Merry Christmas 2025

Christmas with elves and verses of yore
Which regular readers have read before

The Present Value of Things

THE GIVER 

I used to visit every shop in town 
and wonder why
You'd thank me for the kind of foolish thing 
I thought I'd buy
I'd go another day and look again 
and wonder what
You’d like about a silly gift 
you previously got
So days went by with nothing bought 
and Christmas came and went 
No cards were posted out 
and there were zero presents sent
The guilt was just tremendous 
and the shame of it intense
So now I do a different thing 
at minimal expense

THE RECIPIENT

A poem as a Christmas present thank you very much
Is better than a thermal vest and pantaloons and such
I'm wearing 2 of each a fluffy onesie and a hat
A cardigan a dressing gown as well on top of that
The price of oil has fashioned all the latest clothing trends
So these are what you tend to get from relatives and friends
But look you sent an envelope my gosh whatever next
And here's a quick response that I shall type you as a text
Are poems cheap or priceless as an option for a gift
Are people overjoyed or do they seem a little miffed
Of all the things that I received I liked your thing the most
Because despite the price of stamps you put it in the post

A Christmas Coronary

May God rest you merry
Champagne or sweet sherry
Some goat's cheese to start
In a tart
Goose gammon wine mustard
Pies port pudding custard
Then should you depart
It's your heart

Winter Timetables

I see from these tables of darkness
We’ve 16 long hours to get through
But look it says here there are also
3 levels of twilight who knew
Astronomical twilight is darkest
The stars not the people are bright
You wake astronomically sleepy
Not ready to give up your  night
But next comes the Nautical twilight
You’re out on the sea in a boat
Still going by stars in this dimness
Set sails and just keep it afloat
Level 3 we are told is called Civil
You reach full politeness at dawn
If you meet someone chatty and sprightly
Smile tightly and stifle a yawn
Some fine cloudless dusk in December
Just watch till the twilights are gone
If people have stopped being civil
They won't put their fairy lights on

I Lost My Voice

I lost my voice at Christmas
And the silence was surprising
The monologue was gone
And there was no-one deputising
No announcing resolutions 
Singing hymns for auld lang syne
No nostalgic reminiscing
Even full of gargled wine
And I couldn’t ask and answer
My own questions as I do
So everybody else discovered
They could do it too

The Aftermath

Ah season's greetings warm but fleeting
Fill your glass is past
So now we're peeved and can’t believe 
We got so fat so fast
No peace on earth just massive girth
From festive fun to none
No sign round here of Christmas cheer 
Beyond a bulging bum
Fear not they said be glad instead
Rejoice in what you've got
The certainty that recently
We ate an awful lot

“Rude Conversation” reappears with image and audio

But we only just met

Conversing with strangers at banquets
Or drinks parties what do you say
To keep things polite and avoid a big fight
With blows and torn clothes and affray
Don’t start with the pope that’s a slippery slope
Or a war or your horrible day
They’ll only throw canapés that isn’t right
Hit them over the head with the tray
If you’re faced with a pessimist just a light slap
Stops them moaning the world’s at the dogs
You might let a lot of wine land in their lap
When they say it’s all desert and bogs
You can try to do weather just keeping it light
But there’s only one topic for some
They’ll agree that the sun has returned from the night
But insist that it shines from their bum
So tell me of something you really enjoyed
Have you come far and where have you been?
You can hide what you think and you won’t get annoyed
If you trained on a course with the Queen








 







	


	



			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			

			
Pricelessness at 90
		
	
	

		

It's 32,805
The number of days you have now been alive
4,680 in weeks
You're listed among the world's priceless antiques
No way could the auctioneer’s gavel come down
For even the wealthiest bidder in town
I'd place a reserve of infinity plus
And wrap you and take you back home on the bus
You didn't arrive where you got to today
By giving your favourite belongings away
It’s kinder to share your opinions around
Instructions and lessons for free not one pound
Be careful don't burn yourself do not get lost
And why are you foolish and what did that cost
Collected and catalogued in your wee head
Is everything everyone's done or has said
Sound judgements pronounced no appeals 
This one's true
Most 90 year olds are just nothing like you

