Jean’s Poetry Pieces

 

ANIMALS/CHILDREN

ELEPHANT ROMANCE

Sally the Elephant got married today,

And Gerry Giraffe came to give her away.

There were six baby elephants following Sally

With baskets of flowers and ever so jolly,

Though I’m sorry to tell you, the littlest one

Ate all of the buds and got a pain in his tum!

Sally’s husband’s called Simon and makes hats of clay –

A wonderful sculptor and clever they say.

A beautiful ring made of grasses and roots

Was put round the ankle of Sally’s left foot.

It was woven by Aunts with great love and care

So Sally had something quite new to wear.

 

Simon had polished his tusks so they shone,

And everyone said ‘ Ohhhh he’s the right one!

It’s clear he and Sally will have lots of fun –

They’re sure to be happy in this place in the sun!

 

Sally’s clever and thought Monkey’s work (he’s ever so neat)

Would make lovely skis to fit elephant feet,

And prevent them from getting all mucky with mud,

If Elies could learn to balance real good.

So Sally and Simon will work close together

In sun or in rain or any old weather,

‘cause there’s lovely mud round Simon’s workshop

Where small baby Elies can slither and hop,

And Sally can teach them to balance all day

While Simon makes beautiful hats out of clay!

 

YOUNGSTERS!

Liza (a big dog) and Janie (a Scottie) were playing and dancing

Which annoyed our old Smuttie,

Who lay with her head on her paws thinking

thoughts rather grotty

Because she thinks playing like that

is quite nutty.

 

Janie has buried a bone with the flowers,

And looked for the right place

for hours and hours.

She hid it in time, beause Smuttie avers

That the bone isn’t Janie’s or Liza’s but hers.

 

So this might explain why Smuts’ thoughts are unjolly -

Apart from the playing and dancing and folly,

Don’t they know that dark mud on furry dog faces

Is nasty and leaves all the tracks in wrong places.

 

Smutty’s ever so fussy with cleaning her paws and washes all day,

Which takes up the time, leaving little for play,

But now and again in her dreams sees

a puppy

Who was muddy and grubby - which is why she’s called Smutty.

 

THE TORTOISE HOME

A Tortoise never has a new home bought –

There’s no reason why he aught –

He simply grows one head to tail; 

The same goes for his cousin Snail.

Of course these creatures aren’t so swift

And through their lives most placid drift.

Not for them house-hunting or

The need for bedrooms three or four,

With bathrooms adjacent or en-suite

A tortoise wouldn’t find this neat.

But you and I require a roof

Which hopefully is weather proof.

When we move, we do it fast –

A tortoise would be quite aghast –

Relocating here and there

While Tortoises just stop and stare. 

 

AN OSTRICH LAMENT                                               

In a nest of silver sand where yellow grass abounds

Young birds with lots of neck were grouped

From whom came doleful sounds

“We’re dedicated, passionate, about this flying thing –

So why is it that though we try

We simply don’t take wing?

On aviation of all sorts we’re profoundly well-informed;

Leonardo’s sketches we’ve perused since early day was dawned!

We’ve run for miles at speeds which would

Quite take your breath away –

But here upon the ground it seems

We’re always doomed to stay!

Our feathers get so ruffled up

When some folk call out  ‘BOO’

Then back into the nest we go

To discuss it all a-new.

The issues which we talk about are entirely ad hoc*

Though inter alia* we know we sometimes run amok.

Ergo*, we press on sadly with our un-acclaimed endeavor –

Ipso facto* one might surmise the Ostrich is not clever;

Or macro-fundamentally*, we could be wasting time

As up and down and round we go all together in a line.

So don’t agitate us Ostriches

Or criticize our modus operandi*,

For  this is our status quo*

And  all is  fine and dandy.”

 

Note * Some Ostriches are prone to use such words to appear erudite or impress.

It is also a grandiose method of obfuscation, often employed when an Ostrich finds itself discomforted.

CREATIVE PAINTING

Long ago when the world was new

And time was not invented

The Lord’s paintbox of Celestial hues –

Primarily colours red, yellow and blue,

Together with a brush or two

He presented to all creatures new.

“IT’S MY INTENT” the Lord announced

As round and round about he bounced,

“TO INTRODUCE SOME PIGMENTATION –

IT IS MY LATEST GREAT CREATION

SO HURRY UP AND FORM A QUEUE

I’LL BRIGHTEN UP THE LOT OF YOU!”

First came the A’s and then the Bees

And so on down the line,

Till there at last the Zebra stood

With hopes he’d get a colour good.

But the Lord (who’d worked all week)

Threw down the box as he did speak

“I MUST CREATE SOME TIME TO THINK

NOW IT’S HALF PAST SIX AND I’M OFF FOR A DRINK!”

Zebra was most dreadful disappointed,

As with paint quite un-anointed.

He thought he looked most awful shaggy

Like something pulled out of a quaggy –

He quite liked his crew-cut mane,

But thought he looked most awful plain.

Sadly, he cried beneath a tree,

Till sleep o’er came his misery.

As he slept the sun burnt down,

Scorching all it touched dark brown,

So when he woke with joy he saw

That a stripy coat he wore!

