August 17, 2012

 

 

We are ‘ in between’ cat’s

and at first it was nice.

Though now we are finding,

we’ve one or two mice.

 

The house has been ‘flea free’,

and there’s no more sick piles,

or hair’s on the carpets,

or whoopies on the tiles.

 

There’s no constant me-owing,

or being bossed around,

by those most demanding of creatures,

who are so profound.

 

But I fear we are weakening

with each passing day.

And I think there’ll soon be,

another puss here to stay!

 

 

 

 

He has one on the go,

and another on the side,

and a third he sees monthly,

just to keep in his stride.

 

He has one in Australia,

for an internet ride,

and one he met in Chile,

who subsequently died.

 

He has one in Magaluf,

who he now can’t abide,

and one he sees twice yearly,

when he sails in with the tide.

 

 

 

 

Some fools are foolish

all their life.

Whilst other fools ‘wise up’,

and take a wife.

 

 

 

 

He’s gone down to his allotment.

He say’s he’s got a prize ‘marra’,

that’s far too big to carry,

so he’s got to wheel it in his ‘barra’.

 

 

 

 

She did her share of wild-child living.

She was a rebel without a cause.

So lead her not back into temptation, Lord,

on the good path, let her pause.

 

 

 

 

 

If you’re a thrifty person,

and you know how to save.

Never lend it, for to lose it,

will see you in your grave.

 

 

 

 

 

‘It’s no use being maudlin’

Georgette said to Fred.

‘I know how much you loved him,

but your goldfish now is DEAD!’

 

 

 

 

August 15, 2012

 

 

Betwixt and between,

I’m stuck in the middle.

Both options looking

perfectly sound.

 

Beneath and above,

are hard rocks to choose.

Both adamant and

standing their ground.

 

 

 

 

He passed mustard down the line

to the bottom of the table.

He peppered his conversation with

porkie pies, whenever he was able.

He over-egged the cheese soufflé,

saying, it came from Austria by cable!

He assaulted his guest’s ears

with tales more like a fable.

Then with condiments back in place,

he bolted to the stable,

taking ‘leftovers’ in a feedbag

to his mother’s cousin ‘Sable’.

 

 

 

 

 

She had a catgut feeling

that he was onto a racket.

He’d been having a ball

outside of the line.

He swore it wasn’t love,

and begged the advantage.

But when she discovered

what the duce he’d been up to,

it was ‘game over’ and

the net result was ‘love all.’

 

 

 

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