The Flip Side & The Funny Side

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The Flip Side & The Funny Side Page 4

by Pam Crane


  Met the story of his life.

  Other impecunious cousins

  Of the Queen had petting zoos,

  Opened rooms to daily dozens -

  Scores - of plebs in gawping queues;

  In this way they scraped together

  Just enough to make ends meet.

  Thus the Upper Classes weather

  Times that tax the Family Seat.

  Not, alas, benighted Binky.

  Every bank refused a loan;

  Mater wrapped him round her pinkie;

  Park and paths were overgrown …

  … Single malt and Pater’s pistol

  Shone beside the dying fire;

  Binky’s mind was clear as crystal:

  He would join the angel choir.

  As he bit the deadly barrel

  Did he hear a distant bell?...

  Stumbling out in night apparel

  To the hall, he all but fell.

  “Francis Egan from Cuadrilla,”

  Said the stranger on the line.

  “I delayed this call until a

  Friend suggested you would sign.

  Pocock Hall is built on strata

  Rich in gas. I understand

  You and your disabled mater

  Need to profit from your land?”

  “Yes! Oh yes! Oh yes!” cried Binky

  Egan then explained the drill.

  “Locals may kick up a stink,” he

  Said, “But watch your coffers fill!”

  Byron Ingram Kingsley Pocock -

  Binky to his titled friends -

  Drills into ancestral bedrock

  As the media pack descends ...

  “Stop the Fracking!” scream the headlines

  And the women from the town.

  Press are over-running deadlines,

  Getting all the gossip down.

  Paparazzi flash and scramble

  Over bushes, walls and gates;

  Binky takes a massive gamble,

  Alienating all his mates.

  Waving an impressive banner

  In the centre of the crowd,

  Mistress of the nearest manor

  Rosy Moseley, blonde and loud

  Shouts, “I always loved you Pocock,

  But you never looked my way.

  All you wanted out of wedlock

  Was a cash cow who would pay.

  Now I absolutely hate you,

  Bringing ruin to the shire!

  Yes, you’ll get some girls to date you -

  All the ones for public hire.

  I am also on my uppers,

  But I utterly disdain

  Any popinjay who scuppers

  Love and happiness for gain.”

  Rosy Moseley! Who’d have thought it?

  Binky stares at Pocock Hall;

  Ever since Cuadrilla bought it

  He has had no peace at all.

  Fracking drills, and fracking Mater,

  Fracking builders, fracking din ...

  Thinks again of joining Pater;

  Let his adversaries win.

  Binky turns to the protesters,

  Grabs a banner from the crowd;

  Clearly Rosy’s hatred festers

  But he may still make her proud.

  “Come on Rosy! Come on people!

  We’ve had more than we can stand!

  Ring the bells from every steeple.

  We are taking back our land.

  Please forgive me. I am sorry,

  So ashamed of selling out.

  Hijack every fracking lorry!

  Block the village roundabout!”

  Could his future still be Rosy?

  Could he make himself content,

  Married somewhere small and cosy,

  Furnished for a modest rent?

  Binky finds the Fracking contract,

  Stands among Cuadrilla’s foes;

  “The environmental impact

  Means this piece of paper goes.

  Can we cancel lifetime leases?

  I shall take the legal blows!”

  Binky Pocock flings the pieces

  Like confetti over Rose.

  Forward to Index

  THE BALLAD OF WILHELMINA POMEROY

  Now, Wilhelmina Pomeroy's

  Obsession was for Little Boys.

  It wasn't that she ... that ... ahem! ...

  She simply liked to look at them.

  So she, whene'er she found one rather

  Docile, took him home to Father.

  She stood them neatly in a row

  And gazed at them with eyes aglow.

  She soon had forty-two or so.

  And when it came to fifty-three,

  A few showed signs of jealousy!

  At length - un coup inattendu -

  A comely youth of twenty-two

  Whose name we will forbear to mention,

  Keyed to a pitch of nervous tension,

  Struck the lady as she passed!

  The chosen band looked on, aghast;

  (Miss Pomeroy, I must confess,

  Was put out by his forwardness)

  And then with cries of "Insurrection!"

  "This is done in self-protection!"

  "Down with revolutionaries!"

  "Equality is threatened! Where is

  Social equilibrium,

  Upset by antisocial scum?"

  With yells and threats and kicks and shouts

  They fell on him, unruly louts

  And bea him up, and then they hurled

  Him out into the lonely world.

  They pinned a notice in the hall

  Enforcing Equal Rights For All.

  It was only fair and right

  That she should kiss them all goodnight,

  Said Wilhelmina, for she knew

  That everyone would want her to.

  So if she gave an extra squeeze

  To one, her duty was to please

  The others likewise - what is worse than

  To feel you are a displaced person?