 

HOLEY MOLEY

I’m a squinting, sprinting, ever-digging Mole; and you would be

  amazed to find how busy I can be!

I mark my doors and windows with little piled up hills,

  because I’m very blind you know

and need some markers just to show

me where I am beneath the ground -

‘cause I tunnel round and round

  looking for nice things to eat -

A juicy slug is such a treat!

I put my finds into a larder -

I must be careful to work harder

  so when things become quite tough,

I’ll always know I’ve got enough.

I’m lucky for I’ve got big paws with

  long and helpful digging claws,

And whiskers plus a big long nose,

Which help me know just where I goes.

I’ve got a shiny coat of black

  with softest fur (although its dusty)

Because I live in tunnels musty.

I hardly ever get fresh air because

of things I must beware

Which might pounce upon me

  from the sky

Or try to hurt me on the sly.

I’m happy though within my home

As round and down again I roam.

 

PORCUPINE PIGLET

The Porcupine Piglet was not very happy

As his prickles kept making big holes in his nappy,

Which made him wet and uncomfy so he

Said ‘Oh it’s a mis’ry a Porcupine Piglet to be’.

One day when his mummy put him in the garden

(Without an excuse or any beg-pardon)

He met a small hedgehog just scuttling about

So the Porcupine Piglet gave a big shout

‘Hey! You’ve got some prickles exactly like me!’

But the Hedgehog replied

I’m not pink like you -

You look like a Lobster just boiled in a stew!’

Now this made the piglet ever so sad

and he said through his sniffles

‘I’m really not bad - I just want a friend

But there’re none to be had.’

Now this made the hedgehog feel nasty

So he said to the piglet

‘Perhaps I’ve been hasty - now I can see

That you’re prickly and such and a little like me’.

This cheered up the piglet who said  with a smile

‘Why don’t we just play together a while?’

And the hedgehog said ‘OK lets have a game

‘cause to play on your own seems rather a shame’.

They frisked and they scuttled all over the place,

Though they got a bit tired there was a smile on

  each face,

And when the games ended piglet said ‘Weee

Now come to my house, and lets have some tea.’

So Hedgie and Piggie had crumpets and scones

With little pink cakes with sweet icing on,

And they said to each other ‘We’ll play all the time,

And I will be your friend, and you will be mine.

 

NEVER HIT THE HIPPO

You should never ever cross the hefty Hippopotamus!

Basking tranquil in a river, his nostrils hardly seem to quiver

Though now and then he’ll blow a bubble

Then yawn as if that’s too much trouble.

With his family close at hand,

They all seem such a happy band.

Don’t loudly rev. up in your boat

Or go to closely where they float.

At the best you’ll be upset

And get a bite you won’t forget.

The water keeps their tempers cool –

But don’t go near, or you’re a fool!

Never throw a stone at him

To wake him up upon a whim,

He’ll charge without the slightest fuss

And make you later than a bus!

So look upon him with some awe

From safety somewhere on the shore.  

 

CROCODILE  (WATCH-CROC)

A Crocodile a’int loyal, you can’t make of him a pet –

You will never train him, ‘cause all lessons he’ll forget.

He’ll never make a Watch Croc for protection of your home,

Because what he sees he seizes, and he won’t leave you alone!

If you go for walks, he’ll follow – although you wish he’d not –

And when he gets his just desserts, it’s you who he will spot!

 

FROG PRINCE

I’m sure you have heard of the Prince  (once a frog)

who was kissed by a Princess and both  fell in love,

And then lived together sharing a throne -

But what happened after?  There’s more to be known.

 

The Prince was so happy being most roy’l,

He never had once to work or to toil,

So he bought a gold carriage with horses to fit,

And raced down the roads much more than a bit.

 

He raced round so fast and so constantly

That all of the folk had to come out to see

And said to each other “That Prince must be showed

That it really ain’t proper to be a Road Toad.”

The Princess than said ‘Oh darling, slow down”

But the Prince just replied ‘Well, who wears the Crown?’

And continued his racing, even when wet, while

The wind rakishly tilted his gold coronet.

 

He was rude to his wife and her father and mother,

And even insulted her nice little brother,

‘till  everyone said ‘There is not a doubt

That that Prince must be taught what Life’s all about”

The Princess made a visit and fell on her knees

To the magical Fairy who lived in the trees,

And said ‘Kind fairy whose charms often work

Won’t you speak to my husband, who acts like a jerk?”

 

The Fairy then thought, but said not a lot, and

Nodded her head while she thought up a plot

to make the Prince know that he couldn’t go on

frightening people and abusing the Throne.

 

The next morning a strange thing began,

The Prince when he spoke didn’t sound like a man

But more like a toad with a very sore throat,

And his skin looked like bark on a gum or an oak.

 

Before anyone knew it the Prince disappeared,

The way that it happened was really quite weird -

And there in his place was a bewildered toad,

Who hopped down the path and into road.

 

The Princess remarried (a king this time round)

One really can’t wait for a toad to be found,

And they lived in the palace with pomp and some grace,

But no-one was invited if  he  had a toad  face.

