Fa – the name of the Green Dragon

A Place for the Odd Musings of an Expat Bristolian


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Con Donnie Lies Over the Ocean

can be sung to the tune of a traditional Scottish folk song about restoring a king during Jacobean times.

Con Donnie lies over the ocean
He lies wherever he goes
He lies about his friendships
With people that we call our foes

(Chorus repeats after each verse.)
Don’t lie oh don’t lie, Con Donnie don’t lie to me, to me
Don’t lie oh don’t lie, Con Donnie don’t lie to me.

His Pinocchio nose gets longer
Each time that he starts to speak
His lips, when he tells a new whopper
Take on the shape of a beak

He eats cans of worms for his breakfast
He gobbles down bowls of untruth
He shuns accountability
He’s done it since he was a youth.

His lies are all propaganda
His base sucks-up it all
Mostly he lies about building
A thing that he calls a wall

He told us that Mexico would pay for
construction down on the line
He’s Feeding his vanity and ego
With dough that was once yours and mine

It lies each time that he opens
The hole in his face that’s a mouth
Claims he’s making America great again
When in fact it’s all going south

He lies when he speaks without knowing
That what he just said is untrue
His fantasy thoughts are his reality
Which he fishes from out of the blue

Short on facts has become his trademark
Alternative ones are his choice
And all of those who surround him
Repeat his lies with one voice.

The con claims the art of the deal
But that’s a myth to make him sound tough
His art is to play the big bully
But to leave when the going gets rough

What a con, what a con is our Donnie
Snake oil is what he likes to sell
Mendacious claims come daily
The only words that he can tell

He lies about the lies that he’s uttered
Says things like “I never said that”
Seems he pulls most of his lies
From out of his MAGA red hat.

He cheats when he out on the golf course
Claims championships that he’s won
Truth is he was out there playing
All alone by himself in the sun

He claims he’s a vibrant young man
But he’s unable to see the jokes
Everyone knows that he’s a dotard*
As usual he claims it’s a hoax.

Bill Barr is his new legal beagle
who pooped on the Rose Garden lawn
Covering up misdeeds and wrongdoings
The AG is Con Donnie’s pawn

2020 elections are coming
Will it be a happy farewell?
Will it be lights-out for con Donnie?
And our country saved by the bell.

*  Dotard:    The Urban Dictionary defines dotard as follows:

A cross species between an Orangutan and an Oompa Loompa.  The Dotard is usually bred in captivity by wealthy families that wish to pass on their inheritance without having to raise an actual human. There are many similarities to a human, but you can usually tell the difference by their unique orange skin and hair.

 


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Humpty Trumpty visits the Queen

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!


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It’s Mueller Time – Let’s all have a beer

It’s Mueller time – now let’s all have a beer.

For those who have the ears to hear
let them draw nigh, the truth is here
After months spent on investigations
Soon we’ll be seeing prosecutions
What will come, subpoenas or indictments at best?
Our justice system will be put to a test.
Flynn has fallen, admitting to guilt
The blind lady’s scales beginning to tilt.
Poor Trumpty thought Sessions would have his back
But recusal unfortunately opened a crack.
The crack has now become a large chasm
Trumpty’s allies and base are starting to spasm
Paul Manafort set for eighty years
Has decided at last to see his way clear
To have A come to Jesus talk with Bob Mueller
Where he can paint a picture that’s fuller.
Trumpty must realize the noose is tightening
The prospect for him must be very frightening.
His pal Giuliani has lost the plot
Has a very strange view of what justice is not
Done nothing wrong, there was no collusion
Fake news is making the awful intrusion
Huckabee sanders has a version of truth.
But Kelly Ann Conway’s goes through the roof.
Papadopoulos also sentenced to prison
Shedding light through the Trumpian prism
Some coffee boy he turned out to be!
For Trumpty’s woes he was the key.
Who’s next on Mueller’s slow ticking clock
Will Ivanka and Jared’s names be on the block?
If their names appear to be next
We can be sure Orangeman is going to be vexed.
He’ll fly off the handle like a witch in heat
Then his thumbs will bash out some very odd tweets.
Both inane and angry and we will all laugh
More than we did when we first saw his quaff.
The world will not rest till we’re done with his brood
Enough of a family that’s greedy and crude.
“No Tickee no Washee” was the laundryman’s cry
But not for his tenants who had Rubles to buy
Expensive condos in Trump Tower pristine
Just bring me your money and I’ll wash it all clean.
Just follow the money is the chant we now hear
It’s Mueller time now – let’s all have a beer!


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Is that the Boogey Man I hear?

Is that the Boogey Man I hear?
Donald Trump’s goose is cooked
Yes, he’s aquiver.
Bob Mueller and his expert team
Are about to send him up the river; *
Not the same river of which he may have sold us down.
Swampland’s incompetent, bigoted racist clown!

Chances are, he’s in Putin’s pocket,
A mental nut in a Soviet socket.
He must be compromised, that, we surmise;
Russian floozies no surprise.
At 71, a braggard supreme
Living the Viagra dream.
Golden showers bring new delights
Peeing through those Moscow nights.
And what of Cohen the man who fixes
Paying off Trumpy’s sexual tricksies.
Adult film stars and Playboy bunnies
How many more are there of those bedded honeys?
To whom he paid campaign cash
Will emerge from out of the Phoenix ash.
Let’s see 35 indictments filed in all
The Donald’s headed for his fall.

What do we hear now of late
that will seal the orange Donald’s fate?
Just Giuliani chanting no collusion
A PR ploy to cause confusion
A bumbling has been, who’s lost his clout
Has no clue what this is about.
Truth is not truth according to him
Make up your facts just on a whim.
Orange man’s aides are starting to turn
Waiting to see; will the Donald burn?
There’s a new book with the title “Fear”
Not at all want the Donald wanted to hear!
Crazy town White House, admin amok.
It seems the staff there do give a damn
By swiping documents to keep us all safe
A diligent few who have not lost their faith.
We are all counting the days to the mid-term elections
And countless Viagras for Donald’s erections.
Ha! What a sad state we find ourselves in.
Let’s all shout impeachment and cause a great din.
Let’s see (again) what will come to pass,
To the time we bid adieu to this horse’s ass.

*A reference to the Hudson River in New York state and the town of Ossining which is the site of Sing-Sing Correctional facility.


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At The Corner

At the corner, just up the street,

is a wonderful place for a wonderful treat.

No other country, no other land,

has this treat which you eat by hand.

That’s right! Your fingers get so greasy,

Try it you’ll like it because it’s easy.

Potatoes peeled and cut into sticks,

and when they’re fried we call them chips.

Cod, Halibut or Plaice and sometimes Sole,

as good as soup but, without the bowl.

We’re talking fish, serious fish.

When battered and fried it’s just delish!.

Flaky mouthfuls of fish so white,

tender and tasty at every bite.

And then we add some things thereto,

pepper and salt and malted brew;

to soak up all the fat they say.

But, actually it’s just another way,

to make this treat taste good for me,

whether it be for my lunch or tea.

I heard they throw new stuff into the frier.

Mars Bars? Ugh, you’re such a liar!

No, it’s true an idea that’s new,

Deep fried dessert, a melted goo.

Ah! no such muck will pass my lips;

Not when I’ve got fish and chips.

Written July 10th, 2000.

 

 


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Who Invented Fish and Chips? (in newspaper)

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.