Author: Toastingfork

Not afraid to rhyme.

Suburban Safari

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
Photo by cottonbro studio on Pexels.com

Suburban Safari

A family get-together –
Ev’ryone’s here,
And here we all are.
There’s Harry and Joan and Heather,
And John with a beer,
From near and far.
And there’s little Robbie, holding,
What’s that ?  A teddy ?
But no, not a bear.
Why is his mother scolding him ?
He’s crying already,
That doesn’t seem fair.
No wait, he’s fine.  Oh, red wine please.
So, still at the school ?
Oh no, at a bank…
Now Tommy, you’re such a tease !
Don’t be so cruel
To Ellie and Frank.
My, that’s a jumbo hankie there !
Do you need to wipe
So many tears ?
I’m joking of course, our Claire –
When he talks tripe,
You seem to be all-ears.
I’m getting too long in the tooth
For all this junk,
It’s all so grey, Annette.
I’m tired, if you want the truth,
I’ve packed my trunk,
Yet I don’t forget.
But this is a pleasant wishing –
Everyone’s here,
And here we all stay.
Except…is someone missing ?
For all this cheer,
Why does nobody say ?

The After-Poll

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
Looks like these AI flyers were thrown away for having the wrong colours for each party…

The After-Poll

When it’s all over at the count,
When the officer has returned,
When the make-up of the new House is discerned,
When the questions that are paramount
Are answered with an X,
When the voter’s blade has swung on many necks –
As the ship of state is sailing on,
Is the wheel turned left or right ?
Is the outlook grey, or is the morning bright ?
Just how new is the new dawn –
Is it rosy, is the sky still blue ?
Who are we now, and where are we heading to ?

Just Another Election Day

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
I found this image as a banner for former Cambridge councillor Sam Davies, but cannot find a credit for it.

Just Another Election Day

Always on Thursdays, these days,
Always a busy day in the week –
It’s just the fate of the next five years,
So best to keep it meek.
Never a public holiday,
We don’t want to make a fuss –
Just pop-in, if you think you can spare the time
On your way to the bus.

We see the early-morning party leaders
Be the first to the poles –
Fulfilling their photogenic roles,
Though too late for the newspaper-readers,
Whose headlines show the colours of their souls.

So the bookworms are shunned from the lib’ries,
And the kids kicked-out of the schools,
As the powers that be, begrudgingly,
Let us have a say in the rules.
It’s all so British and half-cocked,
All ashamed of the rallies and cheers –
Just cast your vote in silence,
Then shut-up for five more years.

And the highlight of the day,
Are all the dogs who wait so patiently
By the signs in heavy font on the TV,
As their owners have their say –
While a third of us stay home in apathy.

New Kid in Town

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
Nashville Athena by orientalizing

New Kid in Town

Country folk are godly folk,
They sing to holy Jesus,
Sing how he’s the one they set their heart upon.
Yet over Nashville way, no joke,
They worship olive trees, yes,
Sing to Grecians in their mighty Parthenon.
They built a statue of Athena
Dressed in gold and ivory,
With ancient eyes of blue that never blink.
They built a temple to the Virgin,
Yet in rivalry –
Cos she ain’t the usual Virgin that they think –

Hallelujah, hail Athena !
Sing it loud and sing it free !
You beat Poseidon with his trident,
And now Jesus with his trinity.
We need a goddess, not a patriarch
To stir these sisters free –
In the Athens of the South, your spark
Lights up your mystery.

Country folk are gawdy folk,
They love their rhinestone rings –
Yet their churches are just warehouses of prayers.
Is Jesus stoney broke
That he can’t afford some decent bling
In which his shouty preachers flog his wares ?
But over at Athena’s place,
There’s statues in the pediments
Of epic battles fought in ancient times –
She may be stoic in her face,
But not so harsh and regiment
To frown upon our splashing-out the dimes.

Hallelujah, hail Athena !
Sing it free and sing it loud !
Lady Wisdom, Lady with the Owl,
Intelligent and proud –
We need a goddess to the arts
For fans to worship when we hum –
A diva moving-up the charts,
Who’s number one till kingdom come.

The original statue was sculpted by Phedias in 9563HE.  This replica was designed by Alan LeQuire in 11990, using gypsum cement, fibreglass-infused plaster, and gold leaf (not ivory, like the original, but close enough – and surely Phedias would have loved to have access to these…)  It is, I believe, based on ancient descriptions and other statues, but I’m sure some original interpretation has been included, and quite right too !

Meet the New Boss

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
Photo by Martin Pu00e9chy on Pexels.com

Meet the New Boss

Remember back at election time
When I said how unimpressed I was ?
“He’s just a Tory without the grime -”
I said, “who’s cool with corp’rate crime.
A smoother, shinier, twist-of-lime,
But a Tory still, not worth this buzz.”
Well, I want to let you know
That I told you so, I told you so.