  She little guessed there could be boys

  Who do not like Miss Pomeroys ...

  One evening she was halfway down

  The line, with kisses duly blown

  And planted with a dose of passion,

  When ... TwentySix refused his ration!!!

  Exasperated by the way

  She gloated over them all day

  He bravely pushed her face away!

  He shared his predecessor's fate.

  And then they saw him pass the gate

  One day, with a delightful girl -

  Not plain and Pomeroid; a pearl!

  She was no means to easy wealth

  But simply loved him for himself,

  And (which the idle are empty of)

  She gave him manliness and love.

  No bribery could stay them then!

  None but the silliest of men

  Could fail to see what they were missing,

  Hindered by Wilhelmina's kissing.

  … Broken glass lay on the floor.

  They had been gone an hour or more.

  They'd even jammed the wretched door.

  So now, alas, although she saw

  What she had been forsaken for,

  She couldn't try to understand.

  Ah! Bitter the revenge she planned!

  With fury trembling, she took

  Her blunderbuss from off its hook

  And saw her face distorted in

  Its surface to a horrid grin.

  The muzzle cold upon her breast,

  Her arms strained to the butt, she pressed

  The trigger…

  … Wrecked beyond repair

  They found her - but they didn't care.

  Forward to Index

  Winners and Losers

  (with apologies to Nelly The Elephant's original

  lyricists, Ralph Butler & Peter Hart)

  U. S. A:

  The regular c
aucus came.

  They chose an intelligent President -

  Obama was his name.

  One dark night

  He had to leave again;

  Two terms were spent and off he went

  Never to serve again.

  Barack Obama has packed his trunk

  And said goodbye to the White House,

  Making way for the Donald the Trump,

  Trump, Trump, Trump.

  Hillary Clinton has packed her trunk

  And left by car for Chicago -

  Off she’s sent by the Donald the Trump

  Trump, Trump, Trump.

  The end of the road was calling;

  Soon came the day

  When parties fight in the TV light

  And the world can only pray.

  So ... Barack Obama has packed his trunk;

  But who says Hi to the White House?

  Cruz? Or Sanders? Or Clinton? Or Trump?

  Trump! Trump! Trump!

  Night by night

  They wooed the divided land

  With Hillary leading the poll parade

  But Trump so loud and grand.

  No more tricks

  Could Hillary perform;

  He’s forced her now to take her bow

  Amid the media storm.

  Many a Democrat packed his trunk

  And said goodbye to the caucus -

  Off the back of the Donald the Trump,

  Trump, Trump, Trump.

  Every Republican packed his trunk

  And said Hallo to the Congress;

  In he went with the Donald the Trump,

  Trump, Trump, Trump.

  The rest of the world appalling,

  Trump won the day!

  His latest bride at his bloated side,

  And the pressmen kept at bay.

  Desert is spreading and ice has shrunk,

  We wave goodbye to the jungle;

  Life has lost when the winner is Trump.

  Trump…

  Trump. ..

  Trump

  Forward to Index

  THE BALLAD OF UNCLE GEORGE

  Uncle George was very smelly,

  Bright of eye and vast of belly,

  Moving like a mighty jelly

  Through the sea of our surprise.

  Rolling on to pass a hundred,

  ‘Why is he alive?’ we wondered,

  Wincing as his bowels thundered,

  Covering our furtive eyes.

  Was he ever pink and tiny?

  Helped to paddle in the briny?

  School-excited, birthday-shiny?

  How did Uncle George begin?

  The baker’s wife, a trifle tipsy,

  Broke her vows and jumped a gipsy.

  Weathered finger to his lips, he

  Sowed a secret in her skin.

  Forty weeks of floaty dressing

  Hid the sin at last confessing.

  If it were a curse or blessing

  Not an angel came to tell!

  Daisy’s brat was strange and skinny,

  Lost behind his mother’s pinny.

  When he sang, his tone was tinny

  Like a tiny cracking bell.

  He could make the horses whinny,

  Fondle foxes in the spinney;

  All the furry things and finny

  Knew the baby, knew the boy.

  Coaxing some bewildered creature

  Into school to meet his teacher,

  Up to church to hear the preacher,

  Was his mission and his joy.

  All the local dogs adored him -

  Ran to him and smiled and pawed him.

  Human children really bored him.

  He was of another kind.

  Many mocked him, found him frightening,

  Palms and fingers full of lightning!

  Tongues were wagging, knuckles whitening -

  What help could a mother find?

  Down the street there lived a lady

  (House and reputation shady)

  Known to all as Psychic Sadie.

  George and Daisy went along.

  Moons and stars hung from her ceiling.

  Sadie said, “You should be healing!”

  Told him that the fizzy feeling

  Meant that there was something wrong,

  Somebody in pain or sorrow

  Needing urgently to borrow

  George’s vital Chi. Tomorrow

  Nobody would laugh at him.

