Harbal Poetry (16)

I wage my war on Satan with my Bible,
I scare the whinging Liberals with my gun.
I go to church on Sunday when I’m able,
I hunt and shoot God’s critters just for fun.

The good book tells us what becomes of sinners,
be they atheist, abortionist or gay.
The God fearing and righteous will be winners,
the rest will burn in hell on judgement day.

For the cause of God’s law we must fight,
but only if you’re Christian, Republican and white.

‘Wife!,' cried the impatient husband. ‘Fetch me my boots, I have friends I need to meet.’

Fetch them yourself, thought the wife, as she delivered them to his feet.

‘Wife!,' cried the greedy husband. ‘Get me food, for my hunger must be satisfied.’

You big fat oaf, thought the wife, as she hastily complied.

‘Wife!,' cried the lazy husband. ‘There’s cold beer in the fridge, I want it now, without delay.’

I should ram this bottle down your throat, thought the wife, as she set it down upon a tray.

‘Wife!,' cried the lustful husband. ‘Bring me your body, I need it underneath me until my urge subsides.’

You disgusting pig, thought the wife, as she lay down by his side.

‘Wife,' mumbled the half sleeping husband. ‘Move over, you’re taking up too much bed.’

Sleep tight, screamed the wife, as she brought the hammer hard down upon his head.

Sunday morning, looks like rain
Cars parked along a country lane
The Ramblers are abroad again
Eager for the fray

Checking contents of rucksacks
That they will sling across their backs
In case of rain they carry macs
And so begins their day
______
No spring chickens in this band
As they stride forth across the land
Off they go with sticks in hand
Each one a fearless rover

But It’s not like walking in the town
With nice flat pathways on the ground
And you can bet your very last pound
That someone will fall over
______
It’s not that they are all too old
To be out in the wet and cold
And all in all they’re very bold
To set out on the trek

It’s just that some of them have to fight
To walk and keep themselves upright
And on their feet they’re not so light
One usually hits the deck
______
Muddy patches are the worst
To elderly hikers they’re a curse
And all are wondering who’ll slip first
Sprawled out in a puddle

Are you alright? are the first words spoken
Then they check for bones that are broken
Everyone’s concern has been awoken
As round him they all huddle
______
The dangers out there are untold
It’s not just about the wet and cold
If you fall down when you are old
The outcome could be dire

So put yourself not through the test
Just leave the outdoors to the rest
Who are not so far past their best
And stay home by the fire

Shall I compare thee to a wet Monday?
Thou art more miserable and dull.
Watching TV, on thy couch doest thou lie,
guzzling snacks, yet ne’er seem full.

Oft-times too much the effort proves,
exertion for usefulness to devote.
thy sluggish body hardly moves,
save to press the buttons on thy remote.

Apart from thy telly, and need to be fed,
thou seem’st not to have any cares.
Thou doest not a thing betwixt sofa and bed
save to haul thy fat arse up the stairs.

As for contribution to society, to rest some pride upon,
‘tis with regret I say to thee, thou art a slob and maketh none.