Witterings

Besides the trivial meanderings of bloggerings herein and thereabouts, I have written screenplays (In Hollywood, Playing Willy) and am putting the finishing touches to my first novel, The Sublime Dramatic; a tale of science fiction, comedy and global conspiracies. News of that will be forthcoming, so please follow me on Twitter/Facebook for more information.

Within the pages here lies a treasure trove of total bollocks.  Why treasure trove? Because bollocks are testicles, which are colloquially known as family jewels - so treasure.  A trove? Well, as you can see from this intro - the trove is as drivelling as it is replete!

No, I Won't Drop It (In Fuck You Major)

To all my splendid migrant friends,
To all from far and wide,
To all who came to settle
But now swim against the tide

Of narrow-minded racist scum
And ignorance throughout
This once United Kingdom,
Now divided, now sold out.

We’re sorry that our PM fled,
And “Leave” just hid and ran;
While lowlifes all across the land
All hailed the Ku Klux Klan.

Don’t feel alone, don’t feel distressed;
They claim majority,
But with you on our side, you see,
They lose authority.

Forty eight percent of us,
Regrexits and you guys
Amass far greater numbers;
Let’s regroup and harmonise.

In all my years, I’ve never felt
More shameful of this dump.
So, fuck the haters, pack their bags;
Let’s ship them off to Trump!

Get Over It

“Fucking Hell, get over it!”
They said that to my face.
As England fell and Brexiteers
All ran off in disgrace. 

Hate crime rose, the pound collapsed
And prices climbed much higher.
“We won, we’re free, stop whining!”
As their country caught on fire. 

“Sovereignty is back again!
Britannia rules the waves!”
As equal rights and peace on Earth
Settled in their graves.

“We voted out! There’s no EU!”
But why they cannot say.
“To stem the flow of refugees
From lands so far away!”

“They take our jobs, OUR jobs!” they shriek,
Whilst standing in a line
To claim job ‘seeker’ benefits,
“Those benefits are MINE!”

Their rents increase, the NHS
Still waits there looking glum;
“Where’s our millions?” Oopsie daisy…
…Leave? They’ve done a run!

Yet knowing that the Leave campaign
Was total in its lies
Does nothing to dissuade their cause;
Our boat, they did capsize.

“Fucking hell, get over it!”
They said that to my face.
Save my soul, save my kids,
Fuck, save the human race.

A Heartfelt Apology

Some say I like moaning,
Some say I complain,
When I stand on my soapbox
And vilify trains.

Some call me a whinger,
Some call me a grump,
With rants about fuckwits, 
Like Donald J Trump.

They say I’m too angry,
My mouth’s just a cesspit,
When I call out the cunts
Who are shouting for Brexit.

But minds often differ,
Views aren’t the same.
Some people suggest
That I must take some shame.

So, I hear I’ve offended;
I now stand, contrite
And humbly whisper:
“Fuck you, I’m right!”

What's Wrong (My Dear)?

Don't Ask, in A Minor

“What’s wrong, my dear?”
“It’s nothing”, comes the chill of her reply.
“You seem quite tense…”
“I’m fine.” 
My mouth is suddenly quite dry.

“Are you sure?”
“Just leave it!”, as confusion settles in.
I’m petrified,
I’m scared!
I think that I’ll inform my next of kin.

“There’s something up..!”
The silence clatters through the air.
“Is it me?”
And bang… 
…I get the power of her glare.

“Did I not flush,
Or leave the loo seat open far too wide?
Is there some hair?
Oh my…
…is there a pube upon the side?”

“Perhaps I snored?
Is that it, did I keep you from your sleep?
You’re looking tired..
…no, no!”
I’m digging oh so very deep

“Look, tell me now,
Was it something that I may have done?”
I wait a while,
Oh fuck,
She’s pulling out a bloody gun!

“Please, darling dear,
I beg of you, before you shoot me dead;
Just let me know
My crime…
…Or was it something that I said?”

She stares at me
And casts me down upon the fires of Hell
And as I die,
She smiles
And breathes, “I think you know quite well!”

All Works Copyright © 2017 Benedict Francis

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