We have ventured into a little poetry, though as usual we allow ourselves to be inspired by other people’s work
Author of most of
“Brexit’s a Trick, not a Treat?”
“Brexit’s a Musical Trick” (“Not a treat”)
“I Don’t Beg Pardon“
Seven Ages to Not Beg Pardon
For him the world’s a stage,
And every man and woman just a token
They have their exits and their entrances;
It matters not how many may be broken.
His acts being seven ages. Let’s start at Eton,
Wrecking the play, ad-libbing what not learned,
And then the lazy writer, with his pieces
Of scribb’ling whining base, payment not earned
As creepingly he lied. And then the Mayor,
Hanging by knackers, with his two-fold flags
Over his governed city, as when he claimed
Water-cannons, buses, bridges, in the bag.
Then to MP, a Tory for his pains.
He joined and seemed as loyal to the herds,
And yet his lies more lucrative in print,
The pay not matching riches for his words.
Then to decide – a toss-up which was best,
A great defeat as Leaving Lead he planned.
And so he played his part, but sadly won.
The flames of Brexit now were truly fanned.
Then as the Sec., of Foreign parts aware.
For best Secs, check your briefs, for what you missed.
But times he rose up badly unprepared;
Zagari-Ratcliffe sits at head of list.
Last scene of all – that ends the British age
Of sense, integrity and due respect,
Is PM’s childishness – is he oblivious?
By No-Deal Brexit, Covid bug we’re wrecked.
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We have considered how some of Shakepeare’s plays would be in lockdown
TAMING OF THE SHREW
ACT 1. A room in Katherine’s house
and a room in Petruchio’s house
Enter KATHERINE and PETRUCHIO to their respective rooms
Alarums and errors
Why Sir, I trust I may have leave to speak,
Even to the utmost, though I need a leak.
Her lips doth move, her hand raise in salute
And yet there’s naught I hear – she is on mute.
ACT 1. On a ship at sea, whereat GONZALO and MARINERS, and at the shore, whereat PROSPERO and MIRANDA
While wills above be done, let death be dry.
What is that land which from our ship is seen?
PROSPERO (to Miranda)
The waters wild I made, and you know why;
If they land here, they’re stuck in quarantine.
ACT 1. In OTHELLO’S Chamber.
Enter OTHELLO, apparently alone.
There’s none allowed in here, of that I’m certain.
And so I plunge my knife right through the curtain
To check we’re clear – oh, see, my dagger slid
And sliced through cloth and this chap who was hid.
Curtain (another one)
MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
I clicked the mouse and hoped to have a greeting.
Has organiser failed to launch the meeting?
ACT 1. In the offices of GONERIL, REGAN and CORDELIA
Which one of us can call? You know the rule.
There’s only one allowed with that old fool.
One daughter only meets within his bubble?
You go then, sis, for us, he’s too much trouble.