Fa – the Green Dragon

A Place for the Odd Musings of an Expat Bristolian

Category Archives: Humor of Sorts

Some funny and some not so funny things I have come accross


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Humpty Trumpty – how do I not love thee?

Humpty Trumpty, how do I not love thee? Let me count the ways:

 

A is for abide you; that I simply cannot do.

B is for Bullying and your constant threats to sue.

C is for Con Man of that there is no doubt.

D is for the dread, you are spreading all about!

E is for entertainer, of the dupes at all your rallies

F is for frightening, the word’s right up your alley

G is for gullible, the voters that you conned.

H is for honesty a trait you have not donned

I is for Intelligence, the people you ignore

J is for Julian, the jerk that you adore.

K is for Kremlin, you know all about this place

L is for the many lies, you tell them with bare face

M is for mess, you’ll lead us in the mire

N is for your neediness and praises from the choir

O is for odious and the decency that you’re lacking

P is R in Russian, who helped you with their hacking.

Q the question about tax returns you won’t show.

R is ‘R Vladimir who sets your heart aglow.

S is for sick-dog you are a sexist boor

T is for Trump a name we will abhor.

U is for University where you cheat people of their cash

V is for vengefulness, along with teeth that gnash.

W is for the wall of which you daily spout

X is for exit, you’ll impeach your own way out.

Y is the Yes-men in the Kakistocratic pool

Z is for the zero rating because you are such a fool.

Counting up, now let me see, that’s twenty-six in all

I wonder how long you’ll last in the house upon the Mall.

You’ll be sluiced away just like trash,

When washing down our streets;

No more Trumpty spouting off and then, an end to nasty tweets.


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Trumpty are you a buffoon

 

HUMPTY TRUMPTY WORLD CLASS BUFOON

 

Humpty Trumpty’s a piece of work

 

Simply put though, he’s just a jerk.

 

A disrespectful and belligerent oaf

 

It’s said he’s a few slices short of a loaf.

 

The world is on edge, the edge of our seat

 

Just wondering what’ll be his next tweet.

 

Telling us all that NATO is wrong.

 

Perhaps Putin taught him this poor Russian song?

 

How long before he takes us to war?

 

Not before we have shown him the door.

 

Be off you scoundrel, monger of power,

 

Go back where you came from your gold-plated tower.

 

You’ve surrounded yourself with yes-men too

 

None renowned for exceptional IQ.

 

They all came running when you started your hollers.

 

Mainly because they’d all paid their dollars.

 

I think you called it “pay-to-Play”.

 

The things that you’ve said just don’t go away.

 

We have it on film and we have it in sound

 

Like karma it’ll just keep coming around.

 

You can’t grab women whenever you please

 

When that becomes normal, all hell will freeze.

 

On Friday the 20th he’ll get sworn- in

 

Then start his walk on ice that is thin.

 

Sadly we’ve become a laughing stock

 

All over the world they’re beginning to mock.

 

Ringling Brothers is shutting down

 

It seems we are stuck with a left-over clown.

 

Trumpty it’s time, we’ve all had enough

 

Life in the White House is going to be rough.

 

 Only with lies you’ve made your way through

 

And now that you’re there what will you do?

 

Continue to disparage the CIA

 

And get your info from Julian A.

 

From here it looks like a very bad ‘toon

 

Trumpty are you a world-class buffoon?

 


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Egg sandwiches for tea

Humpty Trumpty wanted a wall

But first he planned his inaugural ball

Not many accepted his command to be there

None of them seemed to want to share

In a dubious victory so full of doubt

Russians all over, just rushing about.

Hacking e-mails and sneaking a peek

At matters quite private of which we don’t speak.

Of course he denies it; says it’s a lie

Trumpty will soon gobble the American pie.

His cabinet of billionaires oh yes and there’s more

Millionaires too because he considers them poor.

Let’s see; classless, mean, a vindictive bully

These titles will help to understand him fully.

He suckered us all with fraud and his con

Tweets with which we were showered upon

But Trumpty’s a liar, he can lie in his sleep

And gullible folk will follow like so many sheep.

Guns are important but he doesn’t shoot

The second amendment, the point is moot.

Trumpty doesn’t like his intelligence pals

He’d rather hang out with Hot Russian gals

Putin got tired of dolls he said “Stuff it”

I want a president to act as my puppet.

If I pull the string will he be sweet?

And go off half-cocked with an irrational tweet.

Chaos is what Putin wants to foment

But Trumpty does not believe that’s his intent.

Trumpty is naïve and not worldly wise

He views the world with a newborn’s eyes.

In God We Trust a national motto

But with Trumpty I think we are playing the Lotto.

I hope he’ll learn and quickly at that

He’s no longer the man in the stupid red hat

It’s serious business he’s involved in now

No chance to mutter the words Holy Cow.

I hope too he’ll abandon his wall

A racist monument bound to appall

Even the stoutest Republican soul.

We’ve reached a point where enough is enough

The time where Dems start to get tough.

Now is the time for that rallying call.

Trumpty climb down, we don’t need a wall.

What would happen if you   should fall?

There’s a good chance you will fall on your face

At that’s the moment you’ll lose your Ace.

All the King’s horses and the GOP

Will have to eat egg sandwiches for tea!


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Mr. McCafferty has Cabin Fever

The cold weather prevents Mr. McCafferty from exploring his garden and visiting the neighborhood, so he spends a lot of time napping. He likes to sleep with a mouse just in case he wakes up hungry and needs a snack.


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the Three R’s (a new take)

THE THREE R’s (a new take)

I cannot tell you what joy it is to write words down in rhyme;

The practice perfected in past medieval times.

Court jesters, Rhymesters, bards and gleemen all trained in how to tell

In epic ways, of battles in which their heroes fell.