 

TOAD LAMENT

Prince Toad (once a frog, then a man and a prince),

Sat on a log by the banks of the Cam and

Watched his reflection in the water below

As round fat tears down his cheeks did flow,

Leaving two streaks which weren’t wiped away,

And he said to himself ‘Oh lack-a-day, damn

I see that I’m back as an Amphibian!’

 

His sobs were so loud and so heartfelt and such,

They disturbed all around with their pain very much,

So a fish came to see him blowing bubbles of air, and

Said to him ‘What is the matter kind Sair?

‘There can’t be a misr’y so deep or profound to

Which a solution cannot be found.

I’m sure that your problems will soon  disappear’ 

 

The Toad didn’t listen and continued to croak,

(The noise that he made just wasn’t a joke)

Though he blew his nose hard on the leaf of a fern,

And rocked back and forth, he just couldn’t cease

Though he knew he was soundly disturbing the peace.

Till a little green frog hopped onto his lap, and said

As she stroked him ‘Please turn off the tap.’

 

Toady looked down and felt a little bit better -

Her strokes were so comforting that he just let her

Continue to soothe him, because it is nice

To think someone understands once or twice.

‘Ohhhh’ he sighed ‘I have been such a fool,

And now I am relegated back to the pool -

It just isn’t decent and just isn’t fair!’

While little frog murmured to him ‘There, there, there.”

 

At last his tears began to get less though his

Sobs still told of enormous distress.

The little frog brought him some dew in a gold buttercup

and told him most kindly to drink it all up.

The Toad burped quite loudly while it slipped down his throat,

But  it made him feel better and more full of hope,

Though he still felt  enormously sad and a dope.

As the days passed by slowly, the toad realised

 

Why he had been so suddenly cut down to size

And made a decision to enjoy his toad-life and

To make little froggy his ever-loving wife.

He made a fine sledge out of a leaf, and six snails slowly agreed

They would pull it if ever he felt of the need.

So now Toad and his wife and nine little tadpoles

(all wearing fine hats of a bright leafy green)

Sliding about by the lake may be seen.

 

SNAIL LAMENT

I’m a snail, I’ve got no feet ,

My eyes fixed like a periscope

Look around me while I’m gliding -

The only pleasure that I get

 is sliding where its  wet,

 or eating leaves to keep me going

I’m never fasting, rather slowing,

 because I save my energy

 to cart my house on top of me.

My body’s soft with coat of slime,

so I can pull myself in time

To the safety of my shell,

 Where I wait till all is well.

There’s always something hunting me -

Oh why can’t they just let me be!

 

AFRICAN QUEEN

Of the Animal Realm the Lion is King –

His roars through a jungle unmistakably ring,

But the gentle and beautiful creature serene

Known as Giraffe must surely be Queen.

Her graceful, lithe body and elegant form

Any African plain can only adorn.

Aristocratic her neck, and limpid her eyes

Framed with thick lashes of bounteous size –

Gliding agile and calm towards a far tree,

She’ll languidly stretch to pick leaves for her tea.

Her patterned gold coat gently glows in the sun

More glorious far than Man ever spun!

Never flaunting or vulgar or distressingly loud,

Majestically distanced from the common crowd,

The most regal of creatures I’ve ever seen

Is the stately Giraffe – an African Queen.

 

CROCODILE 

Sullenly smirking submerged in water

Lurks a monstrous design made for slaughter.

With brain like a pea and teeth like claws,

Voraciously seeking prey without pause.

Born from an egg ill-hatched in slime,

With looks and habits unchanged through time –

Of the coldest of blood and heart made of ice

It will devour its own without thinking twice.

Slyly disguised as a log in the river

With eyes of such blankness anybody would shiver

His savage attacks motivated by greed

Are efficiently executed in silence and speed.

Awful grim scourge of both Man and Beast  -

His only ambition to continually feast.

A crunching garbage bin, entirely vile,

The hideous, loathsome, and dread Crocodile.

 

ADAM, EVE & THE SNAKE

If you play a pretty scale, a snake will dance upon his tail -

Swaying to the music’s time a snake can really be sublime.

It’s said he tempted Eve, and with an apple did deceive,

Though perhaps young Eve had lied and when the gardener espied

Said ‘Oh! Nasty Snake stole it, and made me eat this little bit’

(Though here I say on snakes’ behalf, this story might make people laugh)

Eve’s unclothed figure , so divine, made Adam stare for quite a time,

Until he uttered ‘Honey Chile, you my senses so beguile and

Eve for you I ache, so O.K., we’ll blame the Snake  -

In any case, the creepy know all, must learn pride comes before a fall.’

Snake has since carried the can for evils that occur to Man.

Woman also shares  the blame for tempting him - ain’t that a shame?!

If that’s true it must be said poor Man is rather weak in head.

(After a while I have to say, as Adam’s passion grew each day,

Eve picked some Vine Leaves - quite a few – which hid her form a bit from view

She hoped you see to get some rest, as Adam could be quite a pest!)

So people all, give him a break and please take pity on the Snake,

Spare a thought for the pretty girl, however much your senses whirl.

 

BUTTER-FLY?

