August 22, 2013

 

 

There’s something up

the chimney, Dad.

The dog has tried

to sniff it out.

 

He’s been going

mad all day, Dad.

I gave him

such a clout.

 

The soot has ruined

the carpet, Dad.

I had to throw

It out.

 

I raked the ashes

and cinders, Dad,

and frankly,

I found nowt.

 

The only way to

quieten the dog, Dad,

was to give him

your bottled stout!

 

There’s something up

the chimney, Dad.

Until it’s found,

I’m not about.

 

I’m off to stay

with Wilfred, Dad,

until it’s

sorted out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 16, 2013

 

 

Aren’t we all just

a little bit ancient,

by thinking of

ourselves as hip?

 

Aren’t we all just

a little bit yesterday,

as soon as we hear

the umbilical cord snip.

 

Aren’t we all just

a product of ageism,

when into the pool of youth

our toes we dip.

 

Aren’t we all just

old sods from the sixties,

still trying to do a

backward flip!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Only a fool would

hang around unwanted,

when cursed and belittled

and scorned

 

Only an idiot would settle

for being taken for granted,

when used and abused

by a monster, horned.

 

Only a friend would

see beneath it,

and accept a heart

that is torn.

 

Only an angel could

cope with a devil,

that has entered

a soul un-warned.

 

 

 

 

 

Penetration

Incubation

Realisation

Manifestation

Devastation.

 

 

 

 

What man when tempted

by a vamp,

who with blatant intentions

enters his camp,

can resist her wiles

and tricks of her trade,

sophisticatedly hidden

behind some masquerade.

 

What man when helpless,

yet, powerless to act,

doesn’t a scenario,

in his head, re-enact.

What woman indoors

with her watering can,

doesn’t cold water pour,

on his fantasy plan.

 

 

 

 

 

Her little band of supporters

who once came and went in droves-

All sucked in by her genius

who ate her fresh mangoes.

 

Her little band of takers

all lapped up her kudos

in their world of social climbing,

Alas, her perception was their loss.

 

She analysed their good intentions

and squeezed them like a wrench.

She saw through every charlatan

with both fists in a clench.

 

Her little band of helpers

are now but a trusted few.

For when her cupboards grew bare,

the rest vanished into the blue.

 

 

 

August 9, 2013

 

 

Fine Whisky, the staple diet

of kilted highwaymen,

drunken until they lilt.

Pure water taken with it

would help slow down the wilt.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh water nymph, you heavenly angel,

yet existing in the deep coral sea.

With seahorses for protection and

gossamer wings ensuring you’ll

always stay free.

 

 

 

 

 

When more is less

or more or less,

reduced from yesterday.

No more the stress

of carelessness,

is far, a better way.

 

When less is more

than was before,

some still left for today.

No more the need

for extravagance

and lower bills to pay.

 

 

 

 

 

 

In this uncertain world

of ‘I supposes’

Where cardboard cut-outs

pass as roses

Hence no scented fragrance

getting up ones noses

For a water shortage

means a ban on hoses

And granddad, knackered,

sits there and dozes

Whilst the dog by his side

snugly cosies

In this cost-free garden

of daisy posies.

 

 

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