Hidden away in a secret valley somehow keeping warm
Developing and controlling the uncontrollable brain storm
Safely separate from all the peeps and content to be alone
Yet placing very carefully the makings of stepping stones.
WHEN TO CAST A CLOUT
There are signs that the season of hibernation is coming to an end
I’ve seen the sun and scratched my [...]
Tag Archives: poems
Hang on … that’s 12 square feet!
What would you do in an eight foot square?
Wear top hat and tails? – trés debonair
Or wobble about and get bad mal de mer?
Or perhaps cut your hair in a large barber’s chair?
There might be the sight of a huge grizzly bear
Or a model in gold of a [...]
I was walking down the lane last week
And spied upon the ground
A banana skin just lying there
Which I failed to go around.
I was mesmerised and couldn’t stop
From treading on the skin
And proved that tales ‘bout slipping
Are true, to my chagrin.
I tumbled over and fell in the ditch
Looking like a pin-up,
My kilt was gathered at my [...]
The brassiere is a wondrous thing
A technical delight
Without the bra the wobbly bits
Could easily take flight.
Match of the Day
Oh hello, you look divine …. how are the boys? ….. did they build that shrine?
I’m not too sure – is this one mine? …. yes, I used the Northern line ….
Did you hear about Uncle Lime? ….. and then the incident with sisal twine ….
No, he’s fine ….. [that doorway’s crooked, if I just [...]
My ickle fish in their ickle pond have such an idyllic time
Then their ickle brains go all-a-whir, “It really is a crime -
He knows that we get so hungry – it MUST be dinner time.
Just an ickle snack of loveliness would keep us in our prime.”
“He could I s’pose provide a bell that we could [...]
For reasons that would take too long to explain, the TG and I ended up having a poetry competition. The subject was ‘chairs’.
These are the results.
by Lo, she is a terrible Goddess
This is a poem all about chairs
It isn’t bout jam and it isn’t bout hairs
[there follows a short break whilst the TG has [...]
The Jaffa cake and chocolate finger make me want to scream
I have no time for bourbons or the humble custard cream
The prize must go
To the GINGERNUT supreme.
(I’m totally sick of bally gingernuts. Lo,TG Ed)
Match of the Day
Witch Hazel was really not nice
Always quite free with advice
With warts oh so hairy
I found her quite scary
Unpleasant to be quite precise.
Her demeanour was very abrupt
Her temper was primed to erupt
I admit to my shame
And I know it sounds lame
That I avoided her and her ‘disrupt’.
She died with nobody there
Her cupboards were cobwebbed and bare