Have you ever wondered why

They called the creature Butterfly?

Because they never go near butter

and they don’t fly they always flutter.

A butterfly don’t land in soup while

Madly doing loop-the-loop,

Or buzz about a butter dish

From where you have to try and fish them.

Butterflies go round the flowers

Drinking nectar for hours ‘n hours,

While flies alight upon a bone

where greedily they sit and drone.

So please can you just tell me why

The creature’s called a Butterfly?

 

THE CAMEL

The Camel has two ugly humps upon his Camel back,

Sometimes they are high and firm, but often they are slack.

He uses them to store his food, so he can walk for far

Plodding on for ever across the sands of Ra.

He has a nasty temper, and is often seen to spit -

So his manners are unlovely, though he doesn’t care a bit.

He can go for miles and miles without a drink of water

And carry heavy loads of stuff because he’s told he oughter.

Mostly,  he stays out in the sun with very little shade,

And for the heavy work he does, he’s never ever paid. 

His eyes are big and beautiful, with lashes oh so long -

But if you think he’s praised for them you would be very wrong!

Because he’s made to kneel a lot, his knees look rather patchy

And when sand rubs upon them, they feel most sore and scratchy.

It’s really not surprising that his behaviour can be bad,

For if I had to do his job, I think I would go mad! 

Therefore, understand the Camel and his cousin Dromedary,

But treat him very carefully, and of his hooves be wary.

 

WHY THE RHINO DOESN’T JOKE

The Rhino, though he looks quite funny, doesn’t have a sense of humour.

Believe this, as it is the truth, and no fallacious rumour.

He’ll not appreciate a joke about his wrinkly, baggy skin

Or that his head  looks rather quaint with the horn that’s set therein.

He loves his leafy forest, with its shade and all that’s in it,

And doesn’t like all men a bit - not even for one minute!

Who can blame him when he’s killed and hunted for his horn –

Although such folk are worthy of nothing more than scorn!

They say the horn is magical and when powdered gives them strength

And in this cursed endeavour they will go to any length.

I wonder how they’d like it if they were rounded up

And all their bones and nails and toes were grinded down for tonic?

I think they’d lose their tempers more than a tiny bit

And look for anyone they met to most severely hit.

 

STARLINGS

There are dozens of Starlings in bright shiny feathers

Which appear in our garden in all sorts of weathers.

They dance on the lawn as they eat all the grubs

Then dive in a bowl of water to wash 

As all lads together they splash and they squash.

Washing their heads and under their wings,

They sing loud songs as they merrily fling

  the water about,

And  then with  a shout and a loud happy cry

At the Starling Rugby Club they’ll arrive by and by.

 

WITH RESERVATION

There’s a Leopard on the Mountain!

He treads on soft paws to drink at a fountain.

Though elusive and not very easy to spot

Its decided to catch him though he likes it or not.

For folk they are frightened and somewhat in awe

Of his very sharp teeth and his rather long claw.

So there is a plot and there is a plan

To trap him and send him  away if we can.

He’ll go to a place where  there’re others like him

Who with civilized people don’t really fit in –

There it is certain he’ll be quite OK

And have spotty kittens with a mate one fine day.

 So far three silly Baboons have been got

Which clearly had to be summarily shot.

There’re lots of Baboons one can see every day

As they come with their families to scamper and play.

Baboons just aren’t cute and can be quite a pain

So if you can kill them it’s only a gain.

But sometime ahead, when there’s nothing but housing to see

Will we trap the Baboons to let them live free?

 

MAN & DOG

His dog it went and bit him,

So now it’s banged to rights

Because the Law says you can’t have

A dog that goes and bites.

But there’s no mention of the man

Who chained  his dog all day

And rarely gave him food to eat

Or ever let him play.

A Bully to his family,

He beat his wife and  kids,

So his Wife she took him to the Law

But the Dog it never did.

 

GENERAL

LONELY AT THE TOP

I’m so proud and delighted I must tell you that

My wonderful son is a top Bureaucrat!

His job is for life with terms of employment

Which should make of  his existence

Just one long enjoyment!

His office so grand in the best of good taste

Reassures those who visit no taxes he’ll waste.

It’s excellent that he chooses the best –

A man of such judgement should put minds at rest.

He’s developed a system – it’s clear he is clever –

With trays marked ‘This Year’, ‘Next Year’, ‘Sometime’ and ‘Never’ –

All full of files requiring attention

And mostly on subjects he can’t ever mention.

Clearly it’s lonely for him over there

As upon his large desk he plays ‘Solitaire’.

He does it I know to rest his great mind

A lot of Top Honchos do it you’ll find.

Some time ago I went to his place;

The Secretary said with a frown on her face

‘There are dozens of people right there in a queue –

I’ll have to make an appointment for you”

For only three hours I waited until

His leather-bound diary she checked with great skill.

Finally, sighing, she told me in tones very clear

“There’s nothing free I can fix till next year”

To think that my son is in such great demand –

I had to sit down till my heart had been calmed ;

How lucky we are to have men like My Boy

Endlessly trying and in our employ.

 

ERGO ERGO

Genius lies beneath my skin -

I’m sure I have it deep within -

One day soon it’s sure to flame

And everyone will know my name.