A mother's words are hard to price
Admonishments and wise advice
I learned at last that listening pays
It took me 20,000 days







	


	



			
				


			

			
Annie the Organised
		
	
	

		

There was always a task in the world we were in
And always another nineteen
It wasn’t a question of which you would like 
Or where you would rather have been
You couldn’t just tackle them one at a time
You had to be juggling all day
These great flaming torches with axes and knives
But Annie to you it was play
And all with your finger right bang on the pulse
And a grip of great complex affairs
With an army of followers getting results
Lagging behind on the stairs
I never saw so many ducks in a row
You've given 100 percent
But you've parrots to play with and patterns to sew
Annie it's time that you went!

	


	



			
				


			

			
A week of quick and foolish poems
		
	
	

		

NaPoWriMo ?!? means the nation has to write a poem a day in April.  Here's my week 1 which had 6 days.

Do I Miss the Excitement

There was always a task in the world I was in
And always another nineteen
It wasn’t a question of which you would like 
Or where you would rather have been
Or if you would tackle them one at a time
They had to be juggled – yes twenty
Like great flaming torches with axes and knives
Now tossing a pancake is plenty

Rubbish in the Night

Think about that
And think about this
And think about that some more
What is the purpose 
Of thinking of things
In the morning at twenty to four

Thinking of that
Reminds me of this
And leads to the other and on
And on till the nonsense
Dissolves in a dream
So by twenty to nine it has gone

Sorry if it Doesn’t Make Sense

I can’t seem to laugh 
At my prose paragraph
But the rhyming verse keeps me amused
The sense will be changed
And the words rearranged
Till the reader and I are confused

Live Long and Prosper


Poetry doesn’t have to rhyme
And in doing so it takes up a huge proportion of the writer’s time
You could have sold many a successful novel
In the time it took to produce 4 perfect lines in your miserable hovel
You could have been wined and dined on a world book launch tour
Or stayed true to your dubious talents and poor

Life is too short
For poems of this sort

O for the End of NaPoWriMo 
This one is a disgraceful lyric parody 
from The Sound of Music

Po a pot a fine Ming pot
Po an infant’s favourite word
Po in case I wet myself
Po a place to put a turd
Na no better things to write
Mo hang on and have a go
Wri this acronym is shite
But it gets you started so
Collect your poems in a Po
Rhyme O

Be Friendly

Hello You on the edge of the gathering
Spruced up in a fetching blue hat
We’re all here enthusing and blathering
No chance of you joining the chat

These topics are desperately boring
To anyone not in the loop
I don’t want the guilt of ignoring
So let’s form a breakaway group

I’ll ask you some questions politely
And give you a turn at the bat
And you may berate me quite rightly
For treating you rudely like that

And why did we want to avoid you
And try not to look in your eye
Our attitude really annoyed you
So now we are all going to die



	


	



			
				


			
				


			
				


			

			
Covid Rules for Career Criminals – poem 37
		
	
	

		

Do 
vandalise deface and damage 
steal and shoot and snort
defraud and threaten cheat besmirch 
and otherwise extort
Be contactless, in short

Don’t 
jostle grapple grope molest
or wrestle do not mug
No smacking shouting kneeing nutting
throttling like a Thug*
As this may spread the bug

*Thug: HISTORICAL
a member of an organization of robbers and 
assassins in India. Devotees of the goddess Kali, 
the Thugs waylaid and strangled their victims, 
usually travellers, in a ritually prescribed manner. 
They were suppressed by the British in the 1830s.

	


	



			
				


			

			
Follow the Star Trek – poem 36
		
	
	

		

 It’s Christmas but not as we know it
 so strange we can hardly absorb it
 the thought of a virus or poet
 invading your personal orbit
 and no chance of meeting a Klingon
 or saving a planet in trouble
 so just get your glad rags and bling on
 and party inside your own bubble
 Festoon it with baubles and holly
 Be careful in case it should burst
 Rejoice and sing loudly be jolly
 avoiding the need to be nursed
 The rules will relax don't know when
 We'll boldly go everywhere then

	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
Balcony Folk Look Down at Lockdown – poem 34
		
	
	

