Little Donkey - a Modern Parody

Little Donkey

(A Modern Parody)

Little donkey, little donkey,

Now the beach ride’s shut,

What to do now, little donkey,

You sorry equine mutt?

   
Chorus

 Under that spotlight bright –

 Break a leg, break a leg –

 You are a star tonight –

 Break a leg, break a leg.

In the school play, little donkey,

Joseph pulls your ears,

But you bite him, little donkey,

And get the loudest cheers.

In the panto, little donkey,

You are all the rage.

“It’s behind you, little donkey!”

 You’ve crapped upon the stage.

Hollywood now, little donkey;

Spielberg’s just yelled, “Cut!”

Angelina’s sat upon you,

You lucky equine mutt!

Now it’s Summer, little donkey,

Back on Blackpool’s beach.

On your back now, little donkey,

Fat kids squirm and screech.

                                                       (c)Frank Rooney

A Sonnet On Celebrity

A Sonnet On Celebrity

A Shallow Parody of Shakespeare's

Shall I compare thee to a Christmas tree?

Thou art more gaudy and much more prickly:

Rank Brussels’ breeze does shake sharp needles free,

And Yuletide’s lengthy feast leaves us sickly:

Sometimes, one bulb blown, fairy lights won’t shine,

And each is tested, but less than my calm,

Till the bebaubled branches illumine

Tacky tat wrapped, ribboned, made to look glam:

But thy eternal Christmas fails to cease

So your flatulent frippery lacks vim;

Attempts to enlighten garrulous geese

Would be less trying, for you are so dim.

Christmas is short and can be joyous,

But you just hang around and annoy us.

                                                            (c)Frank Rooney

Christmas: It's All About Giving

Christmas: It's All About Giving

Three wise men came to Bethlehem

Each bearing birthday treats.

Joe and Mary were unimpressed

And asked for the receipts.

Christmas is all about giving.  Well, it used to be ... probably.  We can can blame the three wise men, who trudged all the way from wherever it was they came from to Bethlehem to bother the baby Jesus, for starting this indefatigable tradition.  Mary and Joseph were schacked up in a one-star hotel when Larry, Moe and Curly dropped by bearing gifts of gold, frankfurters (to be fair, they didn't know that he was Jewish and forbidden pork ... but, as is usual in these instances, it's the thought that counts, isn't it?) and myrrh-rhrrrr (an old timey cough remedy, good for shifting phlegm).  Socks had been suggested at the pre-expedition meeting, but, as practical as knitwear for the pedal extremities would have been as gift for a small child in the freezing mid-Winter, nobody wanted to appear cheap.  So much for the wisdom attributed to them ...

(c)Frank Rooney

The Magnificent Seven & the Origins of Christmas

The Magnificent Seven & the Origins of Christmas

In Norse mythology long since faded

As History’s feet down Time’s dirt street trod,

Yul Brynner was loudly accoladed.

He was a popular, though minor god.

His name means “Yule Bringer” from ancient Norse.

He’d cart wood to warm Winter for Odin*,

Which he’d leave in the barn by Odin’s horse,

Crying out, “Ho! O! You’ve got a load in!”

How did Yul travel? You ask. I answer,

By sled he’d sojourn, o’er snow he’d careen,

Dragged by deft deer named Dasher and Dancer,

Prancer, Vixen, Comet and Steve McQueen.

Yul once had more deer to make up his bunch –

Such a line-up, so delightful, not drab –

But saving on feed, he’d many a lunch

Of Cupid, Blitzen and Donner kebab.

*W.H. Odin,

The mythical poet,

Who was mad for the gin,

Down his throat he’d throw it.

                                                                          (c)Frank Rooney

A Joy Forever

A Joy Forever

The results of being vain are vicious:

deluded that one is a delicious

Youth now and for a green eternity ...

it's hard work to maintain that certainty.

When the question, "Quel age?"

always sounds out of tune,

and the made-up visage

is a pained, painted prune,

and your bum's a homage

to a curd-filled balloon,

just siphon the fat out

of those unhappy hips,

make that thin, mean mouth pout ...

the lard fits in your lips.

When Time's traumas wail for measures drastic --

it's too late to detox,

or poison with botox --

pay the cosmetic surgeon ... use plastic.

Or, be bold and unspoiled the beau or belle,

And wear one's hard-won wisdom well.

                                                    (c)Frank Rooney

Scots Wha Hate

Scots Wha Hate

(apologies to Robert Burns)

Scots what hae wi' chips been fed,

Scotch pies, Irn Bru an' pan bread,

Wobble tae an earthy bed,

Or tae surgery.

Smokin' lik a chimney tow'r

Yer tar-bunged lungs lack the pow'r

Tae defluff a dandy-flow'r ...

Cometh the Big C.

