The Bad Penny

So it seems that the new leader of UKIP has resigned. This poem is called Bad Penny

Is he lurking in the shadows,

hiding under stairs,

watching round the corner

 to catch you unawares?

Is he snaking through the shrubbery,

waiting beneath the bed?

Is he prowling in the darkness?

This bogeyman’s not dead.

We thought we’d seen the last of him.

We’d wished him bon voyage.

But like the proverbial bad penny,

Here comes Nigel Farage.

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Party Poopers

The British Government have spent the weekend trying to decide if they want a soft or hard Brexit. I want to tell them it is not a boiled egg. Instead I wrote a poem called

Party Poopers.

Like a drunk guy at a party,

we saying our goodbyes.

We’re intent on going home,

but is that regret in their eyes?

We’ve kissed the host, and now we’re

lingering on the brink,

we’re hoping someone says to us

hey have another drink.

We know that if we leave now,

we’ll miss all the fun.

But our other half has spoken,

and they want us home by one.

So we’re really going to do this,

the taxis on it way,

but we don’t know how to get home,

or how much will have to pay.

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