Manyi hands make light work
Destroying race relations,
Manyi slips twixt cup ‘n’ lip lurk
In meeting expectations,
Some say he is a Manyi cur
Who should be soundly whipped,
While others: ‘Man, ye can’t demur,
The Man, ye see, has flipped!’
When Zoomie steps upon a stage –
Or, rather, does a waddle –
One knows for sure he will engage
In talking utter twaddle.
New party here is needed
Which has a lot more scope,
The last one’s not succeeded
Because they cannot COPE.
The council-type elections
Are being rigged like mad,
With sudden strange defections
Some areas to pad;
New voters for such areas
In one thing are nefarious –
New groceries are there-ious,
Not previously had!
The ANC says that if you should hate
The person put up as your candy-date
You gotta vote for him at any rate
Ignoring another who’s really great.
It does not, then, strike them as quite absurd
That voting in thus some repulsive turd
As being the one who conveys their word
Can hardly make sure that it will be heard.
And what is then quite clearly inexplicable
Is, if they’re voting for the quite despicable,
Why, made up of all those who are applicable,
The party in itself is not unstickable?
These are a few odd scribblings I have done in between writing what is now over 50 000 words added to Forest Circle Quest, but didn’t get round to posting. Sorry if some are rather out-of-date.
Other things are complicating my life, such as needing to move a clump of bamboo palms, losing a great deal of water from the pool when the filter-tank split, and several alarms and excursions generally.
Anyway, this is just to let you know that when I last looked I was still alive.
© March 2011 Colonialist (Letterdash/Word/Press)