		

look at the people all marching about 
making the most of the hour that they’re out 
swinging their arms all the bags are at home 
furloughed along with the iron and the comb 
no defined route just the whim of their feet 
swerving round all other soldiers they meet 
randomly crissing and crossing the green 
imagine some lines showing where they have been 
a map of their journeys like tangled up string 
with no destination extraordinary thing 
a fast-forward film of the aerial view 
would show all the dogs passing very quick poo 
and speed up the shoppers in Sainsbury’s queue 
we balcony dwellers need something to do 
like hang from a rope or a flying trapeze 
abandon all hope or swing down from your knees 
be gloomy and mope or sail over the trees 
and show you can cope with restrictions like these 
 






	


	



			
				


			

			
Mixed Observation Ward – poem 33
		
	
	

		

 I flew back from England to see my poor mum
 In fear of sad words and last parting
 She was crying with laughter and glad that I'd come
 That man over there can't stop farting
 She whispered a nurse put a pipe in his bum
 Her hospital fun was just starting
 Despite her low numbers she didn't succumb
 It wasn’t her mood they were charting 

 She wasn’t expecting to hear a guitar
 Just behind the thin fabric partition
 Is it angels in there it depends how they are
 Most patients just need the musician
 Two verses of Edelweiss small repertoire
 Enough is enough repetition
 Mum's band with maracas was better by far
 Do they not have some kind of physician

 Last night when I came she was grumbling away
 I listened to what was the matter
 She’d like a cream tea a nice cloth on a tray 
 And six kinds of cake on a platter
 The chef sends her gruel both lumpy and grey
 She’s getting too hungry to chatter
 So we’re home to do dumplings and doughnuts all day
 Sink our fangs in meringues and get fatter 

	


	



			
				


			

			
Let Off Lightly In Lockdown – poem 32
		
	
	

		

 
 
 
 How large is your problem 
 How long is a string
 What counts as catastrophe 
 Any old thing
 Good towels gone rigid
 Fresh cornflakes gone soft
 That thing that you liked 
 Surely lost from the loft
 Your socks all unravelled
 Your teabag just burst
 Such things didn’t seem
 Quite so tragic at first                                                                
 When news was exciting
 And frightening and new
 And clearing out cupboards
 Was cheering to do
 What fun it was finding 
 And fondling old junk
 And poking in plugholes
 And hoking out gunk
 But now for a challenge
 It's glum in this trough
 Let’s have some explosions
 Big fever bad cough
 An earthquake that sweeps you
 Off north on a flood
 Through rough seas and cyclones
 To boiling hot mud
 How big is your problem
 What's really at stake
 It’s not Armageddon
 To run out of cake
 Whatever you suffered
 And dreaded before
 The way to forget it
 Is suffer some more
  
   

	


	



			
				


			

			
Measham Looks Forward
		
	
	

		

 
 
 
 
News on 18th November 2020 
Main Street in Leicestershire village to Close for Roadworks on 16th January 2021
  
  
 The people are lovely in Measham
 Just not on the national stage
 They keep to the rules about Covid
 Well no-one’s been out for an age
 So what’s to be talked of in Measham
 They feel they are not where it’s at
 The regional news is too ghastly
 They need some community chat
 Beyond friends and family on facebook
 What gossip can neighbours all share
 Not football or glitzy occasions
 The Measham Times’ pages are bare
 But something has grown on a grapevine
 That’s Leicestershire Live it’s an app
 There’s going to be action in Measham
 To put the place back on the map
 It’s happening right at the centre
 The slow-beating heart of the town
 The word will get round pretty quickly
 To strap on your mask and get down
 There’s 32 hours of excitement
 Predicted in Leicestershire Live
 See action discuss the diversion
 Just go for that perilous drive
 Reporters competing for access
 Photographers lenses aloft
 Big cameras and microphones waving 
 On sticks and all fluffy and soft
 Recording the road works in High Street
 In how many weeks only 8
 In 4 no-one knows about Christmas
 So cling to that Severn Trent date 

	


	



			
				


			

			
My Perfect Cousin
		
	
	

		

she's perfect for chatting my cousin
we go at it ten to the dozen
It's yak yak yak yak yak yak yak
And yak yak yak yak yak yak yak





