Bland On Bland – The BookThe theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Rich“.


Well, JVG once again chose a theme about which none of the assembled regular cast would have a clue. “Rich” I mean really Jon, I know you expect us me to make these things up week after week but give me a break. So after watching some bad reality TV ( less than 10 minutes) I came up with this weeks offering.

I hope next weeks topic is a bit more grounded in reality


Ed Bates provided the guitar backing, have a listen to how it went below…

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:

Rich

The late Halford Maskins was rich beyond belief
To him a million dollars was a mere aperitif

You’d need a safe the size of England to secure Maskin’s stash
Unless followed by nine zeros he put it down as petty cash

Arms, oil, infrastructure, communications, vice
Any venture that was lucrative, Halford had a slice

He had no sense of decency; despised the common good
He’d sometimes close a factory down just because he could

To keep himself amused when there was nothing else to do
He’d throw a dart at a map and fund another coup

He’d back the government and the rebels; it was profitable and fun
The result was immaterial, he didn’t care who won

War is the Golden Goose, forget the number killed
He’d make money on the weapons and again when they re-build

He was callous, cruel and greedy; arrogant and vain
He supped on human misery and revelled in their pain

Now the mega rich gather for an annual celebration
A secretive soiree, few receive an invitation

Where the rich compete like rutting stags, as to who has earned the most
And it was, on this occasion, Halford’s turn to host

Murdoch, Gates, Buffet and the Russian oligarchs
Would never crack an invite, they’d be like minnows among sharks

Trump tried to gatecrash but they were having none of that
When he boasted of his net worth they passed around the hat

The year before Dagmar Kurtz had hosted the affair
In a chamber made of solid gold; every table, every chair

Halford must best Dagmar or be perceived the weaker
But what on earth eclipses gold? “Earth?” he cried “Eureka”

A chamber made of truffles: the most expensive room on earth
An edible stateroom of inestimable worth

Fifty tonnes required to line the walls and doors alone
A dais forged from Perigords, held a giant truffle throne

Ten thousand graced the ceiling, each weighed five hundred grams
The entire surface covered, like the Spanish do with hams

He prized one from the chandelier: a massive Winter White
As if to taunt poor Dagmar, Halford wolfed it in one bite

He thrust his arms into the air, slumped on his throne and leered
A pompous show of triumph, or so it first appeared

“He’s as tacky as his fungus” the vanquished Dagmar joked
The crowd cheered on, oblivious, as poor old Halford choked

A doctor gave him CPR before pronouncing death
“Forget an ambulance” he cried “this man requires a chef”

The pathologists were trained to be respectful to the dead
The truffle, not poor Halford, they hacked off his bloody head

It took them near an hour to prize the truffle from his throat
It survived with little damage and on a brighter note

The mortuary assistant devised a truffle recipe
It slid down much more easily with a cheeky Pinot Gris

‘Tagliatelle a la Jonah’ they named the dish that they’d created
After the sailor in the Bible who was himself regurgitated

The Coroner’s findings lend wise conclusion to this thriller
“Be careful what you eat; rich foods can be a killer”

© Copyright 2018 Ian Bland


Also have a listen to “Everything or Nothing

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