Tabloid Catechism

Spite and polish will make her shine brighter
The author can buff with insults and see how quickly
She loses her inferior interior, slickly she grows
In favour of a sickly exterior shell that glows
With borrowed pride in her rented hide she’ll ride
Surrounded by critics and dealers to feel her, peel her
Unseat her, to beat her and shape and defeat her
In poisonous rows of inelegant prose the photos
Nipping her waist and in ever more haste
To keep blowing her nose, and her manicured toes
In uncomfortable shoes, body-conned to abuse
Shamed with glamorous phrases, ungenerous phases
More strokes of the pen to keep her, steep her,
Drowning in ten shades of newsprint, our views print
The choice of the people, the lawyers, the troops
With the focus of every new interest group
The murkier water of sister and daughter
Whose under-age pictures proclaim they fall shorter
Their innocence sold for a penny a piece
To shift Sunday supplements, pay off police
With the politics slanted to left or to right
You can broker new peace or prepare for a fight
And consistency needn’t concern you this year
Your excuse is the public reflection of fear
There’s an honesty to it, this devilish deal
An emotive hard-pressing of Biblical zeal
We wrote it, stand by it, will bribe to keep quiet
Our right to the sale of page three and her diet
What’s Mystic and listed and sicker, more twisted
What’s darker and deeper than truth that’s insisted
We’ll publish it, dressed in the finest of rags
And polish with spite all protesters and slags

Socially Satirical Poem

Three little businessmen, ran to catch a train.
The salesman got there first, but strangely turned around again.
The lawyer shouted ‘stop!’ then ran on as the others paused.
The politician huffed and puffed, but there was no applause.

On entering the carriage, all the passengers aghast;
The salesman barged straight up the aisle, the lawyer then pushed past,
The politician coughed a spell then mopped his weary brow,
I sat there in a corner, watching, wondering, what now?

The salesman made a tired mum give up her seat and move,
The lawyer rudely staked a claim by crafty elbow’s shove,
The quiet politician, without a word sat down,
Then unpacked papers from his bag, enough to fill a town!

Three little businessmen, settled in to ride.
The salesman got straight on the phone, my word, but he was snide!
The lawyer chose to read a while, then unpacked not just book,
but torch and pen and bookmark to make sure we all would look.

The politician next to me had work to do, it seemed,
Yet as he sifted papers, I watched and thought I dreamed.
No laws was he a-reading, no bills, naught penned of State,
But letters to the editor, the Daily Mail of late.

Three little businessmen, caught the four-eighteen.
‘Tis truth, that which I tell you, though it may seem obscene.
The best-dressed in the carriage, the least well did behave,
As one by one they all did start to rant and then to rave.

The salesman’s telephones after a while had ceased to work.
He chose to vent his spleen at all and sundry, what a jerk!
The lawyer found their ticket was not quite the one they claimed –
Not valid on this service, nor even in their name!

The canny politician, avoided all the fuss,
By nipping to the lavatory when the inspector passed.
But such was his frustration, on coming back to find,
The trolley passed already, that his manners slipped his mind.

Three little businessmen, had a rotten trip.
The salesman made a fool of himself trying to act so slick –
He loved his voice so dearly that, despite his useless ‘phone,
He pitched his product to a youth – alas, if he’d but known!

The student studied chemistry, was quite a whizz in fact.
He knew about the product, and what’s more, that it was crap.
He told the salesman nicely, just why it didn’t help.
Oh my, was that poor salesman shocked by this young whelp!

The lawyer tried to argue with the manager of the train
To let her off her fare as she would not pay it again.
‘Though arguments may be your job’, the train attendant cried,
‘You’ll pay like all the rest of t’mob!’ – she did, for all her pride.

The politician also, took a rather nasty fall –
For farting in a public train is hardly shame at all,
But blaming what you did upon another who did not,
Is like to get a politician in an awkward spot.

Three little businessmen, pride before a fall,
Might have learnt a lesson, but I fear have not at all,
For daily do I see them, each one on my train,
Try the same tricks over, and fail at them again.

(Based on actual events, any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely beside the point – you all ought to know better at your ages!)