A Visit from Nemesis

… or is it Hubris?

‘Twas the night before Christmas when all through the world
Science warned of the perils which soon would unfurl
Like a veil across nations, some variant virus
Respecting no frontiers, a fate undesirous.

But bad politicians (who cared not one jot
For the weak, old or ignorant) hastened their plot
To party all night while denying the fact;
Just flaunting their privilege, which others lacked.

But turkeys will finally come home to their roost,
With leaks to the press and the media now loosed.
It all adds to the sins seeking bottoms to bite:
“Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

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A reflection on contemporary politics, after a Conservative PM, his Cabinet and his coterie were revealed in December 2021 to have partied through 2020 while the country went through various lockdowns and periods of self-isolation.

With apologies to Clement Clarke Moore and his poem ‘A Visit from St. Nicholas’ (1822)

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Super spreader

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It’s lack of social distancing I fear
each time some numbskull prances near,
it’s then a twisted new refrain
comes fast, unbidden, to the brain:

“Tonight the superspreader bugs are gonna find me, gasping out for air,
wheezing, needing care,
feeling like I need a prayer.”

What’s the problem with these chancers,
inching close like bloody dancers?
Do I need a six-foot stick,
or do they need a damn good kick?

“Superspreader bugs are gonna mind me, I may need a pill,
yes, I’m sure I will
if someone in the crowd feels ill.”

Each time some numbskull prances near
it’s lack of social distancing I fear.

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With apologies to Benny Andersson and Björn Ulvaeus. This coronaverse brought to you by the letter S.

Jabberwockery

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‘Twas brilliant, the way science worked
to make coronavirus ancient news;
those vaccines going where virus lurked:
it’s good to counter awful news.

One, two, and phew! for now we’re through!
The arm has had its little jab.
The side effects are far and few,
and kudos goes to every lab.

O fab’lous day! Hip hip hooray!
Just one more jab and then we’re done.
Let all who can, be jabbed, I pray,
though one quick prick is rarely fun.

Beware the antivaxxers, everyone!
The lies that fright, the lies that kill!
Beware the news that’s fake, and shun
the ever-turning rumour mill!

‘Twas brilliant, the way science worked
to make coronavirus ancient news;
those vaccines going where virus lurked:
it’s good to counter awful news.

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This coronaverse parody of Lewis Carroll’s poem was brought to you by the letter J.

Exercise regime

I sing of arms, and of the man,
and woman too, and legs and mind.
Though virus is a plaguey thing,
inertia’s too, I think you’ll find.
Before we shuffle off our coils
let’s exercise from hearth and home,
and ere we cease from mental fight
let’s exercise our right to roam …
but not too far from our front door:
for don’t they say that less is more?

Let ‘balance’ be our touchstone word
while Covid beats at mankind’s gate:
do what we can, stay safe and sound,
and patiently keep watch, and wait.
With lockdown workouts in our homes
(and cycling, running, jogging, walking)
crosswords, quizzes, books and poems
(and phone calls, zoom calls, keeping talking) —
much mental exercising is the key,
and not just physical, trust me!

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Coronaverse: an alphabet of terms related to Covid-19. Tomorrow brings us the letter F.

Edward III

Image credit WordPress Free Photo Library

Christopher Robin is saying his prayers,
Asking his Maker for good names for bears.
He doesn’t like Edward, or Teddy, but dares
Winnie, or Pooh.

When he’s mounting the stairs
Or wandering in woods and digging out lairs
Pooh — say it loud! — is a good name for bears.

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Edmund Bentley‘s rhymes for clerihew must be very few,
As the task’s quite hairy, do at least make them merry too!

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There once was an Edward called Lear
Writing nonsense but, just to be clear,
He also did artwork
(and this was the perk)
Got to travel and not stay just here.

Twisted rhymes

Mary had a little lamb
(she ate it with some mint):
She’d killed it with her own fair hands;
Her heart was cold as flint.

Sing a song of sixpence,
Politicians lie,
Spouting arrant nonsense:
“Brexit, do or die!”

Jack and Jill weren’t taught to kill
but he went on to slaughter:
to have some fun he took his gun
to shoot some son or daughter.
He wished to make his country great
or maybe strong and stable;
with every breath he dealt a death
as fast as he was able.

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All images: WordPress Free Photo Library

We’re all stardust

Catch a falling star, put it in your pocket.
It won’t take you far: for that you’ll need a rocket.
Blast off into space, spaceman that you are. Just
don’t fall, in that case, right back to earth as stardust

Or I’ll catch a falling star …

Apportioning blame

The quality of spam is much declin’d.
It droppeth as the state of public discourse
Upon our eyes and ears is daily ‘smirched.
It blasteth him that gives and him that takes:
‘Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it ill becomes
The thronèd tweeter in his office,
Whose textspeak shows the force of ignorant power
(No attribute to awe and majesty)
Wherein doth sit his wanton spiteful thoughts.

But spamming sits below this septic sway;
It is embedded in the hearts of those
Who think to embody the soul of wit itself;
Their online power resembleth trolls’
Whose cruelty seasons hate.