The Globe and Mail
Warren Clements is a former member of The Globe and Mail’s editorial board and currently runs a small publishing outfit called Nestlings Press.
Mark, the herald angels sing,
Seems forever on the wing.
Abu Dhabi, Paris, Rome –
Jetting off away from home.
Carney seeks to drum up trade,
Shaking hands, some progress made,
But one question, if we may:
Will his many travels pay?
All the air miles he must get –
Surely they’ll retire the debt.
On the twelfth day of clickbait,
My inbox held for me:
Twelve tips from surgeons,
Heavenly excursions,
Ten pills for popping,
Nine sins for stopping,
Eight pounds for trimming,
Seven ways of slimming,
Six clips for streaming,
Five gold-like rings.
Four calls for cash,
Three fresh scams,
Two phishing schemes
And a smart deal on an EV.
Go hoist ye, merry gentlemen,
Let nothing you deter.
The ladder’s booked on rental, then
The heist is de rigueur.
The Louvre lost its treasures when
The walls were insecure.
Oh-h, time saw the suspects all tracked down.
Jewels not found.
Bet the Mona Lisa wears a grumpy frown.
A Jay, a cliffhanger,
No room in the pubs.
The Jays and the Dodgers,
Formidable clubs.
A series decided –
One overtime run.
So yes, there was heartbreak,
But fans still had fun.
False T the Showman
Is a tariff-ying soul.
He remains afraid of the world’s free trade
For it strips him of control.
Frosty his answer
To the folks who might object
To whatever whim may occur to him
That he’s programmed to protect.
The letters spell out MAGA
On that baseball cap he wears.
He sends his partners gaga
When he puts on baffling airs.
False T the Showman
Gets upset when folks demur.
We can only hope those who give him rope
Take a detour and deter.
Here comes sanity, here comes sanity,
Oops, there sanity goes.
Robert Kennedy
Dreams conspiracy,
Thinks the scientists foes.
He abjures all qualified cures
Whatever those cures may be.
Boss’s vanity, there goes sanity.
Look, see sanity flee.
Oh glum, all ye fateful.
AI is ascendant.
Just use your app and see
The false turn to real.
Is that a photo
Of a moose in bluejeans
And is he greeting Starmer?
A fake-news four-alarmer.
Best don your skeptic’s a-armour.
Spli-ice what’s stored.
O Christmas spree, O pics of glee
With Justin T. and Katy.
Ms. Perry’s glam on Instagram
With Justin looking matey.
A distant cry from being PM –
He now has rumours he may stem.
From state decree to Katy P.,
Affairs are much less weighty.
O brittle tone of bet-I-can:
Ontario’s Doug Ford
Kills cameras, takes over boards
With cities’ cries ignored.
A panel nixed a tunnel
Beneath the 401,
So Ford just hired another group
To say it can be done.
When money for skills training
Went to the party’s friends,
Ford didn’t blink. “I really think
The critics’ tone offends.”
Here we come a-jostle-ing
As winds blow from the north.
Doing Christmas shopping
December twenty-fourth.
Stores may close in an hour
But we’ll use all our power
To find gifts we forgot to buy
Last month. Now we must scour,
Though at four fifty-nine the clerks may glower.
Good thing weight is lost, they shout –
Peptides are a passion.
Drug for diabetes 2,
Now a weight-loss fashion.
Treatment goes by many names,
Oz, Weg, Ryb and so on.
Not for simple slimming use –
Yet fad uses go-o on.
“Read each page, abide by me,”
Health controllers caution.
“Side effects: A, B and C.
Really, we’re not joshin’.”
“Oh, who cares? We want the stuff.
Helps to make us thinner.
Side effects? We’ve heard enough.
No more skipping di-i-nner.”
You’d better prepare, you’d better sit tight.
The FIFA World Cup is almost in sight.
Soccer cup is coming to town.
Vancouver gets some.
Toronto does, too.
The rest will go south,
But what can you do?
Soccer cup is coming to town.
The madness lands next summer,
With thirteen matches here.
Expect the streets to pulsate, while
All the bars stock up on beer.
Oh, right, there’s a game.
Some fans will feel glee.
Non-fans can make dough
Through Airbnb.
Soccer cup is coming to town.
I saw three shifts go sinking, boy,
As posties went, with mail unsent.
No use for stamps. Opposing camps
Were locked in beefing and scorning.
“We can’t exist on what you pay.”
“We’re losing money anyway.”
“Dear X, I write this card to say,
You’ll read it some distant morning.”
The parties may have reached a deal,
But will the system ever heal?
Is door-to-door a dinosaur?
A wrenching change is a-borning.
See the debt as it rises
Hold your breath for surprises.
The Lib’rals insist
They’ve got a great list,
Working in a fiscal wonderland.
Hear them speak of investment.
Figure out what the rest meant.
“The future is bright.”
Right now things are tight,
Working in a fiscal wonderland.
Maybe we can build a stronger nation.
Maybe we can buttress our defence.
Just believe the end will bring elation.
Never mind the tense in present tense.
“We will spend, we will borrow
For a brighter tomorrow.”
And as for today –
Well, what can they say,
Working in a fiscal wonderland.
Fest nuts rigging up a choice display,
Roof a massive wall of light.
On the lawn, Santa’s reindeer shine bright
As neighbours close their shutters tight.
Did we mention all the Christmas tunes
Blared from speakers here and there?
Season comes – time to outdo one’s chums.
Many fest nuts to rue.
Duck the calls of offshore scammers.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Urgent voices pound like hammers.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
“You must pay this.” “Press this button.”
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Best advice remains: Do nuttin’.
Fa la la la la, la la la la.