PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

The Politician on the tele demanding plans for the Milenie,

The old man dozing, smiling, and posing.

Oh we have, yes we have, we've planned and schemed,

The things that we will do,are as yet undreamed.

Our friends from the North down the M 1 streaming.

Sixteen abreast, four carriage ways filling,

Come the mobile chairs, souped up engines whining,

All dressed in black leather,polished and shining.

With super charged Zimmer frames all outriding

All bound for Hyde Park to have some fun!

Overhead old pilots flying Microlites glint in the sun,

Ducking- diving - loopimg the loop,

Some flying blind just to make a full troop.

The Police are all grounded, their cars are clamped

By a troop of old wardens out of their camp.

Their radios too have all expired,

A team of old technicians had them rewired.

"Recall Parliament" the Tabloids all thundered.

They did- but the Westminster Oldies already had plundered.

Ted Heath tottered across the floor,

All the time conducting the River Dance score.

Betty Boothroyd left the chair, to lead a team of high kickers,

All tapping and stepping, displaying their knickers.

The Lords were a-leaoing, not a single one sleeping.

Bishops played games, with ermine clad Dames.

Beefeaters in the Tower, lined danced by the hour,

The  Crown jewels neglecting, the Ravens objecting.

The people all clapping and calling for more.

Newspaper headlines, with Editors complaining

Litter Louts, Larger Louts, we have managed to clear,

But these "Lucazade Loonies" take some explaining.

These revolting old people,all having fun!

Why don't they go home and sit in the sun?

Finally the Queen Mum takes the salute,

Hand held high, clutching her empty champagne flute.



Then a touch on his shoulder "Cup of tea Dear,

Enjoy your nap? Now don't let it get cold."



So thats it then,it's all over.Now it can be told,

The Blighters have won, well perhaps not quite,

We can still totter out and register our vote.--