Ode to JRW Sewell

 

All hail JRW Sewell

In his 70th year

We all unanimously agree

He’s a man without peer

 

Husband to “little Jen”

And father to John and Lou

Grandfather to Ellie and Ben

And more recently another two

 

He crossed the hills to Grenoside

But with barely time to settle

He took a trip to the USA

Where Grandpa was an expert in metal

 

He claims to have attended Uni

Though Durham or Toon we’re still unsure

But he must have studied somewhere

To spend 30 years practising law

 

Rod liked his cricket

And supported the Lancastrian rose

But football and the Owls

Were the primary affliction he chose

 

Wednesday are his passion

A supporter through thick and thin

He’s backed them in desperate times

And occasionally seen them win

 

He’s also done his badges

To coach the kids in Endcliffe Park

But it was as manager of Storrs FC

That he really made his mark

 

With players like Simmy and Bammy

The football quality was poor

But the absolute nadir

Was the pre-season Blackpool tour

 

Rod loved his golf GTis

Overtaking was never a worry

Although one became considerably slower

After an altercation with a lorry

 

The miles he must have driven

As his unlicensed cab toured the land

But whenever his kids needed a lift

He was always willingly on hand

 

When John passed his A-levels

At the Council his clean heals were seen

As he met up with the lads

For a beer in Bents Green

 

With Chris and Lou in Dorking

And the imminent arrival of Ellie

The GPs loaded the car

And Rod gave it some welly

 

On arrival in Dorking

They needed somewhere to stay

Heads barely touching pillows

They were still asked to pay

 

Friends from Castlewood Road

Now cast wide and far

Meet up for fun and walking

And then a pint in the bar

 

Rod attends evening classes

To learn French or so he reckons

But can he really speak the lingo?

In The Dordogne judgement day beckons

 

Rod spends time in the garden

He works from dusk till dawn

To produce sweet peas and tomatoes

Watered by Lou and Shaun

 

But you were there for Ellie Mae

And you were there for Ben

And you were there for James and Harry

Not why or maybe but where and when

 

A fantastic GP and father

If you disagree you’re a fool

Happy birthday, have a good one

John Roderick Walker Sewell

 

 

 

 

 

You are the one
the only one
the only one for me
my love is true
i wear it proudly
like a badge
for all the world
to see

You comfort me
you comfort me
you bring me peace and calm
you wrap me tightly
in your arms
and shoo away the harm

You are my guide
you are my guide
you lead me when I’m lost
and protect me from my enemies
regardless of the cost

you are the one
you are the one
my life companion true
you are unique
a one of a kind
an extra special you

The President Has An Awkward Afternoon
The Donald would have been the first one to say
That he hadn’t had his very best start to the day.
His struggles with the sheets had left him gasping for air, And it was only after Ivana adjusted his hair
That the mysterious curtain was lifted
(There really had been a curtain, The Donald insisted).

But now he really need to think
About the alleged Chinese link
To the Russian whack back attack
Which was somehow related to a hack.
A what? It sounded sports related,

Something that The Donald really hated.
It was so confusing this League of Nations

Monitored by CIA listening stations.
And from their embassy came the Chinese
Greeted by The President, apparently pleased.
“Hurrah” he exclaimed “let’s see what we’ve got
Something sweet, something sour, something spicy and hot.”

“No Mr President, I think you’re confused.”
The delegation were impassive despite being abused.
“Mr President, these allegations we fiercely reject.
They’re entirely unfounded, you’ve lost our respect.
And as for the suggestion we’ve brought you a treat,
We’d ask you kindly not to repeat
The expletive filled rant that went on for so long
When you phoned the wrong number, and who’s Mr Wong?

And why were you screeching things not very nice?
And ranting about spare ribs and special fried rice?
You were talking to our Premier, Mr Zedong.
Not some takeaway shopkeeper, you’ve got it all wrong.
So you owe an apology, nothing less will do.”
Th Donald was struggling, trying to think it through.
A Premier? A what? A Mr Ze-who?
Was this fictitious or factitious? Who knew?
The Donald smiled his smile and sank to the ground.
As he slowly turned his wig back around.
Until it covered his face as before,
And he swiftly fell asleep curled up on the floor.

I’ll start with a poem, which is a complete work of fiction and not based on any real people or actual events. And by the way, what is formatting anyway?

The President’s Difficult Morning

The President had got out of the wrong side of bed.

He should have tried the top end instead. 

He actually headed south to the depths of his covers,

And was only rescued by the kindness of others.

The maid found him trapped, tangled up in a sheet.

She knew he was there because of his feet, 

Which stuck out the top, one adorned with his wig, 

While the rest of him thrashed about like a pig 

Stuck in a barrel and making a sound 

Like a cross between a seagull and an overexcited bloodhound.

When released from his bed he turned on his saviour 

And said “don’t for a minute think this has earned you a favour.

For I am The Donald and the best I can do, 

Is to send my thoughts and prayers to you”. 

With that he dismissed her in a manner most rude 

Not helped by the fact he was entirely nude,

Except for the wig which now sat on his head.

He had found it as he escaped from his bed

And plonked it on with a curse and a grunt

But hadn’t yet noticed it was on back to front.

At breakfast this mattered not a jot.

He only had coffee with cream, just a spot.

But at his first meeting he became increasingly certain

That someone had erected a blond, horsehair curtain

Somewhere between his desk and his eyes

Which resulted in him having a terrible surprise.

He was scratching his nuts, alone in his chair,

When he heard a small cough, there was somebody there!

He peered through the thick strands blocking his vision.

He could see a blurred figure so he made a decision.

“Who is that?” he shouted feeling all harassed.

“It’s me” came the reply, clearly embarrassed.

While not the quickest, he wasn’t so dense 

As to not recognise the Secretary for Defence.

“What do you want Stan, I’m having a bad day.

Can’t you see someone’s hung a curtain in my way?”

Stan was perplexed by the sight of The President

Looking like an enraged Monkey House resident.

“I'm sorry Sir but there’s been a cyber attack.

We think it’s the Russians behind the hack.”

The Donald turned away revealing the back of his head

Which sported a fringe, “errr Mr President” Stan said.

“What’s this cyber nonsense you’re rabbiting about?”

The President spun round, he’d started to shout.

“Those Russians will regret this hack, whack attack.

The only thing for it is to hack, whack them back.”

“So your orders, Mr President” Stan said to the wig

“Will have repercussions, which could be quite big”.

“Get on with it man” came the response.

“I shouldn’t have to say things any more than once.”

Stan looked at the man with his wig over his face,

And thought to himself is this the finest member of the human race

We could have elected to be Commander in Chief?

Who looks like he’d be more comfortable eating a leaf

Or a banana, a plum or peach

We would have been better with something washed up on a beach.

Like a crab or a turd or an old palm tree frond,

Or whatever crawled out of the bottom of a pond.

He sighed to himself and walked out of the room

With his orders provided by a wig wearing buffoon.

And The President sat back down and continued to stare

Intently into his back to front hair.

He was sure the liberal elite were behind this diversion.

Then he closed his eyes and slept behind his hair curtain.