We're up for some sedentary fun
2 teacups 2 plates and that bun
so massive it's too much for one
Apart from this vice we have none
just yak yak yak yak yak yak yak
and yak yak yak yak yak yak yak





 what chatworthy things have we done
I fought in 2 scuffles and won
she varnished her submachine gun
she only employs it to stun
we don't do nak nak nak nak nak
these days just yak yak yak yak yak






	


	



			
				


			

			
Community Service, or Maniac in the Park
		
	
	

		

Hacking the mayhem of hedges to hell
Murdering all of the moss
Gathering edibles pigeon with snail
Squirrel in hazelnut sauce





Packing pantechnicons twigs on a spade
Mountains of leaves on a breeze
Stacking the fruits of a carnage of blades
Logs that were recently trees





Poisoning scraping and digging to death
Beheading and chopping things off
Excellent therapy pause for a breath
Now who shall I put in this trough?

	


	



			
				


			

			
Mannequin on the Train
		
	
	

		

Hey workers don’t be sitting here like stone
All grim grey clothes and faces don’t go home
Let’s go to the next party!
Don’t mind if you’re a mess forget your meals
I’ve got the pure white fishnet tights and heels
The porcelain skin long neck exquisite lips
The ballerina shape and can-can hips
I’ll take you!
Too bad you need to do those toilet things
And sweat and cry grow excess hair and cough
You bend your elbows do the twist and sing
I’ll party till my head and legs come off
We’re stopping! See me bouncing to and fro?
Come on you workers pick me up let’s go!






	


	



			
				


			

			
Aftermath
		
	
	

		

From Christmas cheer to absent beer
From festive fun to none
No peace on earth just massive girth
God bless us every one





No season’s greetings family meetings
Fill your glass is past
On New Year’s Eve I can’t believe
We got so fat so fast





A year to go before we’ll show
Goodwill to men again
Great joy a tree a spending spree
Forget all that till then





So flush your toxins wash your socks
Begin the righteous fight
Defeat your sins and double chins
Cast off your clothes they’re tight





Hard times ahead don’t cry instead
Rejoice in what you’ve got
You won’t remember last December
Once the sea is hot

	


	



			
				


			

			
Serious Insides
		
	
	

		

Hilarity in Poetry and Woeful Verses Weekly
Are necessary someone has to put the effort in
O who has time for rigid rhyme I think it’s me uniquely
It’s tough to write this awful guff but people need to grin
So moil and toil and midnight oil it’s not too late and vital
We’re going down with fatal frowns and serious insides
I think you’ll find I saved mankind with stanzas and a title
Or else it’s yikes I got no likes and everybody’s died





Could lyrics raise the spirits quick we haven’t very long
There’s still a chance so do you fancy bursting into song

	


	



			
				


			
				


			
				


			

			
Drudgery
		
	
	

		

 I wasn’t great at waitressing
 I wasn’t good with hair
 I wasn’t always making any effort, to be fair
 I couldn’t sort the cutlery
 I couldn’t do a rinse
 I couldn’t wait to bugger off and meet a handsome prince
 I wanted to be waited on
 I wanted to be glam
 I wanted to become the gorgeous creature that I am
 I wondered when I thought like that
 I wondered what’s the plan
 I wondered where to go to meet the famous royal man
 I thought I’ll do the lottery
 I thought I’ll study well
 I thought I’ll start a business with stupendous things to sell
 You have to really ask yourself
 If what you want is gold
 Or just to make the great escape from doing what you’re told





Alternative endings

1.

And do you really want a king

Festooned in stolen gold

Or just to make the great escape from doing what you’re told

2.