Artists, Writers, Thinkers too

At my door will form a queue.

With spontaneous combustion

My gifts will flare without a question.

Spirit freed of mean constraint,

I shall write and draw and paint;

(Quite unspoilt by irksome study

Nothing Nature’s gifts to muddy)

There I’ll be – the awe of all –

As at my feet they come to fall.

Those who don’t my talents see,

I’ll term most dismissively

As Ersatz, Pseudo, Egotists –

I’m sure they’ll very soon desist!

 

PROSE ACHE

Out from  brown studies  where vampire words

       suck thoughts from the brain,

Comes the pale writer with languishing glide as

      the demands of necessity can’t be denied.

Clad in garments of artistic hue, and wreathed in

       dark glasses which hide him from view,

He  buys lettuce, and herbs or any old grass, together

        with wine to enliven the mind.

Then back to creating the definitive tome, his

        firefly thoughts encourage him home,

Where clad in shoes clearly labeled NIKE, he

        awaits  in a torment for the right word to strike.

The burning flames of creativity scald  into cinders

         the sentences placed

Upon his computer in neatest type face,

         As he continually rubs at his head

To recapture the prose which has flittered and fled. 

 

OH SO GEISHA

The pretty little Geisha

Paints her oriental face

Then glides towards the Geisha House

With truly Geisha grace.

There she passes tea around

With little Geisha titter

To oriental gentlemen

Who graciously permit her.

Her massages so soothing

To inscrutable aches and pains

Will, because she’s careful,

Make some very Geisha gains.

Oh liberated ladies

who go to work by bus,

(And labour hard and daily -

Quite often without fuss)

Don’t scorn your Geisha sister

With her very winning ways

Because to be more Geisha

Unexpectedly repays!

ALLERGIC TO DINNER (OR AFTER ATE)

Oh what can I do?!  I’ve got guests for Dinner

And one is a Vegan, another a Slimmer

One loves a Steak and another just dips

And when served with soup fastidiously sips!

I’ve perused Mrs. Beaton, Jamie Oliver too

In the hope that these Gourmets can give me a clue.

But nothing they list can quite fit the bill –

I think that I’m going to be seriously ill!

I’ve served Ratatuille quite a lot in the past

I can’t do it again – my reputation won’t last!

Nothing made of Wheat can be given to Mary

And Suzie’s just mentioned she’s allergic to Dairy –

So Bread and Cheese – well I just cannot serve it –

Oh what have I done to deserve it?!

Some can’t eat nuts, and one I’ve heard tell

Gets terribly sick from fish with a shell.

So peanuts with drinks is certainly out

And I can’t do that Sate Sauce they are talking about.

So it seems that it’s got to be Salad with Rice –

But somehow that doesn’t sound terribly nice –

I suppose I could serve it with a thick Lentil Stew

And pour plenty of drinks and hope that will do. .

 

GHOST

A sad old ghost fell to the foot of some stairs

And heaved a long sigh of awful despair

“Oh how I hate the tourists who visit this place –

The way they behave is such a disgrace!

And now I’ve slipped on  a skin of banana

As I endlessly continue my search for Nirvana!

It’s lucky I’m light and transparently thin

Or I might have done something quite bad to my shin.

It’s hard to credit (he said with a groan)

That this was once my beautiful home!”

From outside the castle a gate gave a clang,

Car doors opened then shut with a bang –

Footsteps approached and a voice that he knew

Called “Why Uncle Charlie, is that really you!

We thought you had died or traveled afar –

It’s so nice to see you – look, have a cigar!”

As smoke wafted about his nose and his ears,

The Ghost murmured “Heaven” and just disappeared!

 

COMMITTED JUNKIE

I’m a committed committee member –

A true committee Junkie

To be on a committee is really oh so funky!

Wherever a committee forms

There for sure I’ll be

For though it’s Standing or it sits

Means not a jot to me!

It takes great dedication

To have a finger in each pie

But when a motion’s tabled,

The Chair it may be I!

People often beg me to talk about my talent –

Though I can’t say, because you know

Some have it, or they haven’t.

When folk hear I’m on another one

Their faces can turn ashen –

They do not understand that this

Is my consuming passion!

My aim’s to reach one hundred

And be in that Guinness Book,

So people when they gaze at me

In hushed tones will say “Look!

There’s THE Committee Junkie

Who pops up everywhere –

Don’t point your finger Jimmy –

It’s very rude to stare!”

 

PICNICERS

We went on a picnic quite close by the sea,

And the food was delicious, with good company.

A fine grassy mound  made a most useful seat

As I leaned against it and started to eat.

It wasn’t until it was departure time

That I felt hard sharp pins at the base of spine!

I’ve got ants in my pants and a burr in my knickers –

There’s not a thing I can do without causing sniggers!

I cannot strip off  right here in the bus –

People will wonder why I make such a fuss.

I’m unable to tell them just what is the matter

Because with mirth and laughter and chatter

They’ll make  jokes at me which I just can’t allow!

This is the last time I picnic I vow!