He’ll disappoint with his PFIs,
As he sells his soul and the NHS.
He’ll talk of hope and tell us lies,
While slashing budgets down to size,
Then starting wars and choking skies,
While caving to the right-wing press.
It needn’t be, but here we go –
I told you so, I told you so.

We all want to ditch the Tories, sure,
But why then elect another one ?
It’s not that he’s not sufficiently pure,
That causes me to resist his lure,
But that he’s much more disease than cure –
A bully with a grudge and no sense of fun.
I hate to say, but have to crow –
I told you so, I told you so.

When the country’s crying out for change,
He gave us a dollop of as-you-were.
Sure, he was better than the rabid mange
Of the previous lot, that’s hardly strange –
But he just didn’t have the spine or range
For the shifting world that needed a stir.
Forgive if my frustrations show,
But I told you so, I told you so.

We’re Crap, And We Know We Are

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
Come on England by Richard Croft is licensed under CC-BY-SA 2.0

We’re Crap, And We Know We Are

What is it about the English
And our football fatal flaw ?
We treat the pitch like a nine-to-five,
Content with a goalless draw.
‘No-one likes a show-off’ we say,
As the donkeys bray and bore –
Then we lose to a team with speed and style
Once more.

So sing it on the terraces,
As we play for the penalties –
In-ger-land are slow and bland
Cos we’ve got the British disease.

Our league may be exciting,
But that’s thanks to the immigrants –
So we take the fans for granted
As we play in our underpants.
‘It’s the winning that counts’ we tell ourselves
As we plod through the next campaign –
Then we lose to the quarter finals,
Yet again.

So sing it on the terraces,
As we’re brought back down to size –
In-ger-land are getting canned
Cos we’ve eaten all the pies.

There’s a Brexit metaphor to be had here, I’m sure, but the truth is that we were just as unimpressive while we were still in.

First Past The Post

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
Humours of an Election – The Polling by William Hogarth

First Past The Post

Roll up for the Chiltern Hundreds,
Try to catch the gerrymander,
Ev’ry safe constituency’s
Always worth a gander.
Fetch the rosette off the lamppost
And strap-on your parachute
The borough may be rotten,
But the bribes are full of loot.
Then off to the Lords you toddle
With your handshake dipped in gold,
They’ll barely even notice you
In sleepy Sarum Old.

Rosetta

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment

Rosetta

She knocked on my door in hustings season,
To canvas support for her tribe –
Her eyes were so full of enthusiasm,
She held such a positive vibe.
She briefly ran down some policy bullets,
And proffered a leaflet or two –
For sixty seconds, I stood transfixed
As she painted a world anew.
My cynicism was ducking for cover,
My probing questions were lacking flesh
As she sparked a fire for change, any change –
Maybe hers, maybe others’, but something fresh.
And then she was gone to my neighbour’s door,
And I slowly recovered myself,
As I shuffled back into my hallway,
And dropped her flyers unread on the shelf.

Rotting in the Wrong Job

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
Photo by Nothing Ahead on Pexels.com

Rotting in the Wrong Job

How did I end up here ?
This was never the job I wanted.
It’s not just that I’m disappointed –
I’m living in daily fear !

I’m out of my depth, you see,
At this role I somehow managed to land,
That’s willing to pay me a few more grand –
At least, till they rumble me.

Could I not step back a role ?
But no, my former job is gone ,
And I must be seen to be moving on,
Or failure will haunt my soul.

How many others would love this chance,
Whom fate has equally un-blessed ?
So many of us are bored and stressed
As the Market does its dance.

I don’t want to be a slob,
Or a leech who does sod-all all day
And doesn’t care, just pockets his pay.
I want to be proud of my job !

I want to make a difference,
To labour hard with dignity !
To feel I’ve earned validity –
Or at least, self-confidence.

I daily desp’rately apply
For ev’ry begging vacancy,
To ask them, “whaddaya make of me ?”
The answers terrify:

“You’re not our sort, by far.
You aren’t already one of our crew,
So why should we take a risk on you ?
Just who do you think you are ?”

“You think your job is wrong ?
Then that just makes you damaged goods
So don’t come around our neighbourhoods –
Get back where you belong !”

The Soviets were equally daft,
Controlling who worked where at what,
And no dispute of the jobs they got –
And how the Free West laughed !

But from my dead-end track,
I may not be so centrally-planned –
But I’m pinned-down by the invisible hand,
Just waiting for the sack.

Till then, my bonds are fast.
And what have I achieved round here ?,
But the bloody waste of another year,
Till my prime is long long past.

Gotcha Gawkers

~ Toastingfork ~ Leave a comment
Shattered by TaylorHeegArt

Gotcha Gawkers

Hypocrisy should never be in season,
And schadenfreude is no excuse
I don’t care how self-righteous the reason,
I don’t care how ironic the noose.
Don’t tell me that they had it coming
As you jettison all your principles.
Why the rush to be gutter-slumming ?
Why the lies to convince the fools ?
There is never a right time to welcome sleaze,
And the means are never absolved by the ends.
If I hate such use from my enemies,
Then I hate it so much more from my friends.