By

 

James Bredin

 

Partisan Liberal fiefdoms, still own big cities,

Packed with immigrants, communists and committees,

Pompous politicians who know how to tax and spend,

Soft justice system for illegals so why apprehend.

 

The people who gave us adscam and gave the vote to cons,

Refuse legal prostitution but arrest all the Johns,

Same adscam types looking for Stephen Harper’s head,

So Stephen get the lead out and do like you said.

 

We need out of Kyoto and please announce it soon,

Or the Liberals will have you gone before the end of June,

Elected Senate and referendums for sure,

But I find you’re becoming a little too obscure.

 

The global taxation of Kyoto; we don’t need,

Chretien and Martin signed us up and we’ll surely bleed,

But they’re both looking for Kofi Annan’s UN job,

Another surprise from this adscam Liberal mob.

 

Sunday, March 12, 2006

 

 

 

By

 

James Bredin

 

The day may come when I’m very old and barely alive,

Preferably when I’m more than a hundred and five,

And I want to arrange to die among my friends,

It may be legal by then… it all depends.

 

Arrange to die with dignity and then just check out,

Everything arranged so there will be no doubt,

Throw a big party with booze and coffin standing by,

Music and singing and then a final good bye.

 

Have someone there to make sure I’m really dead,

Then off to the cemetery with the shiny hearse ahead,

Then down in a hole which has already been dug,

In there for eternity feeling a bit snug.

 

Euthanasia it’s called; maybe popular by then,

Have a piper playing and someone shout amen,

No need for lawyers or priests because it’s all arranged,

Time may come when these ideas are not so strange.

 

Saturday, March 11, 2006

 

 

 

 

 

By

 

James Bredin

 

Church racked by homosexual scandal abuse,

International proportions, so there is no excuse,

By those forbidden to have a girlfriend or a wife,

To kick up a fuss about their celibate type life.

 

Heterosexual priests should all go and get married,

Have a big bunch of kids before they die and get buried,

If homosexuals and pedophiles can all walk free,

If enough priests get married, the pope will agree.

 

I’m sorry if this disturbs what has long been the norm,

That a priest might think in an independent form,

I apologize to the pope and those cardinal guys,

My idea might seem a bit strange but it could be wise.

 

I know these revolutionary sins are forbidden,

But centuries of pedophile stuff was always well hidden,

In a celibate job for the past eight hundred years,

That attracted a large amount of pedophiles and queers.

 

Friday, March 10, 2006

 

 

 

 

 

By

 

James Bredin

 

God forbid that Stephen Harper has changed his tune,

Especially on Kyoto – global warming by noon,

He should remember Joe Clark and his two hundred days,

And I’m already counting – let me count the ways.

 

We don’t need some carbon-copy Liberal up there,

Taxing, spending traveling on a wing and a prayer,

We just demoted that adscam corrupt bunch,

Why am I getting bad vibes or is this just a hunch?

 

Why should I feel I’m being kept in the dark?

Am I just another right-wing nut voting mark?

Is that the ghost of the Liberals still at the helm?

Soon back in office at the head of the realm.

 

Wednesday, March 8, 2006

 

 

 

By

 

James Bredin

 

I didn’t know her name back then but I know it now,

Pretty as a picture and most guys went, “Wow!”

Whatever her name, she was gorgeous and young,

She worked in a downtown store close to Queen and Yonge.

 

I was only one of that youthful admiring gang,

Nothing much on my mind but cars, girls and poontang,

She mesmerized those of us who ever saw her face,

Her statuesque poise, her elegance and her grace.

 

But something told me and I don’t know how or why,

She was not interested in any particular guy,

So like an unsolved puzzle, she crisscrossed my life,

Was she religious; was she single or someone’s wife?

 

I watched her now and then, here and there, through the years,

On subway, streetcar; she didn’t talk and disappeared,

And the years seemed to slip by in fives, tens and twenties,

Plus she changed, got very old and showed her age plenty.

 

No one could have guessed that she was once young and pretty,

Ugly and bent old crone looked like she needed pity,

Maybe I change too but this I can’t recall,

Sitting with many memories on a seat in the mall.

 

The picture in today’s paper showed a beautiful young face,

Fashionable curls of those times with elegance and grace,

The obituary column said Helena had died,

Finally her name which her death had to provide.

 

Helena it said, died at eighty two among friends,

Should I go to her funeral to see who attends?

Should I have talked to her long ago before she got old?

Too late now as I sit and watch the world unfold.

 

Tuesday, March 7, 2006