BogRhymes

On and on and on it goes,
The constant drone,
Keeps you off your toes.
On and on and on it goes,
When will he stop?
Nobody knows.
On and on and on it goes,
Joseph O’Connor,
In monotone.

His turn now stopping,
For the hearse has him wheeled
To his last journey today.
As they lowered his coffin,
In the next field
A tractor was turning the hay.
I know this is nothing,
I should let others yield
To mourning…
But for Jerry,
This rhyme is my way.
As they lowered his coffin,
In the next field
A tractor was turning the hay.

Nearly boiled,
Feeling spoiled.

Political news journalists,
Cream themselves.
The general public is,
In need of else.

Long days for a fortnight,
Nights last only a few hours.
And stately plump gentlemen,
Ascend Martello Towers.

Cameron’s speech at the least, deserves a mention,
Clear in it’s tone, and it’s intention.
38 years ago, one day of malevolence,
Now has less half-truths, more hard evidence.

More than eighty percent,
Want an alternative.
Less than one in five,
Want this government,
Yet, they survive, for years.
Because the opposition,
Are eternally crippled.
Internally combusting,
Politically dripping,
Wet, behind the ears.

Unnerving
Whirring
Unending
Blurring

Huge Spin Effort,
Hopeless Sack of Eejits.
Hardly Safe Ever,
Healing Self, Easiest.

After dragonfly days,
Of hazy heat.
Come the nasal sprays,
Of wet concrete.

They’re cutting the silage like crazy here,
The evening rumble of tractor and trailer.
I like the bustle on these days of the year,
A poetic struggle – an adjective failure.

After Israel’s latest and bravest,
Naval attack…
And then the spineless response,
Of the US and Barack…
It seems there’s stronger vertebrae,
In Bono’s back..!