  This was quite a shock for Daisy

  As her grasp of Chi was hazy.

  Through her mind ran all the ways he

  Might go haywire. This was grim!

  George however was ecstatic;

  Now his life would be dramatic.

  Fasting in a rented attic

  He prepared for God’s demands.

  Word went out. At first a trickle

  Came, of people in a pickle,

  Throwing him their notes and nickel

  For the magic in his hands.

  Then the flood of people fighting

  For a glimpse of this exciting

  Youth; the cameras, the writing

  In the red-tops, on the wall ...

  Dicky backs and laryngitis,

  Measles, migraine and phlebitis,

  Scrapie, glanders and arthritis -

  George took on and beat them all.

  Farm and zoo had found a hero,

  Infestations down to zero.

  Local ponds and streams ran clear - oh,

  Blessings rained on George’s Chi!

  He could banish coughs and sneezes

  And all kinds of weird diseases.

  Some believed that George was Jesus.

  He was a celebrity!

  George’s soul was brightly burning;

  Everything he touched was turning

  To pure gold. But was he learning

  Vital lessons? Would he fall?

  Daisy watched him at a meeting.

  She could see he wasn’t eating,

  And the attic had no heating.

  No, he wasn’t well at all.

  All the healing, touring, courses

  Took their toll on his resources.

  “Puddings, sausages and sauces,”

  Daisy thought, “build up a man.

  But how to coax him home to feed him?

  Steal him from the folk who need him?

  Save my boy from those who bleed him?”

  She devised a little plan.

  Three strong lads in her employment

  In her debt for past enjoyment

  Would abduct him. For her boy meant

  Utterly the world to her.

  So poor shrivelled George was taken

  In the wee small hours, to waken

  In his old room - very shaken,

  With a soaring temperature.

  (You may ask, “Where’s Mr. Daisy?”

  He was dull and frankly lazy;

  Drove his wife and children crazy.

  Waste of time and waste of space.

  Once he had the ovens roaring

  Any thought of work was boring.

  Customers could hear him snoring

  Through the hanky on his face.)

  “Right,” said Daisy, “Now I’ve got you

  I shall be in charge of what you

  Eat. You’re running far too hot. You

  Need to cool it, simmer down.

  Now the Press know you adore them,

  They will pester. Just ignore them.

  They will see there’s nothing for them,

  Find some other media clown.”

  What a shock to George’s ego!

  Most of us unwind when we go

  Convalescing - how could he go

  As The Greatest Healer, sick?

  Daisy locked him in, protesting.

  Thirty years she kept him resting,

  Systematically divesting

  George of all that made him tick.
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  Week by week his mother’s baking,

  Buns and crumpets she was making,

  Gorgeous cakes and pies, were taking

  Captive George to supersize.

  Garlic raw with every supper,

  Drops of Rescue in his cuppa,

  Guaranteed to balance up a

  Life devoid of exercise.

  Nothing now could harm the Healer.

  Daisy died, but George could feel her

  Close - and then she sent him Sheila

  Who would let him out again.

  So many years had passed! A giant

  George, both nervous and compliant

  Asked if he might see a client,

  Help a person in their pain.

  From the ether in a vision

  Daisy whispered her permission;

  Strictly on the one condition -

  That it must be clandestine.

  Every night as owls were flying

  Once again the sick and dying

  Came in secret, far from prying

  Eyes and ears, and stood in line

  Waiting for the magic fingers,

  Murmuring the words that bring us

  Still the holiness that lingers.

  Yards away, they caught the smell ..

  Ancient garlic sent them reeling;

  Some would flee, but others feeling

  Bold enough for George’s healing

  Held their breath, and then were well.

  And so was he. The Chi he gave them

  Came from Paradise to save them.

  Cameras? He ceased to crave them.

  His reward was not to die

  For twelve decades - enormous, smelly

  Superstar without a telly.

  Now the Bakery’s a Deli;

  George a secret in the sky.

  Forward to Index

  BIG BANG

  One day which never existed,

  God

  in solitary rage surprised Himself with a Thought

  so unsustainable in the here-to-fore

  He cracked the unflawed sheer shimmer

  of Monad in Equilibrium,

  He broke Mind

  mirrored in all directions,

  He shivered Infinity

  and the incorporeal mighty Hand that held it,

  thus beginning seven days of Bad Luck

  as Time was born in the vortex.

  Being God,

  Resourceful, He stretched forth His other hand

  upon the vortex, with an opposite charge -

  And Said: LET THERE BE LIGHT, and There Was Light

  flashing from splinter to splinter, aeon to age;

  suns of a shattered hand blinked fire into and out of a myriad million dizzy reflections

  glinting Godhead back,

 

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