I’ll wait until I get more cash

I’ll wait to be more old

I’ll wait and buy a sexy boy who’ll do what he is told

	


	



			
				


			

			
Surprise
		
	
	

		

Now you’re 90 did you know that

If it’s breaking news that’s hard

Let’s you and I find reasons why

You’re glad to get that card





There’s no need to do your homework

No more eat your greens and grow

No spots to squeeze no boss to please 

No facts you have to know





So it’s cheerio coercion

Do exactly what you like

Scoff Yorkie bars smoke fat cigars

Fit rockets on your trike





Yes the world is hot and bothered

There’s a sort of global fight

But you’re excused not even bruised

And never cold at night





Young fools can sort the planet out
 Convince yourself of that
 Though the chance they can is smaller than
 The toenail of a gnat





So have dancing girls on Tuesdays
 Best burlesque with jazz and gin
 Oh why abstain try crack cocaine
 And plug those speakers in





Hey Led Zeppelin Iron Maiden

Favourite hymns to guard your soul

Hit drums all night if that feels right

You’re 90 rock’n’roll

	


	



			
				


			

			
Celebrate
		
	
	

		

 I’m 88 you know 
 You’re not!
 You’ve got such lovely skin
 I feed my face with goodies 
 From my Tunnock’s Teacakes tin. 
 I ran the Mothers’ Union 
 What, good works and scones and God?
 That’s right and He and I agree
 That everyone is odd
 They make my days go all to pot
 These people always late
 I greet them with my boxing glove
 And say I’m 88
 Excuses are a lot of rot
 You have to be prepared
 Those 4 year olds I taught at school
 Behaved because I cared
 In Limavady Ballygrot
 Ralloo and Drumahoe
 A thousand former pupils say
 She’s 88 you know
 And never even once forgot
 A face their place their name
 Now hers is great great auntie 
 And her memory’s still the same
 All details since the year of dot
 All juicy breaking news
 All stories wise and wonderful
 With worldly overviews
 I listened cuddled in my cot
 We listen to each other
 I’ve learned so much but mainly this
 She’s 88, my mother

	


	



			
				


			

			
Uncle Tony and Cousin Liz
		
	
	

		

 They maintain a sense of humour
 In the face of lethal tumour
 Death and torture fire and flooding
 Never mind the trees are budding
 They are blissful home alone
 With a companionable phone
 If they’re about we jump and shout
 We’re going out with Liz and Tone





They find it very funny

If you offer any money

And do nothing else but laugh

At your attempt to give them half

They think nothing could be worse

Than someone getting out a purse

Another day is what they’ll say

Or you could pay in rhyming verse





They have reasons to be weary

Sad and anxious but they’re cheery

Smartly dressed to feel their best

In natty trousers nicely pressed

Their lovely smiles are full of glee

As if their favourite person’s me

So consistently resilient

What a brilliant way to be

	


	



			
				


			

			
Legal Discourse
		
	
	

		

It’s wonderful to listen to a view that’s well expressed

Convincingly with elegance a hand upon the breast

The confidence of eloquence the thumbs inside the vest

Or waving swords of truth the shield of valour and the rest





Impeccably grammatical with clarity of thought

Yes logical and lyrical and flowing as it ought

Besides the crystal diction there are sounds that can’t be taught

Of thinking being harnessed and attention being caught





The content could be nonsense or just slightly subtly wrong

Informed by Harry Potter books or operatic  song

As long as no-one tries to make the sentences too long

We’d have to say this argument is jolly blinking strong





Or rather we are minded to concur the case is clear

No need for further evidence we heard it over here

Entranced and deeply moved it isn’t done to clap and cheer

Each member of the audience just sheds a little tear





These Brexit vote debates demand we be not quite so dense

As to be swayed by legal words like heretofore and hence

We beg to ask the Speaker pray be seated on the fence

And bring the bastard benchers to the House of Common Sense

	


	



			
				


			

			
Happy Birthday to my Wonderful Husband
		
	
	

		
O who would find me lost in town

Arrest the toast and keep it brown

Adjust the mighty woofer sound

If you

Weren’t

Here?

Who would play with tools for toys

Do burps and yawns for background noise

The reassuring sounds of boys

If you

Weren’t

Here?

Who else could cook and correspond

Have hedge surrender grass be gone

And who would call me Gillian Dawn

If you

Weren’t

Here?

O who could do the harder sums

Explain the rules of mauls and scrums

And who would get me off my bum

If you

Weren’t

Here?