 

TERMINALLY ILL

It’s awful and dire, I can’t stand the pain

My Computer has gone on the blink once again.

The ways that I’ve loved her - too many to mention

Keeping her happy my only intention.

I’ve loved her by day,  been attentive by night-

Now I am in the most terrible plight!

I’ve spent a small fortune on virus protection –

Now she is sick with this awesome infection!

How could this happen with all I have done -

No sound was so sweet as that of her hum.

The programes I’ve bought her to broaden her mind,

How can fate possibly be so unkind!

What must I do?  Apply Extreme Unction?

As time and again she’s repeating ‘Malfunction’.

 

AND SO TO BED.

The wine has all been finished -

The last drop has been drunk;

My wife is washing up the plates -

The conversation’s sunk.

There’s nothing on the T.V.

That I really wish to see ,

My mind has gone quite empty

There’s nothing in my head

So face the fact, the day is done,

And so I’m off to bed.

 

CONSUMED BY LOVE

This is a truly Gothic tale about a man called Hermon,

Who loved a widow who’d never wept

And lived with him in the room he slept;

Whose name was Black Matilda.

To Matilda then he gave his hand

Which she kissed hard, then harder -

Now poor Hermon’s stiff and dead

Wrapped in a shroud of silken thread,

Reposing (so the Papers said)

Within Matilda’s larder.

 

CHAT LINE

I like to talk and chat a lot or visit for a coffee,

‘Cause I’m a very friendly soul,  my nose is not like toffee!

I love to know what’s going on - I’ll gossip with the best;

In the pursuit of juicy news my efforts never rest.

The things that people say and do are meat and drink to me

And sometimes you would not believe the strangest things I see!

If I can’t go and talk direct, I use the telephone,

And natter to my heart’s content while sitting in my home.

It’s always interesting to discuss the reasons why

Some behave  the way they do - not like you and I!

But after much discussion on the ins and outs of it

And much in-depth analysis of behavior just like shit -

I draw my own conclusions, and add it to the rumour

So why when people see me do they lose their sense of humour?

I only do what others do - there’re many more like me -

There’s lots of fire hid by smoke which you can always see. 

 

ROMANS DID

When Sophisticated Roman came

to Ancient Britons’ shore

there were an awful  lot of things

which Roman did deplore.

The Briton with his dirty skin

daubed hastily with woad

reminded Roman Conqueror

of some obnoxious toad.

His habit of just stewing stuff

and eating onions raw

was quite the most appalling sight

fastidious Roman saw!

 

When Claudius Ceaser came upon

the island he had won

he uttered these immortal words

(though his stuttering was fun)

“Weenie though this island is and

weedy the population

weaky though they seem to be

they’ll work for our great nation.

One suggests that for a start

Some decent roads are made -

do it well, Centurions

make sure they make the grade!”

As he spoke he waved his hand

in regal salutation

And boarding ship set sail for Rome

and all the comforts of his home.

 

Remaining Romans darkly muttered -

most unpleasant things were uttered -

though some made witty epigrams

on habits of the British man.

More instructions came from Rome,

making Roman Consul groan

“Ye paves pisces, Gods and Bennet -

another Edict from the Senate!” 

These words he read in shaking voice

“We of the Forum make this choice

you must with all and greatest speed

attend to Ancient Briton’s need -

education and good food

will civilize this island crude

 

“Above all things we you remind

to native folk you must be KIND.

An industry to harvest Kelp

would be a start towards self-help.

So visit old Chief So-’nd - So

to make sure he is in the know.”

 

Chief  So-’nd - So on mound of grass

thought ‘ere ‘e comes that silly arse

disturbing of me rightful peace

when will these Romans ever cease?

Look - there ‘e stands in front of wicket

a-ruining our game of Cricket!”

He listened to the ideas mooted

while in his hair for fleas he rooted.

He said “Good food would be quite nice

but Brits won’t pay that silly price!

Nah - ain’t no need for Education

It don’t suit our inclination.

‘Arvest kelp?! its ‘orrid stuff!

Of that us Brits ‘as ‘ad enough!”

 

“Did yew mention Pheasant Stew?

That idea I think will do -

since you Eye Ties brought ‘em ‘ere

use Brits do see ‘em everywhere.

If  they’re poached do they get tender

or  are they best done over ember?

And - ‘cos truthful I must be -

we don’t much rate your L.S.D.

Us Brits ‘as always bartered bread -

Them coins yer can’t eat them instead!”

At this the Romans were struck dumb

and at Britons down-turned thumb.

Throwing in their towels they wept

and back to Italy all swept.

 

GORMLESS

They say that I am Gormless,

I’m  completely lacking Gorm –

I really wish I had some

‘Cause I’d then take the World by storm!

My mind so acrobatic would do

Mental  loop the loops as

Profoundest  thoughts and statements

Newspapers rush to scoop.

My expression now quite vacant

Would with animation shine

As I’d hold forth and fifth and sixth

With verbal  pearls all mine!

I’ve tried so hard to find it

This most elusive Gorm,

And searched the dictionary

Till the pages were quite torn –

My purpose was to find a hint

Of what a Gorm might be

But the definition ‘Gormless’ is all that I could see.

