Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall
And that was his first mistake
For eggs can be overly delicate things
Quite likely to fall and break

Humpty-Dumpty tottered and fell
Kersplat! He was runny and raw
Desperately scooping his gooey insides
As they spluttered out onto the floor

Humpty-Dumpty twitched for a while
‘Til his innards were down to the dregs
And all the kings horses and all the kings men
Are not paramedics for eggs

**

His name brings to mind
A besuited baboon
And a **** poor excuse
For a business tycoon

Famous for firing
Much more than he hires
High-heels and boxes
He often requires

Cack handed on twitter
As in real life
If he could, he’d have taken
Himself for a wife

And it seems you can slander
Whomever you choose
When your name is an anagram
Of “**** Ragus”

And if I were the tabloids
I’d land a low blow
He’s Polish and Russian
By descent, don’t you know?

But that would be nasty
So I’ll leave it at that
It’s not clever to smear
You arrogant ****

CS

Those who dwell too close to it
The light is all they see
And those who turn away from it
A shade is all they'll be
Although they stand as opposites
Not one of them is right
For it's best to stand in darkness
But look towards the light

**

When everything becomes cliché
I'm left with nothing new to say
No random thought, no handy tip
Or poorly executed quip
But still I'm here, centre stage
To keep you busy, fill a page
It's hard to find the will to rhyme
In absence of a paradigm
The words align, all prim and neat
For most of them, a grim delete
At first they come across inspired
But just like me, they're worn and tired
And all I've said, I needn't say
For even this has been cliché

**

"How to help the terrified and famine stricken masses?"
"How best to save those darling kids from evil toxic gasses?"
Up stepped Mr Donald Trump, "I've got this smart idea"
"I'm with you!" cried Theresa May, before the plan was clear

We'll... Just...

Bomb them all, but gently
They'll thank us when we're done
We gave them lots of warning
So they'd better start to run
We'll bomb them back to freedom
And as they turn and flee
By raining fire down on them
We truly make them free

We'll bomb them back to liberty
Each freshly widowed wife
You get some decent exercise
Whilst running for your life
We'll bomb them into harmony
They'll be the better for it
But if this was in Israel
We'd probably ignore it

The course we choose to follow
As we wander through our lives
Will reach the same conclusion
When our given time arrives
My preference of afterlife
Would be to take a look
At the the things I've never heard of
On the path I never took

**

I've owned a host of curios
And trinkets in my day
Acumulated gadgets
And devices in array
But one singular item
Has remained a loyal friend
I'm positive I'll have it
Til the very bitter end

I've nothing in my pocket
I've had it from the start
And though I try to run from it
We're never far apart
When everything goes rotten
If life leaves me bereft
I always have my nothing
My friend when nothing's left

There's a sizzling giant that skips through the sky
While she nods at the people below
Now, a nod and a wink would be kinder, you'd think
But a nod is as far as she'll go

As she prances and bounds over sun-smothered grounds
She's the cause of a squall and a bluster
But no smile for the sodden, most recently trodden
A nod is the best she can muster

No weapon she fears, not the muskets or spears
Nor the arrow set loose by the archer
She dances her dance, an unyielding advance
Then a nod and a lazy departure

At the back of the stage in a gloomy wee room
Where the cockroaches eat what the rats don’t consume
There’s a table enveloped in paper and grime
On a carpet now lost to a happier time
With a cast iron typewriter, rusted with age
In the gloomy wee room at the back of the stage

And under a lampshade of nicotine brown
Sits a comical legend of zero renown
How he plugs at the keys of his rattling beast
The years of persistence have left him decreased
Now he’s stuck in the shade of his hovering doom
At the back of the stage in a gloomy wee room

His words are for others and too, the applause
Though a standing ovation might cause him to pause
He hasn’t the courage to speak them aloud
For he’s lacking the bottle and shy of a crowd
So he captures the laughter in lines on his page
In a gloomy wee room at the back of the stage