	


	



			
				


			

			
Twelve years of Global Warming to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas – with practice the words do fit the tune
		
	
	

		
Well at first we’ll be warm but we’ll all be in the sea

Your house flooded to your bare knee

Just a second to decide what to rescue as you flee

Those purple gloves

From the flood rising past your bare knee

So the third thing to take is a thermos full of tea

Plus odds and ends

Those purple gloves

And a map showing all the new sea

By the 4th year you know this is how it’s going to be

Free floating turds

Old odds and ends

Those purple gloves

Missing map never mind it’s all sea

In the 5th year your home is a giant redwood tree

Man has grown wings

Still the floating turds

But you have

Lovely purple gloves

And a view of the sparkly blue sea

In the 12th year of warming we’ll look around and see

12 Snorkels spouting

11 Mountains melting

10 Divas diving

9 Countries quaking

8 Rascals rowing

7 Fellows flying

6 Girlies gliding

Man has grown wings

Caught the falling birds

Found fish friends

Different ways to love

And to live on a boiling blue sea

	


	



			
				


			

			
“Rude Conversation” reappears with image and audio
		
	
	

		

But we only just met










Conversing with strangers at banquets
Or drinks parties what do you say
To keep things polite and avoid a big fight
With blows and torn clothes and affray
Don’t start with the pope that’s a slippery slope
Or a war or your horrible day
They’ll only throw canapés that isn’t right
Hit them over the head with the tray
If you’re faced with a pessimist just a light slap
Stops them moaning the world’s at the dogs
You might let a lot of wine land in their lap
When they say it’s all desert and bogs
You can try to do weather just keeping it light
But there’s only one topic for some
They’ll agree that the sun has returned from the night
But insist that it shines from their bum
So tell me of something you really enjoyed
Have you come far and where have you been?
You can hide what you think and you won’t get annoyed
If you trained on a course with the Queen












 







	


	



			
				


			
				


			
				


			
				


			

			
Moving House
		
	
	

		

 I’m clearing all the clutter out
 And here’s my favourite bin
 It’s straw a basket-woven thing
 To put small rubbish in
 These tiny empty bottles
 And this plastic fountain pen
 Are going in my little bin
 And coming out again
 A Christmas card addressed and sealed
 And never sent but then
 They’ll still be there next year and so
 I’ll take that out again
 A comb with several working teeth
 There must be 8 or 10
 It fits in this old pencil-case
 I’ll take them out again
 Unopened tubes of eyelash glue
 From way back don’t know when
 A lonely pair of curtain rings
 All coming out again
 This pile of useful bits of stuff
 Will fill a useful tin
 I need to act decisively
 And throw away the bin





 Retrieved from under rubbish bags
 Re-shaped with cabbage on it
 The frazzled basket bin is back
 To serve as Easter bonnet

	


	



			
				


			

			
Non-verbals
		
	
	

		
Sitting at the breakfast bar

One on either side

I look left and he looks right

At the programme guide

For once I stop him switching

Oh fantastic outer space

OK no other comment

Big dejected face

Lookleft gets excited now

But Lookright’s eyes are glazed

He drums his right-hand fingertips

While I’m engrossed amazed

His face starts getting twisted

With his eyes and mouth askew

Another yawn resisted

And he’s wiping tears from view

Here comes the explanation look

Deep space is really deep

Lookdown is bending forwards

He’s actually asleep

Can you make it to the sofa

Watch the big TV instead

Catch up with the basketball

Before you bash your head

	


	



			
				


			

			
Who’s There?
		
	
	

		
Deep space is very serious

Research is being done

But up to now no studies have discovered any fun

Experimental data show

A nothing on a graph

No pan-galactic sonic mission ever heard a laugh

The comics must be further off

What planet would they be on

They might be taking time to send a joke they all agree on

It takes a hundred years to hear

From such a distant void

Knock knock would make a lot of astrophysicists annoyed

	


	



			
				


			
				


			

			
The Devil Wrote the Diet Books
		
	
	

		
The devil wrote the diet books

So pudding is a sin

You lose your heart to a big jam tart

He’s chalking up a win


Your shoulder holds a tiny fiend

His trident holds some chips

He buys his souls with sausage rolls

Saliva wets your lips


It’s better not to roast in hell

But frying makes you fatter

Perhaps we’ll bake – have chocolate cake

It isn’t going to matter


You gorged your way to Judgement Day

He won you fair and square

It all began with the frying pan

And into the flames from there


Find sports to play – kick fat away

Foul demons, flee chastised!