Tales of glory handed down from father then to son;

But nowadays we do it, just because it’s fun.

Poems are but retellings, of things we live in life.

Of new-found love and sometimes alas, about a shrewish wife.

Of many things that ail us and the past which brought us pain

But looking on the bright side, the things we’d do again.

We also know of joy and happiness galore

We’ll never know for certain though if we don’t pass through that door.

And therein lies the rub; holding back to no avail.

So take the chance, just sally forth, like a galleon under sail.

I start by simply sitting, day-dreaming of my youth

Then with a pen and paper I go about my proof.

It takes a bit of thinking and lots of trial and error

But after words are changed about it soon looks much the fairer.

There are many rules for poetry, which happily we ignore

Nothing would get written if we did not, of that I am quite sure.

A little trick I find, is to write then walk away;

Save what I’ve written in a drawer until another day.

I also find that reading, works of every kind

Helps to order random thoughts that run throughout my mind.

Why don’t you join me, share in all my joy?

Start by sitting down to play with words just like a toy.

Maybe then you will find out that what I say is true

But Reading, Riting and Rhymatic is entirely up to you.


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Mea Culpa, carpe Diem, Etcetera

There was a time when still at school

At Latin I was such a fool.

And when it came to noun declensions

I was quickly ordered to detention

And there watched by a cap and gown

I wrote the conjugations down

Amo, Amas, Amat.

I did not love and that was that.

I asked what’s all the fuss

Why me Lord, Quid mihi Dominus?

And all that He would ever say,

Oramus, oramus let us pray

And so it was on bended knee

I offered up my only plea:

Quare hoc malum why is this bad?

I felt like I had been had.

I saw no purpose in this dead lingo

Can you imagine Roman Bingo?

Duos dominarum, two fat ladies, eighty-eight,

Nunc finis, end this now, I cannot wait

Then one day the course was switched

And Latin learning could be ditched.

But what that made me I am unsure.

Vox et praeterea nihil, a voice and nothing more


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Jumping Jacks

This is an End-of-the-Year light-hearted piece that ha been sitting in a box for a long time. It’s based on the nursery rhyme written around 1815.

Jumping Jacks

Jack be Nimble, if that’s your name.

Here’s an idea for a different game.

Jack don’t be nimble, Jack be good.

Only do the things you should.

Stop jumping over candle-sticks

The world is tired of old-time tricks.

Not only that but it burns my wick!

I say this with no pun intended.

But one of these days you’ll be upended.

If it happens and you fall down.

There’s a real good chance you’ll break your crown.

If you do this at any time,

You’ll find yourself in a different rhyme.

You might find it hard to take this pill,

But you’ll be paired with a girl named Jill.

Take that Jack! And your pail too.

Don’t say I didn’t look out for you.

Jack be Nimble, why the laughter?

Just wait till Jill comes tumbling after.

Your fate is sealed it’s carved in stone

From now on you’re not alone.

She’ll be with you like a shadow,

To follow you around.

You’ll be a prisoner of her guile.

Do not worry, just wait a while;

You see, in you she made one good pick.

So maybe now you’ll stop your tricks.

And take up other things to make or do.

Now, Jack be Nimble do this now

It’s for your sake, so make a vow

 Jack be Nimble do hereby swear

To never jump again.

No more fortunes told with candles.

Raise plants instead with long green tendrils.

No, perhaps not; I did not mean

That you should start at growing beans.

For that might change the rhyme once more

Running for dear life towards the door

Of a giant’s castle in the sky

Bound on baking you in a pie.

Down the stalk and run instead

Home to mother and your bed.

Stay there forever, forget the game

I even hope you forget my name.

Forget what I have said today

Just go about your life your way.

Go back to being nimble and also quick

Continue jumping candle sticks

That you will fall we have no fears

Because you’ve done this for two hundred years.

 


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It’s Cold Outside

I woke up this morning and it’s -17F.  A light wind brings it down to -28F wind-chill. Shall I be brave and face the world or is this a good time to consider hibernation?


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Boiled Eggs Make Me Smile

We’ve all had one I know for sure

For morning hunger it’s just the cure.

Ovum Coctum   is what it’s named

A food for breakfast highly famed

It comes in white and also brown

From the country not from town

Caesar’s legions ate them on the march

Lots of protein but zero starch

They make good picnic fare as well

All that goodness in a shell

They’re good for lunches on the go

After many years this much I know

You can eat them hot or eat them cold

Either way they’re good and bold

When you eat one with a spoon

A few quick bites it’s finished soon

But when you reach the empty bottom

There are souls at sea who are oft forgotten

So turn the shell upside down

And wear a smile not a frown

give the shell just one more crack

As though it had its contents back

And say a little prayer with me

For all the sailors out at sea.

You’ll save a soul from drowning.

Which is why you smile instead of frowning.


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Just Writing Nonsense

Last night, as I lay sleeping;

A thought ran through my head.

Shall I write more haiku or try some rhyme instead? 

And so with plume in hand and ink pot close nearby,

Sand caster at the ready to ensure my ink would dry.

I began. By the light of the silvery moon to let words fall,

Simply where they may. My word there were so many;

I had so much to say.  

I wrote throughout the night, until the sun did rise.

But there before me on my desk, blank paper nothing else.

Just empty sheets there were no words, I’d dreamed it by myself. 

Now, awake with firm resolve, I write a few words down.

However, I cannot think at all;

I have a writer’s block. My brain’s not on the ball  

With eyes wide open I now will try,

I have to take the plunge.

Sadly I realize the truth, there is no word,

 That nicely rhymes with orange.

I think I’m going to cry. 

At that, I balance my sand caster

On the center of my head.

Where I am sure, if it should fall

Will dry my tears instead.