I’m not a swagman
but I slept with Matilda
underneath the stars
STORIES IN RHYME No. 32
Humpty Trumpty where have you been
Off to London to visit the Queen
Humpty Trumpty what did you do there
I hope that they were things that you can share
I know you’ll say her Highness was fab
But I hope you refrained from trying to grab
At one part of royalty you’ll never see
Swampking Donald’s the best you’ll ever be.
And if we look at more of your trips
We learned that in Melbourne you made a terrible slip
You talked about Sweden and their event seen on FOX
Events that were history you got from the box
Is it true you watch TV six hours a day?
That’s more than kids with their parents away!
The DEMs and now some of the GOP
Are beginning to ask “When will we see”?
A glimmer of truth come from you and your gang
Something that doesn’t land with a clang
The nation is weary of alternative facts
Your fabric of truth has too many cracks.
You’re making it up as you go along
Your fine-tuned machine is singing your song
The chorus however is allowing some leaks
Stuff you try to cover with tweets.
A month has gone by and your house is a mess
Even your guests feel under stress
At a recent luncheon with a New Jersey oaf
You ordered for him your tasty meat-loaf
You reveal yourself as one who controls
Not good in the long run for you in the polls
It’s a trait shown by demagogues of yore
It’ll see you dismissed to your Florida shore
The nation doesn’t need a pandering goof
Not someone who’s a few tiles short of a roof
We need a leader both honest and true
Who comes from a state which is both strong and blue
Note: This was written before Trump made his on again/off again visit to the UK. Then I mislaid the USB drive I saved it on. Today – found!
For the past few weeks I have been digging in my spare time for papers, packed long ago and forgotten for a few years. I did mention some time ago that years ago I had written poetry about Fish and Chips. For those of you who are from the U.K. or have visited the british Isles this will be no mystery. However, for some, this may be new. Fish and Chips used to be a staple throughout the country, until perhaps the advent of Indian “take-out”. Anyway, be that as it may, here is a short piece I found which I wrote on June 10th, 2000.
For the Brits, you may remember advertising for England’s Glory matches.
Who Invented Fish and Chips (in newspaper)
Dr. Foster went to Gloucester
for some matches ran the story.
For a certain strike and steady flame,
he asked for England’s Glory.
But that story’s old folk lore,
it was Fish and Chips he went there for.
So back to Bristol on his horse,
There were no buses then of course (not even late ones).
But, from his quest he was prevented,
because Fish and Chips had not been invented.
So to his spouse he said “Right!”
Let’s make some Fish and Chips tonight.
But how? she said, “what is this dish?”
and “what are chips that go with fish?”
“Just watch this spud” the Doctor cried,
“soon he’ll be peeled and cut and fried”
“And what about the fish, does that not matter?”
“wife get some flour and water and make some batter!”
And with this mix, just like skin,
The dead fish in hot fat learnt how to swim.
The dead fish swam around and round,
until he turned a golden brown.
Too hot to eat, so, until later,
they laid him out on last night’s paper.
The Doctor said said he could not linger,
and began to delve with just a finger.
And just to get some more,
he found it better if he used four.
And Mrs. Foster said “I need some salt,
and soured cider with some malt,
and give me pepper by the peck.
This tastes so good so what the heck?’
So here ends this fishy story.
Fish and Chips were England’s Glory!
But there is a sequel to this ryhme
I’ve pondered it from time to time.
Because, Dr. Foster did not stop there,
he went to Oz (Australia) and invented beer.
Uluru Called my Name- a never-ending quest
Yesterday an old friend with whom I’d been at sea
Stopped by my digs to check, what land-lubbing had done to me.
We sat and talked for many hours, reliving sailing days.
Remembering high-seas and hurricanes and desert island cays.
We opened some bottles of Lindeman 45 and we reminisced.
We talked of opens seas and ocean swells and of the girls we missed.
And the time we sailed from Bremen, Our cook Helmut not the best
every day for seven weeks he put our taste buds to the test.
Seemanns Lapskaus, a most unpleasant dish
We often heaved it overboard if you get my drift.
I heard Uluru call my name and said I have to go.
But why right now I cannot say. I simply do not know.
Where to my friend asked as if he were in shock?
I’m off to watch the sun at the place they call Ayers Rock.
I closed my eyes and drifted off with dreamtime in my mind,
And with Matilda underarm I waltzed away, to see what I could find.
I walked for many weeks, just guided by the stars;
Miles away from Kingsgate, the Outback has no bars.
I camped by a Billabong as Patterson had done
It was already dawning and then I saw the sun
Changing Uluru’s colour; the reason why I came.
But gently carried on a breeze, I still could hear my name.