Tip: to magnify this page, click/hold on your Ctrl and + sign together. To reduce back, click/hold Ctrl and - sign together.
Tip: to leave a comment without registering, choose Anonymous option, then put your name by your comment.
Hope you enjoy some of my lighthearted creations:
Cover up, lad, and get back home!
I know I told you to get out from under me feet,
and that you’re fed up with taking a back seat.
But lasses don’t want to see your flabby belly
wobbling to music, offering the Full Monty.
A captain’s hat won’t disguise your wrinkles
however much you jiggle to pop jingles.
Cover up, lad, and get back home!
Other men deliver free papers to avoid the blues,
volunteer for meals-on-wheels but no, not you!
Like a daft teenager, you flirt with young women.
You don’t realise they think you’re a right lemon!
Cover up, lad, and get back home!
For goodness sake, man, you are sixty-five!
Those pints and pies you’ve downed all your life
have left their mark – you are not a sex symbol!
All you’ve got to show is the size of a thimble.
Cover up, lad, and get back home!
Forget all this and I’ll see it as just a lark.
Sail a dingy on the lake in the park
if you really want to wear that sailor’s hat -
not dance around like a larded old prat.
Cover up, lad, and get back home.
If you must prance around on a public stage,
join amateur dramatics and act your age!
Placebo
Swallow whole with water all the way.
Religiously take three times a day.
Worldwide research has proven it works,
increased libido one of the perks.
Experts report excellent trials
for this clear solution in a phial.
If it doesn’t please the patient’s head,
it could end in vespers for the dead.
Note: the last stanza is explained by dictionary definitions of placebo...
A Royal Occasion
You know, Philip, I’ve never exactly been a party girl!
Even at my age, I’m still expected to give it a whirl.
Millions of my subjects are waiting and waving their flags.
Take a deep breath, dear, help me into my royal glad rags.
I had better wear white as it’s the diamond jubilee.
I’ve got to stand for hours on a barge for all to see,
risking hyperthermia to wave to thousands of boats?
Better include my thermal underwear and winter coat.
Flaming June indeed! It’s freezing wet weather out there!
Which idiot planned all these events in the open air?
Oh…our eldest as usual, with his head in the clouds -
well, he can forget the throne until I’m in my shroud!
If Prince William was ugly
If Prince William was ugly with daddy’s jug ears,
if Kate had poor dress sense and a fat pear-shaped rear,
after the death of Elizabeth
would we devoted subjects revolt and reckon
that financing the monarchy is much too dear?
You do not own the road! (a terzanelle)
My friend, you do not own the road!
Think of the stress upon your heart!
If a lorry with a heavy load
parks for days in front of your path
plus a caravan gleaming white,
think of the stress upon your heart!
A board between chairs placed to spite
visitors parking in your spot,
plus a caravan, gleaming white,
is illegal – however much you plot.
If you guard your territory
to prevent parking in your spot,
you’re primed to have a coronary.
There’s more important things in life
than guarding your territory.
It’s stirring up a lot of strife.
My friend, you do not own the road!
There’s more important things in life
than a lorry with a heavy load.
Fruitful Alliance or Making a Meal of It
This sweet and sour tale is of our greengrocer.
He has carrotty hair, fishy eyes
beetroot-red skin, a cheesy smile,
cauliflower ears, a man who knows
his onions - how many beans make five.
His wife, a pear-shaped comely lass,
boasting a peaches and cream complexion.
lately has begun sponging off friends,
snapping at him to shut his cakehole
if he knows which side his bread is buttered.
They’re packed like sardines in that flat.
Their two girls, alike as peas in a pod,
are now bolshy teens - they don’t give a fig.
When their parents scold, they get a cob on.
No longer sugar and spice and all things nice,
the icing on the cake is they’ve turned goth.
Now of them is up the duff with a bun in the oven.
He was always a bit of a nut, a bit crackers
but his wife is worried he is going bananas.
She says his odd behaviour takes the biscuit.
His celery pays the bills, he looks so cressfallen.
With that cocktail of stress, I can see him deserting
them all for that customer with…the big melons.
Fruitful Alliance or Making a Meal of It
This sweet and sour tale is of our greengrocer.
He has carrotty hair, fishy eyes
beetroot-red skin, a cheesy smile,
cauliflower ears, a man who knows
his onions - how many beans make five.
His wife, a pear-shaped comely lass,
boasting a peaches and cream complexion.
lately has begun sponging off friends,
snapping at him to shut his cakehole
if he knows which side his bread is buttered.
They’re packed like sardines in that flat.
Their two girls, alike as peas in a pod,
are now bolshy teens - they don’t give a fig.
When their parents scold, they get a cob on.
No longer sugar and spice and all things nice,
the icing on the cake is they’ve turned goth.
Now of them is up the duff with a bun in the oven.
He was always a bit of a nut, a bit crackers
but his wife is worried he is going bananas.
She says his odd behaviour takes the biscuit.
His celery pays the bills, he looks so cressfallen.
With that cocktail of stress, I can see him deserting
them all for that customer with…the big melons.
