We have a small species of bat/
With quite a confined habitat;/
There’s one of them only,/
And he’s rather lonely,/
So when he dies, that will be that.///
We have a small species of bat/
With quite a confined habitat;/
There’s one of them only,/
And he’s rather lonely,/
So when he dies, that will be that.///
A televised pair on an isle/
Exchange loving looks as they smile/
And Donald picks Kim/
To couple with him/
Until they break up in a while.///
His very own personal loo/
Accompanied Kim when he flew/
So enemy spies/
Cannot analyse/
The DPRK Leader’s poo.///
A big Brexit donor named Banks,/
Who funded the Europhobe ranks,/
Insists in discussions/
He said to the Russians:/
“Part share in a goldmine? No thanks!”///
https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2018/jun/09/arron-banks-russia-brexit-meeting
The G7 summit is done/
And Trump’s new trade war has begun/
The other six feel/
If Trump wants a deal/
He’ll have to set up the G1.///
https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-us-canada-44427660
This is a revised version of my original limerick, which was written before Trump threw his toys out of the pram. Here’s the first version:
A fellow whose air’s charlatanic/
Is telling us all not to panic/
But when meltdown comes/
Will Boris and chums/
Be first to jump off the Titanic?///
https://www.theguardian.com/politics/2018/jun/07/boris-johnson-admits-there-may-be-a-brexit-meltdown
To head off a Cabinet split/
With Davis’s threat he would quit/
May had to agree/
That temporaree/
Means just going on for a bit.///
A fellow whose regular jog/
Encompassed a street with no bog/
Would stop for a crap,/
Till caught on a snap/
Completing his exercise log.///
An FBI fool out for fun/
Was dancing while packing a gun/
But as the Fed flipped/
His firearm slipped/
And wounded a man as it spun.///
A leader of faraway lands,/
Desiring to show where he stands,/
Dictates a big letter,/
The bigger the better/
To emphasise Trump’s tiny hands.///