Wha'll resist the Buckie crave,

Tae junkie jabs be no slave

An' avoid the glutton's grave?

Let us do or dee.

Wha long for deid kings an' law,

Wha, foolish, ficht o'er fitba',

Poor man wha'd for rich man fa',

Get awa' frae me!

Bigot blood flow through yer veins;

Habits, heirlooms passed tae weans.

Don't let auld blood clog yer brains ...

Then, ye can be free.

Chips on shoulders, there ye go!

Blamin' ev'ryone ye know;

Ye stage such a shameless show.

Where's yer dignity.

                                                              (c)Frank Rooney

Stan Drew's Day

Celebrating Stan Drew

The 30th of November is Stan Drew's Day.  Born hundreds of years ago to Andy Stewart and Fran and Anna, Stan Drew is the man who invented Scotland, the Scotch pie, golf and the Forth rail bridge.  He also invented the Scottish flag when he knocked over a salt cellar while mucking about at the dinner table with young William Wallace, and the salt spilled out in the form of a cross over his mothers' blue table cloth.  His mothers were so angry at the waste of such a precious condiment, they each gave Stan Drew a mighty clip round the earholes.  The is the reason why we call Scotland's national flag the Salt-ire.

Stan Drew invented golf, which is the most famous game in the world.  It started when a game of snooker with Robert the Bruce got out of hand.  The Bruce ate all the coloured balls believing them to be gobstoppers, so Stan chased him into a cave full of spiders and spent the rest of the day whacking the cue ball around in a field.  Stan Drew's Golf Course is known as the home of golf, but that is just the field in which he knocked the ball around.  The actual home of golf is a flat a couple of miles down the road from the holey landscape, a fact I believe the Scottish Tourist Board ought to acknowledge after my incessant petitioning of them to do so.

The Scotch pie he invented as an edible hat to be worn/eaten by golfers during long, torturous games of golf in drizzling rain.  The bridie he invented for the same purpose, but for lady golfers.

So, to good auld Stan Drew we raise our glass of whisky ... which he also invented .... whisky ... and glass, too.

                                                                                                                      (c)Frank Rooney

Flim-Flam - On Meeting Oscar Wilde

Flim-Flam

Imbibing some beers at the bar down my local

the fop Oscar Wilde was dandiacally vocal:

"Drop a flan,

my good man,

in bathtub of water;

it won't plunge

like a sponge --

now jot this in your jotter --

it will sit on the surface

like a leaf on a pond.

It's science, not magic!

Just logic --

no wand!"

I headed home via the shop

to buy a flan, which I did drop

into a bath which I had filled

with water, and was I so thrilled

to see it float like Oscar said?

I was sad and shocked and dismayed ...

Well, the flan did not float

like a little baked boat,

but sunk,sodden, soft mush

to the base of the tub,

brown and sugary slush.

What a waste of good grub!

Never again shall I trust Oscar Wilde!

The ultimate dandy has got me riled;

for I discovered to my annoyance,

that Oscar knows fluff-all of flan-buoyance.

                                                                      (c) Frank Rooney

An Old Fashioned, Naughty Limerick

An impossibly profane parrot

Squawked advice re inserting a carrot.

You'd be shocked to know where,

But the bird didn't care,

And the vicar's face turned deepest claret.

                                                                (c)Frank Rooney

Robin Hood:

A Brief History

Boldly bearing his bow,

Arrows in his quiver,

Robin turned the taker

Into a glum giver.

Robin Hood, as we all know, lost his horse in Shergar Forest after going on a mead bender.  Desperate for a wee, he stumbled between miles of trees, and sometimes against them, before finally coming across a tiny Portaloo.  A big, burly fellow was just coming out, adjusting his hose.

"I name thee Little John", slurred Robin, shouldering a path to the pungent bowl, and the soothing sound of a waterfall soon filled the forest.  After wiping his hands on his tunic, Robin met Little John's friends: Will Scarlet (who was on the run after killing Dr Black with a candlestick in the billiard room) and Friar Tuck, a rotund, jolly monk who would give anything a go and who had a penchant for Spoonerisms.  They had lots of adventures while looking for Robin's horse, accusing Bad King John of money laundering when the crown jewels were lost in the Wash, and Robin was in like Flynn with Barmaid Marion after playing a blinding game of darts down the Red Lion.

Serge Gainsbourg ... cartoon

Serge Gainsbourg loathed London's river.  He wrote his most
famous and controversial song, "Shit Thames", about it.

                                                                                             (c)Frank Rooney

The Televsion

"In the War on Poverty, Dad ...

tell me, what did you do?"

A young son asked his grey father,

who stared down at his shoe.

"Son, I was paid by the Rich Man;

his commands I fulfilled,

and there was this War on Terror

in which Poor Folk were killed.

"I worked in retail

(that was my detail)

and products were sold.