 

MERRY DE WET & CO.

Merry de Wet of old Hugenot stock lives on a mountain surrounded by rock

His mansion is old and the roof has a bend which into great raptures Madonna would send.

The gutters  declining with languishing droop,

conduct unrequited love for the floor of the stoep.

Merry has barns uncluttered by corn,

there’s no need to stow it as Merry don’tgrow it,.he tells you with scorn.

They’re full of quaint people paying  low rent ,

and all of them say thatOld Merry’s a gent.

But Merry a’int worried, there’s never a frown

 As he farms sheep and porkies with quills of renown.

There’s old Jack the Lad of whom we’ve heard tell

Was born up in London to sounds of Bow Bells,

Jackie’s big heart is made of pure gold; a great shot at kudu or ladies we’re told.

His friendly large grin can be seen anywhere,

 as he quaffs down a pint and greets you ‘Wotcher’’.

Old Jack likes gossip and chewing the cuddy with any who like to sit like a buddy.

If you are thirsty, he’ll buy you a drink and regale you with stories a little bit pink.

We’ve a princely crimper with ultimate charm,

 with a kiss that he’ll give you as he takes your arm,

and sits you down while he tweezes and cuts

and whispers a tale that makes for  tut tuts.

There are beauties in plenty who paint, write or pot,

some of them married and some of them not,

And artists and thinkers and others who cook

the sort of delights you won’t find in a book.

There are crafters who’ll make you a trinket or ring,

 of design pure or rare which will make you the envy of those who will stare.

With olives and wine and splendiferous view, the people who tarry are many not few

As  they come for the journey but stay for the life,

 be they Annie or Harry or Husband and Wife.

 

EATING OLIVES , DRINKING WINE.

Stuck between these mountains is not my cup of tea,

I simply do not understand why people here can’t  see

that eating olives, drinking wine is such a great big waste of time.

They’re always painting pictures, or keeping geese and hens,

Which live long lives quite pampered in fowl designed pens.

When folk here talk its not a bit of things I like to know

like Modems, Money, getting style - they’re awfully come and go.

 

A lot of time is spent it seems just chatting up their friends,

or doing this and that and on, they’re feckless without end.

They meet in groups just anywhere and seem to smile from ear to ear -

of Life’s great problems there’s no care - I really don’t

think they give a jot about such things as what is Hot,

 or what to do if things get grim –

Or who is she, or who is him  -

How can they be so very dim?!

They waste their time to say hello to people whom they do not know.

There’s no resistance to the streak, which most of us would

call so weak, to meeting up for wine or falling for tempting food - its oh so galling!

They just carry on sublime, eating olives, drinking wine.

My soul yearns for a life less rude where people do what people should,

and carving up old wood for fun; it really, really, isn’t done!

I’ve seen the views of such renown; the air is clearer than the town and

birds sing so ones’ ears can ring.

 But I don’t like that kind of thing.

 

Anne On

Retort:

 

Old Anne On is such a stick

She doesn’t know what makes life tick!

I can’t think what’s more divine

Than eating Olives, drinking Wine. 

 

LOSING ART

In my dreams in the bath my thoughts sometimes scan

Thoughts of singing in opera on a stage in Milan

Though sadly I’m told that my sounds make folk scream –

So there all my fantasies go in the steam!

To paint with such brilliance I’m a second Monet

Is another wild fancy on which my thoughts play -

But sadly it seems that after much coaching -

I haven’t his talent; not even approaching!

The best I can hope for I’m sad to relate

Is to pose for a Rubens or Picasso in Blue,

And it looks like for Fashion I never will do.

So gone are my fancies of a pouting Cat-Strut -

It seems if I try it, I’ll just fall on my butt

My thoughts turn to Ballet with dreams of Swan Lake,

Perhaps another Margot Fontein I‘d make?

But the floor’s just collapsed, and I feel ‘better not’,

So there is another wish gone off a ker-phut.

Of course, there is Rodin, perhaps I could sculpt?

Though upon my suggestion, the teacher just gulped.

Could I be Shakespeare, or Milton or Keates?

Sadly, no one of my efforts will speak.

Oh pain, sadness and sorrow, what can I do well?

Mediocrity has me so gripped in its spell

That even my garden is not doing well.

I yearn to excel, but at what hidden Art?

Of  that glittering world I’ll be never a part!

As sadly I sit and brood on my plight,

I hear a voice ask “What’re we having tonight -

Would you please make your famous Steak Pie?”

So I can do something! “Of course!” I reply.

 

RUTHLESS

She left me for another, just went without goodbyes,

My heart is torn to pieces, and my soul in pain still cries.

The devotion that I gave her in my every waking hour!

 I did for her just everything that was within my power.

With attendance on her daily, I thought our love had flowered -

But when I ‘phoned her up she said she felt more than devoured!

She shouted that I’m boring - I’m a thorough-going bore! and

Added for good measure that my presence made her snore!

Cattily, she mentioned that she didn’t want a dog,

And in bed the noise I made was rather like a hog.

So now my blooming hopes are dead, she never will be mine -

For ever I’ll be Ruth-less, and most careful the next time.

