April 30, 2015

 

 

Rap out the beat,

and make it rhyme.

Suck on a lemon,

suck on a lime.

 

In eagerness,

up a gum tree climb,

waiting for Big Ben

about to chime.

 

Rap out the beat

for Tony’s Time Machine.

Suck on an orange,

suck on a nectarine.

 

Rap out the beat

as soul and rock combine.

Suck on a watermelon,

in the bright sunshine.

 

Rap out the beat;

give it all you’ve got.

Suck on a peach,

suck on an apricot.

 

Rap out the beat,

as if in a hurry.

Suck on an apple,

suck on a sweet strawberry.

 

Rap out the beat;

forever is manyana.

Suck on a grape,

suck on a ripe banana.

 

Rap out the beat;

get high, get merry.

Suck on a coconut,

suck on a lush black cherry.

 

This live show a must;

let music set the scene,

with repeats all week,

most days in between.

 

Relax for two hours;

switch off that TV screen:

It calms a dental surgery

far better, than a magazine.

 

So rap out the beat;

just make sure you’re there,

Suck on a passion fruit,

suck on a conference pear.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

April 23, 2015

 

 

Coming Soon

Tony’s next LIVE ‘Time Machine’

on 6^th May.

In the meantime

are repeats of

two recent programmes

at the usual times

 

Wed      11.00am

Thurs      8.00am

Frid        01.00am

Sat         19.00pm

Mon       11.00am

April 22, 2015

 

 

She sold Lemon Bon-bons.

She sold Liquorice sticks.

She sold Chocolate soldiers,

and popcorn for the flicks.

 

She sold Sherbet fountains.

She sold Penny Arrow bars.

and Uncle Joe’s mint balls,

kept in screw-top jars.

 

She sold tubes of Love Hearts.

She sold Wagon Wheels.

She sold Fry’s Crème bars,

and White Mice, at special deals.

 

She sold Cadbury’s Fruit And Nut.

She sold Nestles Milky Bar,

and Sarsaparilla Drops,

and treacle toffee that stuck like tar.

 

She sold Rowntrees Fruit Gums

She sold Mivvi Lollies,

and Jammie Dodgers

to pensioners with their trolley’s.

 

She sold Sticks of Rock.

She sold Barley Sugars;

often clipping the ears,

of thieving little buggers.

 

She sold monster Gobstoppers.

She sold Pontefract Cakes,

and frozen Jubblys,

and Nutty Toffee tray- bakes.

 

She sold Linctus cough drops.

She sold Spangles too,

and Wrigley’s Gum,

for an all day chew.

 

She sold Dolly Mixtures.

She sold Walnut Whips,

and Murray Mints,

with ‘too good to hurry’ quips.  

 

She sold Flying Saucers,

before saying goodbye,

to open her new sweet shop,

high in the sky.   

 

 

 

 

The need for time off;

we all heave a sigh,

and flee to the sea,

or take to the sky.

 

The need for a change,

as we wave goodbye;

Never looking back,

now no rules apply.

 

We are free at long last,

to do as we please;

no ‘yes sir, no sir’,

now life lived at ease.

 

We are free from restrictions,

and slowly wind down;

enjoying days of laughter,

and nights out on the town.

 

But how good it will feel,

to be on our way back.

The strain feeling heavy,

from our loaded knapsack.

 

And how good it will feel,

to have structure once more,

and assistance to cope with,

what the day has in store.

 

The ‘build up’ to going;

an adrenalin rush.

The ‘build up’ to returning;

life’s fickle ambush.

 

The ‘build up’ to anything;

the excitement, the urge.

The ‘build up’, the ‘build up’;

let blood pressure surge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The door flung open

to the sound of a muttering man,

announcing to himself,

‘We are eight, including Gran.’

 

But no-one listened,

no-one heard.

They all stood there gormless

without another word.

 

No-one came to greet them,

or ask what were  their needs,

or tell them about the conservatory

which from the bar leads.

 

In disgruntled frustration

the leader turned around,

as another hurricane of draught

swirled in from the ground.

 

He then led out his party;

no more could he take.

The women tutting and saying,

‘It would have done for tea and cake.’

 

No sooner had they gone,

than the door opened once more.

This time five Chinese tourists

hovered; too polite to explore.

 

And in their own language,

had a doorstep debate,

as inside the temperature plummeted,

before their decision, not to wait.

 

Next, a very young couple,

came in and sat down

at a table for two,

but were soon wearing a frown,

 

when no-one came to them,

and no sign could they see

saying’ queue at the counter

for coffee and tea.

 

So after many minutes,

they too up and went;

making fifteen folks in total,

this place, never again to frequent!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deft of finger,

slight of hand;

the impossible seen

at a moments command.

 

They question how

in a blink it’s gone?

The eye not quick enough

to see how it’s done.

 

Took some convincing

did ‘doubter Don’,

but exclaimed ‘bloody hell’

as the trick moved on.

 

Sitting open-mouthed

he nudged his old mate, Jez,

then said ‘This guy’s much better,

than that bloke with the fez.’

 

Jez, stunned to silence,

couldn’t reply,

but nodded in agreement,

as a woman collapsed nearby.

 

‘Held her breath too long’,

Jez then said to Don,

as she was removed,

so the show could carry on.

 

Deft of finger,

slight of hand;

the impossible seen

at a moments command.

 

They question how

in a blink it’s gone?

The eye not quick enough

to see how it’s done.

 

 

 

 

March 30, 2015

 Tony will be reading 

‘Pitch Perfect.’

a special ‘tribute’ poem

at the top of his show

————

This week, also on

Tonys live show

( back by popular demand)

is the vibrant

DENISE FIELDING.

She will be reading two poems

by 

Harriet Blackbury

‘Hypochondriac’

and

‘For The Love Of Music’

and

not forgetting

Tony’s unique

top of the show

intro –

 Big Ben chimes,

and

Yes, Yes, Yes – Great music too.

–

Give yourself a

brunch-break

and 

tune in to this

unmissable show. 

  

March 29, 2015

 

 

When all is lost,

it hits the spot;

that something which

one quite forgot.

 

During idle time,

in quiet repose,

it drifts unannounced,

passing the nose.

 

In the form of a feather,

causing a sneeze,

or a draught from a door,

caused by a breeze,

 

or a sudden flashback,

that takes one by chance,

so much so, that it prompts

a second glance.

 

The past, never far

from the surface, it seems,

cold comfort and yet,

nice reliving those dreams.

 

 

 

 

An awakened moment.

A sudden flutter.

A window of opportunity,

as fast, as a camera shutter.

 

A welcome sigh;

that renewed attraction,

lost in the subconscious,

surges forth, with prompt re-action.

 

An emotional flood

of overwhelming power,

when the petals return,

and daffodils flower. 

 

 

March 15, 2015

 

 

The elections are coming;

for the first time I can vote.

I’ll have a say in my future.

I can row my own boat.

 

I must choose the right leader,

who best fits my needs,

and follow my instincts

and hope he succeeds.

 

I must ask if the man,

leading the country, right now,

is doing a good job,

or is ready to take a bow?

 

And if it would be silly to vote

for a fresh pair of eyes,

if indeed, the next leader,

turned out a bad compromise?

 

Five years is a long time,

and a big difference it can make.

So not bothering to vote,

would be a mistake.

 

I could follow family traditions,

and vote the same as Mum and Dad,

but my needs are quite different,

from the opportunities they had?

 

In this ever changing world,

we ‘first time’ voters hold the key,

to just where our country,

in the future, could be.

 

 

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