Friday, 22 May 2009


The flu jab is a greatly feared punch,
Grapes are hospital-visiting clich├ęs in a bunch,
Quasimodo rang the bells of Notre Dame with a dorsal hunch,
Alfresco diners at noon each day are really out to lunch.

For whom the bell tolls, Quasimodo cares not,
Cruising for a bruising on a sado-masochist’s yacht,
Edgar Rice burrows deep in the land that time forgot,
When bondage freaks get married they truly tie the knot.

The Grapes of Wrath, The Wrath of Khan and the blackcurrants of indignation,
Patriotic gravediggers call a spade a spade in ‘dig-nation,’
Monarchist Doug, out in the dugout, reviles talk of abdication.

William Tell fell foul of his son, the apple of his eye,
All aquiver, he’ll shoot that apple or have a damn good try,
Targeting fruit on his boy’s head, his mouth feels really dry,
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down—he then begins to cry.

A Ganesh can enmesh with Hindi vision,
Sikhs who seek—because they’re weak—religious fragmentation and division,
Medical gurus’ surgical intervention results in the excision of cryptic texts
In holy books undergoing substantial revision,
While bystanders stand by their decision.

'Trick or Treat?’ Is how brats greet their neighbours on Halloween,
Wearing a mask to join some kids, we see one shallow teen,
Demanding money with menaces, their threats are quite obscene,
Deprived of cash or sweets these bogus ghouls look mean.

Inflated egos inflate their own worth,
Attracting admiration, criticism and mirth,
In equal measure during their time on earth,
Scared of dying—they seek rebirth.

Ulysses, Yul Brynner sees, is a book that few have read,
How he sees no one sees because the actor’s dead,
But talk is cheap when no one listens—
However rich the words that are said,
Don’t follow John the Baptist or you might lose your head!