Now don't be dismissive of daytime TV Or feel any guilt at the time you call free A face fills the screen and engages with you Or a honey-toned voice-over person will do To tell you some things and to show you some friends You don't have to stay till the episode ends You know the presenters and watched them evolve To switch them off suddenly takes some resolve It feels so unfriendly and heartless but then They're always so happy to see you again With their property pottery plants and antiques The stories complete without plots taking weeks Participants gladly delightedly wear The best of their faces and outfits and hair All styled and revised to appeal to your eyes And none of it wrecked in a fight for a prize It's warm but not meaningful nice and not deep Relaxing informative soothing and cheap
She called it a gapanthus It’s a mystery my dear I won it in a raffle Not the crystal chandelier But a pot with no instructions Lacking clarity I fear Just hinting with its leafage That a flower might appear So I’ll watch its progress daily For at least about a year Or until it dies or I do I have simply no idea Are its flowers firm or floppy Are they fat or like a spear Are they fragrant are they lasting Would they fit behind the ear Like a dainty little daisy Or a big ballooning sphere An enormous bursting firework Quick to bloom and disappear Now the waiting’s quite exciting So I do not want to hear From the friends who know it backwards All well-meaning and sincere No AI or gardeners’ programme Is allowed to interfere But when petals open I’ll invite An expert panel here And meanwhile I shall sprinkle it With crisps and bottled beer And hope a panthus doesn’t need Instructions that are clear
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!
May God rest you merry
champagne then sweet sherry
some goat's cheese to start
in a tart
goose gammon wine mustard
pies port pudding custard
then if you depart
it's your heart
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
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
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
THE RHYMING TIMES 