Topical Acrostic Sonnets

 A Festive Spread

 Across the whole of Europe, Omicron
 Feels smug this Yuletide. It is spreading fast,
 Extending Covid's ultra-marathon
 So long, it risks our Christmastide repast.
 The image that the World Health Org concoct
 Is not, but should be, green. Can they not see
 Verruca-like, malevolently pocked
 Excrescences betray the Grinch? 'Tis he! ...
 Seuss made the Grinch succumb to Whoville—Who's
 Pronounced unlike the WHO—
 Rejoicing even though their bugaboo's
 Endangered feasting ... That's the way to go
 As spread of Omicron bodes Christmas dread—
 Delivering a festive spread instead!

 (First published in MONO. on December 23, 2021)
 Another New Year

 Another year soon ends. It brought great hope
 New vaccines would send Covid on its way.
 Our hopes have since been dashed: although we cope,
 The virus has announced it's here to stay ...
 High hopes COP26 would make all states
 Emit less carbon and stop mining coal
 Remain just hopes: the planet still awaits
 Negotiated cures to make it whole ...
 Each year begins with hope. Years often end
 With disappointment: hopes go unfulfilled.
 Years always end with holidays, which lend
 Enchantment to our lives, as we rebuild
 Again, and count our blessings. Festive cheer
 Renews our hope for better things next year!

 (First published on December 28, 2021 in the
  Creativity Webzine)
 Australian Open

 Australia was open to the champ
 Until it wasn't. "Rules are rules," he'd learn.
 Served no exemption for a visa stamp
 To enter, he hit back a sharp return,
 Restoring deuce not on, but in, the court:
 A judge decreed that Djokovic must be
 Let in at once—despite no vax—for sport ...
 If only that were that! With this decree,
 Advantage went to government, who would
 Negate the ruling, after quite a lot
 Of dallying: The champ no longer could
 Parade the only shots his arms had got—
 Emphatic aces, backhands, volley jobs,
 Net-clearing drop shots, overheads, and lobs!

 (First published in Light on January 17, 2022 as
  one of the Poems of the Week. Story here)
 A Senior's Moment

 A grandma, Jean, was right to be a mite
 Suspicious when her grandson called from jail,
 Explaining he had driven drunk. His plight
 Now needed her to find eight grand for bail ...
 It's just too bad her grandsons are so young,
 One knows they're still in driving quite unversed—
 Rogue scammers who want grandmas to get stung
 Should do their homework on their victims first! ...
 Ms. Jean informed the crook she wasn't short
 Of cash, to lure him, but supplied in lieu
 Mere paper towels, and two cops, to thwart
 Escape ... The moral's clear: Don't misconstrue
 Near-sounding words, or they may foil your plot—
 Though Jean is senior, senile she is not!

 (First published in Light on January 31, 2022 as
  one of the Poems of the Week. Story here)
 Drain Repairman

 Dom Cummings here. I used to be your brains
 Regarding everything. Now I pursue
 A duty that's a lot like fixing drains—
 It's dirty work that someone has to do.
 News leakers, you, Sue Gray and I all know
 Redactions—hiding snakiness—aren't quite
 Enough to save your skin. To whistle-blow,
 PM, is dutiful, when spite makes right! ...
 Absorbed in thoughts of monuments to you,
 Imagining you're Emperor of Rome
 Revived, you ditched the brains you needed to
 Move Downing Street beyond a halfwit's home ...
 A drain repairman's master of the snake—
 Now I must flush you out, for duty's sake!

 (First published in Light on February 7, 2022 as
  one of the Poems of the Week. Story here)
 Darren Harrison

 Despite no background flying airplanes, I
 Am now this Cessna's pilot, so I should
 Report its plight is serious, and try
 Relanding it—in Florida, touch wood ...
 Excuse me? Roger? No, it's Darren here,
 Negotiating nosedives. This machine
 Has no beginner's guide on how to steer
 And steady, while the navigation screen
 Refuses to switch on, so I've no clue
 Regarding my position, though I know
 I have the coast of Florida in view—
 Should I pull here, or push the knob below? ...
 On solid ground at last. No further hitch.
 Now I must turn this thing off ... Where's the switch?

 (First published in Light on 16th May, 2022 as
  one of the Poems of the Week. Story here)

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