine that Charles Dickens had been wackier and his great works had needed editing before they were published. What might they have been like before the editors applied their influence?

When Nickelby was Nicholas,
a copperfield our Dave,
Marley pulled a toilet chain
and Scrooge's end was grave.

They sold two breasts in Paris,
which was great as you'd expect,
but Oliver then twisted things 
so Bill's Sykes change was wrecked.

Fagin's gold from Nancy's boys
helped our mutated friends
so rather than find Ed's wind rude
Martin guzzled it both ends.

Each publishing house found this too bleak,
Returns would be slim pickings;
That's why these curiosities stopped,
these rarities of Dickens.

New Year 2022

Sometimes one starts to write a poem and it runs away with you. This one did, and as it ran it became progressively darker. The trouble was, it was supposed to be a short rhyme to mark the new year! The last couplet applies the brakes. 

Satire?

No, I'm in my usual chair...

When plague descends upon the world
When rights are picked away
When parasites pretend to lead
When foolishness holds sway
When lies are told repeatedly 
When truth is oft ignored
When mainstream media's controlled 
When food's hard to afford
When profiteering causes deaths
When facts get in the way
Cheer up! It couldn't happen here!
Enjoy this New Year's Day! 

Rear Wind Oh!

It is an odd world. When a reality star makes money by breaking wind into jars in order to sell them, it's another example of that.

When there's a report that this same reality star has been hospitalised for overdoing it, then it might just inspire a poem.

"Effervescence of the bowels, my dear,
It's better out than in;
Expel the noxious fumes without
They may ferment within.
Now if you must contain yourself,
but wish to profiteer
Sterilise a jam jar then 
insert it in your rear.

Discharge the methane slowly
and when the jar is full,
Tighten up your sphincter
And check the void is null.
If all is well then screw the lid
Upon the gas-filled jar;
repeat the process 'til you're done -
you'll know the time you are.

Now if you've done your marketing, 
have buyers for your gas,
price up your jars accordingly 
and rake in all that brass.
But don't do this to great excess,
For it's a guarantee
If you progress to demi-johns
You will need A & E."