I scored a goal with a profiterole

But mine weren’t exorcised


They couldn’t give a fiendish fart

They play a different game

Do health and virtue hell can’t hurt you

Salad what a shame


That cloud of low-fat cottage cheese

My angel came from there

In a heavenly dress of watercress

A lettuce for her hair


Her halo a dish of the whitest fish

Her skin of peach no cream

I ate a plate of fudge and satan

Made my angel scream


That’s her battle song she saved me

And advised me tell the judge

Well My Lord to gain this weight I ate

More fruit and veg than fudge


She said cherubim are never slim

They grow to power the choir

We are guardian sopranos

Ever mightier and higher


To be sturdy is a glorious thing

The devil’s such a liar

We shout rejoice to drown his voice

And taunts like pants on fire


But he’s still the Prince of Darkness

Mortals can’t be too sarcastic

Just don’t let his evil writing

Make your eating habits drastic

Eat your greens and come to Heaven

Where the clothes are all elastic

And the Lord’s eternal lighting system

Makes you look fantastic


 


 

	


	



			
				


			

			
The Space Bus
		
	
	

		
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astronomoo


Part 1. Crisis


The aliens came on a bus

No airport security faffing and fuss

Their planets were turning to dust

Cold slime and hot gases and rust

Their relatives starved fried or frozen

Not really what one would have chosen

Blown up or extinct or dissolved

Well that was just how things evolved

But no-one was covered in pus

That was a big plus


Part 2. Passengers


The aliens who led on this rescue were red

And true to their colour were cross

The bus stops in space were all over the place

And they had to make Earth or be lost

Each colour and kind had its own frame of mind

Only five of each shade left alive

They were mostly unskilled and about to be killed

And only the red ones could drive

Though their blood vessels threatened to burst

As they grumbled and cursed

The green ones were sick, the dull greys a bit thick

Hot pink ones just far too embarrassed

Pale purples were weedy dark blues sad and needy

Reds shoved them all on feeling harassed

Bright orange ones sang to cheer up the whole gang

Ignoring their various behaviours

And those waiting elsewhere waved strange limbs in thin air

To flag down their furious saviours

Who complained could you please try and phone us

That would be a bonus

There were edible sorts who’d been hunted for sport

Being prey it took ages to find them

Shape and colour would change through a fabulous range

So they blended with what was behind them

Then white ones like shrouds who’d escaped nuclear clouds

And sweet jelly-like trembling young yellows

Giants burnt nearly black came in search of a snack

Having eaten their barbecued fellows

The reds said climb on and we’ll risk it

Just stick with a biscuit

The last desperate place was our nearest in space

And in skin tones from chocolate to custard

So they fought and it left them destroyed and bereft

But then friendliness turned them all mustard

No more mutual loathing no housing no clothing

One colour and that not exciting

No more bombing or shooting or hacking or looting

But Earth still looked very inviting

There was standing room only for these

But they didn’t have knees

Or a single disease


Part 3. Arrived on Earth


The rainbow crowd first hid behind the bus

Anticipating shovelfuls of fuss

We said Come out our main concern was pus

It’s raining and we’ve so much to discuss

You’ve suffered but you’ve learned you can’t deny it                                                                 So whatever your suggestion is we’ll try it

Say we stopped our bombs and life got deadly quiet

Maybe colour could explode and be a riot?

They said absolutely let’s have fun together

Plus our skills include control of global weather

So the rescue bus out of the blue

Saved all of us too

Yes that’s me and you

If it’s true


 

	


	



			
				


			
				


			
				


			

			
The Curse of Verse
		
	
	

		

I  went with enormous enthusiasm to a comedy writing course (a week with the Arvon Foundation who normally do everything but comedy) and it was indeed hilarious but mine came out as rhyming verse, only, sadly, and painting classes dictating dull colours caused a great sinking of the heart.  Thus began all creativity.









 


Brain says to Pencil I’m bursting it’s time


Pencil will only do LUDICROUS RHYME


Brushes are shouting BRIGHT COLOUR no choice


Seems they join forces and THAT IS YOUR VOICE