POTUS
It’s POTUS this and POTUS that
No one knows where we are at.
Is it Don or is it Joe,
Will we ever really know?
Surely the people have had their say,
That no one can gainsay.
Yet still he whines, like a mewing pup,
Will someone tell him his time is up?
I am the genie of your lamp
Beloved of the twitterati,
Saviour of the western world
And the Republican Party.
My daily newscast you may not cherish
But someday soon you will
For I’m a genius born to last
A deep down thinker – for good or ill
So please believe my apophthegms,
All that I have to you told,
But you will remember if you’re wise.
All that’s twittered is not gold.
A Clerihew is a comic verse consisting of two couplets and a specific rhyming scheme, aabb, invented by Edmund Clerihew Bentley (1875-1956) at the age of 16. The poem is about/deals with a person/character within the first rhyme. In most cases, the first line names a person, and the second line ends with something that rhymes with the name of the person. (From: ‘Shadow Poetry’)
Original by Edmund Clerihew Bentley:
Sir Christopher Wren
Said, “I am going to dine with some men.
If anyone calls
Say I am designing St. Paul’s.”
Mr Speaker, John Bercow,
Is a Tory, although,
Who’d ever have guessed it?
He didn’t vote Brexit!
Jeremy Corbyn,
Like poor Anne Boleyn,
Will soon get the chop
Just for being a flop.
Dear Teresa May
Is having her say.
She says ‘Brexit means Brexit’
As we head for the exit.
Dave Cameron, ex P.M.
Will never forgive them.
He’s now feeling grim
‘Cos the voters misled him.
Ex-deputy Nick Clegg
Has started to beg,
“I don’t like the sack,
Please give my job back”
Ex-PM, Tony Blair,
He gave us a scare
When he said he’d bring sherry,
We thought he meant Cherie
Scots lassie, Nicola Sturgeon,
Might soon need a surgeon.
She won’t feel OK
When her voters say ‘UK’.
In the States Donald Trump
He has won at the stump
We’d prefer Abra’am Lincoln
Or even Hillary Clinton.
And Angela Merkel
Plans a reversal
Fearing voters won’t back her
And might well just sack her
Our lovely Queen, Elizabeth the Second,
Was perhaps our worst royal cook, I reckoned.
Until I remembered Alfred the Great
And those cakes that he once did cremate.
Artist . . . Mark Lynch
Photo . . . New York Times
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