This was the New War!

Money bought New Law;

the Cold War was old ...

"I did it for you, son, for you and me;

for God, country and the economy."

"Dad! You ought to feel shame

that you were complicit!"

"Yes ... but it bought us this telly

in front of which you and I sit."

                                                    (c)Frank Rooney 

This unhappy haiku expresses the impossible, giddy love of a woman, a violinist in a chamber orchestra, for an unavailable man in the horn section ...

Musical Haiku (with footnote)

Desperate Desire!

Oh, to make violin love!

But, you're not my beau.*

*So, I'll just have to play pizzicato.

                                                                        (c)Frank Rooney

Pacino Cartoon ...

Al Pacino
Scarf Ace

                                                                                                (c)Frank Rooney

Disco Darwin

It was while perusing the wares of a second-hand record
emporium that Charles Darwin, believing he had found the
missing link, was inspired to write The Origin of the Bee Gees.

Dylan Thomas' most famous poem, his villanelle "Do not go gentle", is often read out at funerals and memorial services; the final delusional punctuation mark to the uncompromising life everyone would like to think they lead.  Sadly, its potency has become diminished by its success and familiarity, so I wrote this poor effort as a pastiche (which I think might be a kind of nut ... or maybe the sort of Cornish pie Sean Connery would ask for) ...

Do Not Regale Me

Do not regale me with platitudes trite

when the boatman of Styx is in my pay,

when a wink from me would give you a fright.

Though sentiment may shine a rosy light

on the role I once played in nature's play,

do not regale me with platitudes trite.

Good God! Please don't -- though I believe you might --

o'er my open box play the song "My Way,"

when a wink from me would give you a fright.

Wild, drunk and angry, recall me in spite,

and if you kneel, it's for yourself you pray.

Do not regale me with platitudes trite.

Deaf men near graves will just ignore your plight,

gazing blindly down on stern stones of grey,

when a wink from me would give you a fright.

A eulogy is falsehood, mostly shite:

lazy lies, whitewash and clumsy cliche.

Do not regale me with platitudes trite,

when a wink from me would give you a fright.

                                                                                 (c)Frank Rooney

Cartoon ...

Woolf in cheap clothing

                                                                                               (c)Frank Rooney

Classic British Comedy

Tommy Cooper

Kenneth Williams & Hattie Jacques

George Formby

                                                                                                     (c)Frank Rooney

A Song Of Paranoia

How do I escape this dark, edgy dread
of eyes you have at the back of your head?
And, I know for sure that the walls have ears ...
How can I fly from these terrible fears?

I don't want to be by corners confined,
by listening brickwork, I need to find
my way out of this mind-mastering maze
and flee from under your judgemental gaze.

When I make my escape, you will give chase.
With your eyes positioned behind your face,
because it's the only way you can see,
you'll have to run backwards pursuing me.

You will give chase, but walls cannot move,
and your clumsy pursuit will only prove,
that running rear-forwards is such a farce
when you stumble, trip and land on your arse.

                                                                  (c)Frank Rooney

cartoon Kafka Sings the Blues

                         Kafka Sings the Blues

I woke up this mornin',
I''d turned into a bug.
Well, I woke up this mornin',
I'd turned into a bug.
Now my family despise me
I'll hide under a rug.

  (c)Frank P. Rooney

The Death Of Caesar

Julius Caesar did, with disdain, snort

through nasal appendage of Roman sort

at Decimus Brutus carrying sacks

about to burst with  patisserie snacks.

With thund'rous bombast did Brutus declare,

"Hail Caesar!  Please try a chocolate eclair ...

... or, Jules, you might prefer a nice Bath bun.

Go on, choose a cake -- but, please, take just one.

The rest are for the lads in the Senate.

I'm off to the loo ... back in a minute ..."

Leaving his cakes, he departed the scene

to hoist his toga and splash porcelain.

Under arched eyebrows Emperor Caesar 

peered regally down his Latin sneezer

at sticky, sweet treats in the nearest sack.

His eyes took a taste; how could he hold back!?

He gazed on fancies as big as a fist --

This Roman tyrant refused to resist!

That itch of temptation cried to be scratched.

As swift as a hawk his hand swooped and snatched

a couple of cakes, and to his mouth flew.

He swallowed those cakes with barely a chew.

His ablutions over, Brutus bounded

back into the room, and was astounded

to witness Caesar's gluttonous disgrace,

crumbs, icing and jam obscuring his face.

"Jupiter save us!  Was one not enough?

I'd promised Cassius that lovely cream puff ..."

And with these strong words bold Brutus drew steel,

and, lending deaf ears to Caesar's appeal 

("Those buns were delicious -- really, quite nice.

How could I stop myself trying them twice?)

he drove his king through, knife up to the hilt,

saw Caesar's surprise at this sudden jilt.

