.
This silver-furred yogi of how to stay fit,
This bespectacled guru of health,
Is a growly voiced sage of nefarious wit;
A hoodwinking master of stealth.
This flip-flopping, truth-chopping, sly hypocrite;
This barefaced disgrace; demon prince of batshit,
Is rolling in ill-gotten wealth.
This fork-tongued ace fudger of figures and facts
Who wove the apocalypse thread,
Has backtracked on data and hacked with an axe
Stale old omens for new ones instead.
This push-the-gloom doomster of grind-them-down sin
Is fleecing the country by selling his spin
To the buyers of this brand of dread.
This weaselly wizard of mealy-mouthed care,
This bender of useful-tool rules,
Defends years of breathing in mask-musty air
In his mask-less charade to masked fools.
As the gagged sag on couches, evermore slouchy,
All maudlin and paunchy and evermore grouchy,
The Pox Fox is gloating with ghouls.
.
.
Susan Jarvis Bryant is a church secretary and poet whose homeland is Kent, England. She is now an American citizen living on the coastal plains of Texas. Susan has poetry published in the UK webzine, Lighten Up On Line, The Daily Mail, and Openings (anthologies of poems by Open University Poets).
Modern medicine has indeed made great advances. But its horde of camp-followers — the quacks, the pill-pushers, the “wellness experts,” the panic-mongers, the Fauci bureaucrats, the professional liars in Big Pharma — these guys are a veritable Black Plague.
In an astounding instance of diachronicity, the Black Plague has now reached the Americas.
Isn’t this the sad truth of it. Medicine has become more about power, money and control than health and wellbeing.
That’s a nice shot, Ms. Susan J. B.
And the best thing about it I see
You have uncloaked the person
Determined to worsen.
Our lives for prestige and a fee.
Speaking of shots, Sally, have you gotten yours yet? I haven’t, and I won’t, unless they carry me away in handcuffs. BTW, nice limerick. We have now learned that Science is for sale.
I had no intention of ever getting a shot or shots, but then realized that if I r anyone else were to infect my husband, I would not be in a good place. So, reluctantly, I did it, making sure, of course, that I had the same shot as Trump..
Thank you very much, Sally. It’s lovely to have you back on the site, and I, like C.B., love your limerick!
Take that, Dr. Grouchy! Since you live in the Southwest, Susan, would you sell me some snake oil?
C.B., I’d never sell you snake oil… I would be more inclined to hand you a medicinal glass of whisky to assist you through these turbulent times.
Susan, I wondered if this was aimed at anyone in particular. I had an image of Boris as the wonderful, “Fork-tongued ace fudger of figures and facts,” in fact the whole of verse 2 should drop into his in-tray. So tonight, as we sit on our couches, slouchy, maudlin and grouchy to listen to the outpourings of the adorable Meghan, is there a Pox vixen I wonder.? Great stuff, as ever.
There is no shortage of ridiculous characters on either side of the pond. Susan is in the enviable (or unenviable) position of having seen things from both sides. What else can Anglophones do to consign themselves to the dustbin of history? Nothing? Just wait — someone will come up with something. Here’s an idea: How about we just acknowledge that speaking English is, in itself, racist, imperialistic, misogynistic and fascistic (after all, English is a Germanic language)? And writing poetry in English? Well, that just glorifies the execrable!
It’s not a joke anymore. There are persons (actual, real-life teachers) who are insisting that preference for “correct answers” on tests is in itself a symptom of white racism, and therefore testing in all subjects should be done “holistically” (whatever the swiving hell that means).
This is already established in Freshman English classes, where students are no longer graded on the finished prose they produce, but on a “portfolio” of their various drafts and outlines for any paper they are assigned. As one idiot in the English department said to me, “We’re interested in the PROCESS of a student’s writing experience, not the final product!”
C.B., my position is most certainly “unenviable” – every day I have to work on shooing the miserable cow mooing within… I must stop listening to reliable sources… but when I do the snake oil begins to look like amber nectar… what on earth am I to do?!
Joe S., you are right. It’s gone beyond a joke and it’s getting pretty darn scary… for those who don’t and won’t buy into the wicked idiocy of this insidious political agenda.
