April 12, 2012

 

 

I didn’t tug his shirt Ref

I didn’t pull his arm

I didn’t grab him round the neck

I promise I kept calm

 

I didn’t trip him up Ref

I didn’t thump him hard

I didn’t think I’d fouled him

Though you showed a yellow card

            

I didn’t put the boot in Ref

I didn’t touch him, by a yard

I didn’t cause that nasty tackle

Though you flashed another card

 

I didn’t want an early bath Ref

I didn’t want to go off in disgrace

I didn’t want to let the side down

I didn’t want to lose my place.

 

 

 

 

 

The weather at Ascot had been mixed all week

And Ladies Day was no exception.

So they felt lucky to land a sunny Friday

For the traditional yearly reception.

 

The Ladies looked swell and were in good spirits

And they got some advice on studying form

From the help of a professional tipster,

Who really went down a storm.

 

The canapés arrived and the Champagne flowed

And then they all sat down to eat.

The cheese arrived at the same time as The Queen

So they all quickly leapt to their feet.

 

The excitement grew as the first race neared

And they felt sure that they’d picked a winner!

But alas, an outsider flew past the post

Making their wallets just that little bit thinner.

 

With Placepots down the drain

They quickly moved  to the next race of the day.

Some vanished to the Tote,  to make serious bets

Fighting through the crowds on their way.

 

The Queen didn’t get a chance to pop across

And chat to them over afternoon tea

But they knew she was tied up in the Royal Box

So they just had to let things be.

 

As the last race neared, it was a chance to recoup

Some of the money that had been lost.

But being a ‘Bumper’ – a donkey won

And they all shook their heads to their cost.

 

Then all too soon it was over

Leaving them feeling a little bit sad

As they gathered to say their goodbyes

And hoped that the traffic wasn’t bad.

 

 

April 11, 2012

 

 

Is that the face that once beamed with joy?

That would soften at the sight of an animal

Or fledgling bird taking flight

Is that you – the girl I once knew?

The one I grew up with and saw in the mirror

Each day and night

Is that you?

Are you alright?

 

 

 

 

Subliminal genius

God given talents

Heaven sent intuition

All gifts of life available

to those willing to open

up their minds

 

 

 

 

Can I sell you a fortune kookie Miss

It’ll turn your life around and

Change your luck for the better

It only costs a pound!

 

Or perhaps you’ll take this sprig of heather Lady

I picked it myself this very morn

It’s yours for a piece of silver

It’ll make you feel glad that you were born

 

You honestly won’t regret it Dear

Don’t decline my offer or you’ll be cursed

Please dig deep into your pockets

I’ve six children who must be nursed

 

I’m down on mi luck grand Lady

Impoverished, so answer my plea, and

Take one of my fortune kookies

And pass on your good luck to me

 

 

 

 

 

The early morning tackiness of London streets.

The deafening hustle and bustle that is city life.

Millionaires and celebrities

sitting cheek by jowl,

with vagrants and loners

in street cafes.

Whilst in Soho Park,

no sign of a nightingale or a lark.

Just the homeless

rising from park benches,

 and searching the pavements

for their first fix of the day.

A fag end will do fine,

and the choice is endless.

Some are still clinging  to a long since

emptied bottle of wine,

or maybe it was meths.

Who knows, who cares?

City slickers jauntily pass by, never raising an eye.

The white collared swells,  the ne’er do well’s,

accepting of each other.

There goes he, there go I,

but for the blinking of an eye.

They’re all in this mess together.

The streetwise pigeons

fighting over a discarded blueberry muffin,

that has overflowed along with

other junk and debris from

a city council bin.

What a din, what a mess.

There’s a balance to redress.

But to witness it, is exciting,

almost exhilarating.

There’s an earthy richness all around.

A common bond between strangers

passing on a daily basis.

Never speaking, never acknowledging one another,

yet silently existing  within their own safe, separate worlds

 

 

 

 

April 10, 2012

 

 

Chew each mouthful

Fourteen times

Get those jawbones gnashing

Or swallow food whole

And undigested

And give your guts a bashing

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of all the underhand

Conniving things to do!

I can never forgive you

That’s it

You are out of my zone forever

So don’t bother trying to get

Back into my good books

Don’t give me one of those

Long soppy looks

Or those stupid grins that say

‘I know you don’t mean it’

Just take your

Coochy–coochy-coo’s elsewhere

Because this time

And I mean it

This time

You’ve had it with me.

So make your own Tea

And then sling your hook

Oh, and on your way back

Could you bring some milk

Because we’ve run out! 

 

 

 

 

 

Let him get a word in

Let him have his say

He has some good ideas

Let him see the light of day

 

 

 

 

Do you remember laughing so much that

Your sides ached, and you almost passed out

With dizziness

And you were so overwhelmed with joy

That you felt totally out of control

When fun was the only aphrodisiac you needed

And you were high on life

When your world was simple and uncomplicated

When you were the soul of the party

The clown, and one who cheered everyone up?

At what stage did the jester in you die?

 

 

 

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