"You're a greedy despot," Brutus explained,

          "You no longer suit us."

"I only ...," uttered Caesar, pausing, pained,

          straining, "... ate two, Brutus ..."

                                                 (c)Frank Rooney

On Roman Numerals

How the Romans write out thirty

Is, to my mind, rather dirty.

It's no surprise I think of sex

When thirty's written XXX.

                                                           (c)Frank Rooney

Like A Strolling Gnome

In a lapse of sobriety Elizabethan society

Has taken Bob Dylan to task.

With drunk impropriety 'lizabethan society

Of Mr Bob Dylan did ask:

"Why did you steal from Christopher Marlowe?

Do not deny it!

We know you did so!

You know you've been caught --

Your complexion's most wan --

We know you wrote not

Mr Tamburlaine Man."

                           (c)Frank Rooney

Hypocrisy: An Acrostic

Kindly greet me with great gusto;

I will greet you likewise, friend.

Sat together till the cock's crow

Springs upon us the short night's end.

Many topics we shall tackle,

You with your take and I with mine,

And, yet, not break friendship's shackle;

Respecting each the other's line.

So sit not silently, but let

Exchange adhere to etiquette.

                                                               (c)Frank Rooney

Miles Davis cartoon

                                    Miles Davis does DIY

From options many more than few,
Could Miles choose which kind of blue?

Exposed!

I never have sufficient time
To do the mildly sleazy crime,
An indiscreet indecency:
An open-air, al fresco pee.

Behind some greenery I stand,
My flaccid manhood in my hand,
And as the waters from me flee,
The Law bears swiftly down on me.

"Son, do your trousers up!" They cry.
"Please, hang that somewhere else to dry!"

                                                                                               (c)Frank Rooney

Johnny Cash cartoon

Johnny Cash shot a man in Renal.

                                                                                     (c)Frank Rooney

Such scatological kinds are the French,
Of philosophical mind re life's stench:
No riot-act rage or two-fingered V,
The merely shrug and declare, "Say Lavy!"

From the French we got haute cuisine (well, who does like their dinner cauld?).  They taught us how to kiss properly, and introduced an interesting line in written correspondence.  The finest wines are said to come from France (and not from Buckfast Abbey, as is opined in certain areas of this country), and it's also a corker of a place for the culture.  The Mona Lisa loiters in the Louvre with many other oily masterpieces, and poetry has poured out from Paris like the serpentine Seine.  Paris' Pigalle is still a bawdy lair, and from Paris hailed Baudelaire, the potentate of pickled poets the world over.

The Big Cheese of French literature, however, is Emile Zola.  A stern chap, his gaze was said to turn those upon whom it fell to stone.  He was known by his contemporaries as the Great Gorgon Zola.  Did I mention that he he's regarded as the Big Cheese of French literature?


Correction

It is a fact not widely known
That Candide's author was not grown
In the City of Paris
In the country of France,
But in a Warsaw parish,
Purely by chance.

Omitted too from history's sheet,
Is that he was a fine athlete:
An Olympian,
Highly classed,
He always won,
Never came last.

Folk on the street of oft declare
Fullest praise for the Pole, Voltaire.

(c)Frank Rooney

Dancing Dickens

After he invented the Oliver Twist, critics

had Gyrate Expectations of Charles Dickens.

                                       
                                                                                                           (c)Frank Rooney

I walked into a shop selling computer accessories and asked a salesperson if they had a good case for a laptop.
"Well, " she answered, stroking her chin, "they're less bulky and more portable than a desktop, but more substantial than a tablet."

He was a charismatic pyromaniac.  He would light up a room ...

Leonard Cohen Cartoon - Leonard's Cone

                                                                                               (c) Frank Rooney

One of the great unexplained mysteries in life -- after the Big Question, "Is there a Richard Dawkins?" -- is why does so much of Munich's Oktoberfest take place in September?  There are only a few days of the Oktoberfest that actually take place in October.  So much of it takes place in September that the Germans really ought to rename that great bacchanal of beer-guzzling and Wurst-chomping the Septemberfest.  For a nations famed for its philosophers, this seems a remarkably illogical way to go about things.

We have the Germans to thank for the Gutenburg press, a revolutionary piece of late-medieval gadgetry that eventually lead to the mass production of books ... and impeccably creased trousers.

After Goethe and Schiller, Germany's most influential author was Thomas Mann.  Lured to a life on the waves, his career in the navy was an extremely busy, though short-lived one.  Permanently exhausted after jumping to the commands, "Mann, the lifeboats!", "Mann, the rigging!", "Mann, the side!", he suddenly left the navy when someone shouted, "Mann, overboard!"


Well, if you were to spill your beer,
I'm sure you'd be annoyed, eh?
But I would laugh until I ached:
Now, that is Schadenfreude.