Stitchwort & Nettle
fragile virginal flower
embraced by virile nettle
a may-time dalliance
how could a beauty like her
so sensitive, delicate, refined
be in bed with a stinger like him
symbiosis of opposites serves
she safely attracts male visitors
he repels unwanted advances
Arum family relations
Native Brit, her title: Lords and Ladies,
Native Brit, her title: Lords and Ladies,
Cuckoo Pint - more folk names have been bestowed
upon her than any other wild flower…
her easy billet’s shady woods and banks.
Where do I live in this rain-soaked country?
Imported into garden ponds – that’s where!
Okay, so I’m bigger than my cousin.
I’m a loud extravert, what can I say.
My yellow hood dwarfs her anaemic hat.
My giant poisonous spadix prouder
than her puny red berries on a stick.
Crush my leaves and sure, there is an odour
but to call me that name …well, I’ve shown them!
I have escaped from their garden ghettoes,
spread seed into their wild bogs and marshes.
My name? Not Kings and Queens , Gold Marsh Beauty,
Yellow Devil or Peril as befits.
No… I ask you…how insulting is this…
Skunk Cabbage!
Taking the Pissoir
My friend, Jim, a retired plumber and leading light in his local twinning association, caused a stir with two of his April Fool’s jokes.
The first was to announce the gift of a pissoir from their twin village in France
What a state ‘oui’ are in
In.(name of village) one day
In.(name of village) one day
To our dismay
Came the urge to have a ‘oui’.
We made frequent stops
At the library and shops,
But no convenience could we see.
We hopped for an hour
We hopped for an hour
To find the pissoir
So aptly described in the news.
Only to find
‘Twas all in the mind
Of a plumber with intent to confuse.
We remain, sir, your incontinental servants…
EC Committee for 24 hour relief.
Leaving five years for memories to fade, Jim once more featured in the local paper. A photo showed him pointing to ripe grapes on vines, supposedly donated by their twin village’s wine growers. They were, in fact, supermarket-fresh and draped on a shrub in his garden. Global warming and fertile soil were given as credible explanations for being able to grow vines on a secret hillside location in this Lancashire village.
A wine press, a gift on one of his trips to France
A little bashfully, Jim served French wine to eager folk coming into the newspaper offices. After tasting the delicious wine, a keen member of a local Women’s Institute ordered 25 bottles for a village event. With a slightly red face, Jim had to point out the date and confess all. Up to six months after this, he was still receiving the occasional phone call from people outside the area interested in English wines.
He sent the newspaper articles to friends in their French twin village. He had to decline to send over bottles of the wine after they too were fooled. He laid low for a while after this…no-one ever again believed a word he said around the end of March.
The computer entered their lives one sunny day.
With broadband installed, they could have their say
On e-mails, chat rooms and any kind of forum
Where they could behave without any decorum.
Retirement had come too soon, they felt too young
They had skills and talents which would remain unsung.
It had been a year since the day they went online.
They couldn’t say they were happy and things were fine.
No, it had caused strife and many stressful hours
Which could have been spent outside smelling the flowers
Their wrists and hands were swollen, and painfully red
From clicking that mouse till they retired to bed
Along with sore eyes, their spines creaked and groaned
‘There’s a whole new language to learn,’ they moaned
They blamed each other when it went wrong or crashed
And found now most days they wanted to get smashed
They could keep in touch with the family so easy
But really they wanted to be out where it was breezy
Where the air could soothe their tempers and furrowed brows
And heal the internet induced marital rows.
After rejoicing at my new walking umbrella stick, the ferrule fell off
After rejoicing at my new walking umbrella stick, the ferrule fell off
and a friend offered to fix it with...oh dear, this alliteration is addictive:
A fingerful of flux
A fingerful of flux
All I need is a fingerful of flux
to fix me friend’s ferrule, which fell off
her fancy umbrella-walking stick.
I thought it would be easy to fix.
I ferreted around in me shed
and found a bit of copper tubing.
I were right flumoxed and scratched me head:
how to make the copper ferrule stick on
the fancy umbrella-walking stick?
To make the fine copper ferrule stick,
I affixed wood glue and tape to the end of
the fancy umbrella-walking stick.
I hammered it on to the ferruleless end
and, guess what…I flipping thumped me thumb instead.
Amongst all me fascinating things of purpose,
could I find a fingerful of flux?
So friend… I thought of your fantastic shed
with everything a man could need to fettle
a fancy umbrella-walking stick.
Flipping heck, Fred…what do you mean?
You haven’t any flux so I can fix
her ruddy fancy umbrella-walking stick!
Season to be Merry
Christmas comes but once a year,
cherry wine and crates of beer,
tangerines, nuts, puddings and pies,
hankies in boxes, socks and ties.
Turn off the telly with adverts of sales
sing carols, play games and tell festive tales
round a bright fire with candles aflame,
no-one need cry ‘Christmas isn’t the same!’
Waving at Trains
Why do people wave at trains from bridges above the track?
Why does the driver sound his horn and laughingly wave back?
Why do we enjoy this playful contact so fleeting
between two humans with no chance of ever meeting?
well done eric
ReplyDelete