O Christmas Lights

12 Dec

O Christmas lights, O Christmas lights
Your knotted wires enrage us
No matter just how long we spend
It seems this task will never end
O Christmas lights, O Christmas lights
Be good or you’ll see scissors.

O Christmas lights, o Christmas lights
Fif-ty percent aren’t twinkling
You all shone bright an hour ago
But now you’re up, only half glow
O Christmas lights, O Christmas lights
Why? I haven’t got an inkling.

O Christmas lights, O Christmas lights
Why did you burn our house down?
Was it because you were bought for pence
Or electrical incompetence?
O Christmas lights, O Christmas lights
You briefly lit our whole town.

Don’t hurt the animals

10 Dec

There’s a spider in the sink, in the sink
A great big spider in the sink, in the sink
There’s a spider in the sink, but it’s just having a drink
It would be a shame to squish it, don’t you think?

There’s a mouse under your bed, under your bed
There’s a mouse under your bed, yes – your bed!
There’s a mouse under your bed, don’t call the cat – why not instead?
Grab some cheese and make a new friend – call him Fred.

There’s a cockroach in your shoe, in your shoe
‘There’s a cockroach in my shoe?’ Yes your shoe!
There’s a cockroach in your shoe but don’t flush it down the loo
Give the little fella something nice to chew.

There’s a burglar in your home, in your home
There’s a burglar in your lovely family home
Make that criminal atone, smash him with a garden gnome
What an unexpected way to end a poem!

Home is where the arse is

9 Dec

It was chaos at home, dad was fighting with mum
So I went to the library to study some
But the library had only one table and chair
Thanks to the government’s approach to financial affairs.

I got there early and I claimed the seat
Like a famous explorer with new land at his feet
My bladder was empty, I was all set to stay
Studying ’til the library closed for the day.

Shortly I realised I wasn’t alone
By the meaningful cough of an elderly crone
You know the sort that at night keeps her teeth in a cup
I averted my eyes as she shambled up.

She hovered awhile hoping I’d take the hint
But her pronounced limp didn’t fool me a bit
I’d seen her in action in the Post Office queue
She was as fast a greyhound smelling fresh rabbit stew.

Next came a man with last week’s newspaper
I thought to myself, what’ll be his caper?
With no subtlety he gave an elbowy nudge
But there was no way on earth I was going to budge.

So it went on like some sort of game
They all came, the laboured, the tired and the lame
But I held my place, tightly clenching my cheeks
Hours went by, but they felt like weeks.

‘Til finally something in my head went ‘ping’
I’d studied all day but I’d not learned a thing!
I went home to my family and relative peace
A home is a place where every arse has a seat,

Talking of walking

27 Nov

Languid coils of potential energy
Striders purposeful
Almost runners
Wiggling bottoms
Different walking people

Bouncers defying earth’s gravity
Shamblers reluctant
Limpers and gimpers
Starers and blinkereds
Myriad ambulant


 

I knew a man who I liked so I stalked
But the older he grew, the faster he walked
‘Til it got to the point where I couldn’t keep up
So I had to trip him to force him to stop

He tried to get up and give me the slip
But I had him in quite a vice-like grip
I didn’t ask why he’d kept such a pace
He knew I was death by the fear on his face.

The Picnic to end all Picnics

22 Sep

Battenburg and Belgian buns
Sandwiches and sausages rolls
Lemonade and ginger beer
Go play child, your father’s here.

I sat and watched them from afar
They didn’t eat or drink a thing
They talked and talked and both looked sad
As they broke the ‘and’ between ‘mum’ and ‘dad’.

I don’t know what they talked about
Neither comforted the other
As both of them began to cry
While a world away, alone sat I.

In a little while my father came
Goodbye my pet, I’ll see you soon
He went away and that was it
Leaving me, my mum and our picnic basket

The end is nigh

17 Sep

The sky was black
As a goth’s hair dye
It’s very clear
The end is nigh

The TV crackled
And gave a sigh
And with a sky so black
As a goth’s hair dye
It’s obvious
The end is nigh

I tried to go out
But my body was spent
I went to my bed
And began to repent
And with the TV crackling
And the sky so black
Let’s say goodbye
The end is nigh

 

Inner Critic

17 Sep

There’s nothing worse than jest in verse
Or so my inner critic, thinks
Every time, I fill my rhyme
With fun it says ‘It stinks. It stinks!’

But seriously, it pains me
To write my verse with sober pen
I don’t have in, me discipline
The clown pops up again, again!

So I ask you, what should I do?
Should I bow to my staid reviewer?
Or embrace the clown and we’ll go down
To dance inside the sewer. 

Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 94 other followers