CB, Your line of thought agrees with mine. A few days ago I reacted to the news about the Danish translation of Amanda Gorman’s poem for Biden’s inauguration:
How dared Olivier enact Othello?
And how did Shakespeare dare to write the play?
Old Verdi’s having made of it an opera
Should surely be a cause for our dismay!
Appalling as it seems in current times,
It’s probable that Wright and Morrison
Had editors and agents who were white.
Perhaps that’s also true of Ellison.
This situation sickens us. It seems
That these and other writers we might mention
Were forced by horrid strictures of their era
To beg of racist whites their slight attention.
What’s more, now that we come to think of it,
These verbal geniuses were left to cope
With what we can but term a racist tongue—
A curse with which no one should have to grope.
But trust that all the wokest educators
Have recognized the facts and now will call
For change. Justice demands that students learn
Some other language or else none at all.
I know about what’s been going among “educators,” Joseph, and let me ask: What do you want 2 + 2 to equal? Or do you not believe in equality at all? Heh heh.
What you do, Susan, is go for the Laphroaig.
C.B., Ahh, what impeccable taste you have. Laphroaig is one of my brother’s favorites… I’m afraid my meagre church secretary salary will only stretch to a youthful 10 year old bottle. I’m sure your nose and palate are far more discerning.
Jeff, Boris can own verse 2… I’ll change the opening line to “This strawberry blonde yogi…” and there he is in all his faux bumbling buffoonery. To think I was once swayed by his melodious tones and sat mesmerized when I heard him recite Beowulf in Anglo Saxon (no less) – no more!
I like your internal rhyme, Susan, and also your use of “grouchy” and “slouchy” without the third word that obviously would have rhymed with them. (It seems to me that you’ve purposely left that word — or should I say, left him — hanging in the air, in order to imply its {or his} presence by using the other two.)
Cynthia, you have read between the lines… perfectly. It’s my Voldemort moment… I refuse to give this slippery character further power by mentioning his name. Thank you very much for your spot-on observation.
Big Pharma, big tobacco, the same: scientists dance for their dinner. Snake oil salesmen or modem marketeers. The poem is right on the money.
What a treacherous and traitorous world we live in… I fear the Hippocratic Oath has been replace by the Hypocritical Troth.
Susan, your delicious description is just the prescription to counter the corporate crap. The world is replete with ‘experts’ who bleat, and ask us to jump when they clap.
I won’t be lining up for a jab when my call-up comes. Mind you, I expect the media to continue denigrating those who choose to decline.
David, I can always rely upon you to comment with insight and integrity in a world that is sadly lacking in curiosity and commonsense, and to throw in an impeccable rhyming couplet while doing so is a savvy touch that I’m reveling in! Thank you!
In response to your Laphroaig response above, Susan, the 10-year-old is as good as anything. The 15-year-old is not as good, but there are other expressions worth trying, when the price is right. Prince Charles once admitted that this brand is his favorite, for what it’s worth. But there is always Ardbeg, Caol Ila, Lagavulin and the recently launched Kilchoman. All of these spirits put almost any sacramental wine to shame.
C.B., I’m glad to hear of the 10 year old Scotch being passable, and if ever we meet, I’ll have a bottle in hand. I once indulged in some Duchy of Cornwall “chocolate enrobed figs” endorsed by Prince Charles… I was underwhelmed… I think Prince Charles has very poor taste in women and figs. lol
My brother will be most impressed with your list. He’s a single malt/whisky/scotch connoisseur. I am a mere wine lover… although, I’ve just branched out to the wonders of a good Martini – The Botanist Islay Dry Gin is my favorite… it’s the only thing getting me through these dire times… bottoms up, my friend!
Trust your instincts, and trust the advice of those who have gone before.
And take Prince Charles with a grain of salt.
Fabulous word play in this, Susan – becoming a hallmark of your best work. Very good indeed.
Thank you very much indeed, James… this is a real compliment coming from you.
My Italian-English dictionary indicates that “fauci” means “jaws(of a lion)” or “mouth (of a volcano)”. So your poetic metaphors are “spot on”.
Well observed, James. My husband looked this up and my first thought was, could anyone be more aptly named? Which now begs the question, do our names shape us? Spooky!