I’ll treat the girls I meet again with macho stern contempt,

Rough and tough from now on in; all consideration spent.

If  they say they love me and demand from me a token

I’ll never let on that I have a heart profoundly broken.

Tender words I’ll never speak or ever take them flowers,

Even should they plead and cry enough to rival stormy showers.

And if I meet that other guy, I’ll give him such a punch -

Then whistling happily I’ll go and have a bit of lunch.

 

MODEM DAY GENGHIS’ HORDES

The Hordes have arrived (minus Genghis)

For Genghis has got a cell phone

Which means he directs operations

While leaving The Hordes well alone.

This method’s a lot going for it

As Genghis can sit in a chair

Planning, thinking and dreaming from

Just about any old where.

It means he stays calm and untroubled,

Unruffled by mayhem and din –

Leaving The Hordes to cause suffering and pain

Which doesn’t impinge upon him!

And when it’s all over the Natives, dejected,

To demands for money are promptly subjected –

Invoiced by Genghis in fine Copper Plate type,

Prepared in an office when he thinks the time ripe,

As Genghis has bought a lekker lap top

Which ensures that his labours never need stop.

The Natives, dejected and with much trauma affected,

Pay and pray soundly his efforts will now be deflected.    

 

HOW KEN EWE?

How ken ewe uze er dickshunery

Ef ewe dunt no ow ter spel?

Its OK four foke ter sey

“Uze It?” but how on erf yew tel

Ef yew dunt no de wey it goze

How ken ewe loke it up –

I mene ter sey its difikult

End offen mayks me drop

De hole entyre  plen I mad

Ter rite de hole d………..d fing

Coz wen I cums ter loke it up

Were do I beggin?

I fink nd feal sew strongley dat

De dikshunerry shud

Doe et quit foneticley sew enybuddy cud

Loke up wot dey wont ter sey

Quiet ezily n dat .

Sew foke lik mee cun lern ter spel end

Rite a litter write!. 

 

NOT AT HOME

If  nobody opens the door

Though you ring and  you  knock till you’re sore

Then I’m OUT!!!!

There is no point in stomping about

Tapping the glass with a shout

‘Cause I’m OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

My hair’s all dripping with red

And my face with thick cream I have spread,

SO I’M OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Though you’re perfectly sure there’s a face

Lurking behind the thick lace,

There is NOT.  I AM OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If the hour is late to your mind

And you’re sure that someone you’ll find

You will NOT.

 ‘CAUSE I’M OUT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I may be in bed with a very sore head

With eyes rather baggy and face very saggy

So I am unviewably OUT!

If you come with a grin wanting Tonic with Gin

And there’s no reply from within

Then I’m sorry to say you’ll have no luck today

‘Cause I’M OUT.

 

THE BEGGAR AT THE DOOR.

Feed me called the Beggar as he knocked upon the door,

For I am very hungry and you are rich and I am poor!

Give me yelled the Mendicant  who rattled on the gate,

And make it quick and plentiful before it is too late!

As I have many children – I think it’s four or five -

And I don’t work and so you’ll guess it’s hard to keep alive.

I need some money urgently to visit Dad who’s dying

‘cause in his bed in hospital my name he keeps on sighing.

I go to Church each Sunday, if my head is not too sore,

And the message that my Faith conveys is Blessed are the Poor.

Those who give shall Given Be with riches by the score

So, kind Sir, for Heaven’s sake you cannot that ignore.

Hearing this the Opportuned  most thoughtfully replied

Your words are sad; heart-rending too, that cannot be denied,

I’ll give you food and money so to help you in your plight

I trust the aid I now donate will see that you’re alright.

The Beggar came again next day bringing a friend or two,

All of us are hungry, Sir, but we know we can  rely on you!

 

IN LOVE, SET, MATCH

When I was a girl my heart fluttered within

To hear the name spoken of Alan Jay Simm!

How handsome and clever, so thoughtful and neat,

My dearest of dreams were to lie at his feet.

If when out walking his form I’d not see

The rest of the day was just pure misery!

Sometimes he’d  ring and we’d make a date,

I was always on time, though he’d often be late.

But the charm of his grin banished pain from within

Oh, how I adored him, dear Alan Jay Simm!

The kisses he gave me as we said goodnight

Would fire my passion with burning delight!

Sadly, many other girls quickly I learned

Had thoughts of Alan with which their souls burned,

And he, oh so debonair, golden and free,

 Very swiftly enslaved them,  as he did me.

In anguish I banished all hopes from my brain –

Well, a girl can’t really withstand so much pain,

And moved to a place full of bustle and din

Where there was no time to ponder on Alan Jay Simm.

You may be astonished to hear what I say

As forty years married I have been today.

I look at him fondly and still love his grin –

That irrepressible, quite irresistible, Alan Jay Simm.

But how glad I am that I went far away,

And left him to find me when he tired of play!

 

HOW GREY IS MY VALLEY

Years ago when the kids were small, we found a place which sang to us all:

A village surrounded by mountains and fields with Olives and Vines its popular yields.

The sun when it rose or it set in the sky was a vision to gladden the most jaded eye –

Lighting up the horizon and blessing the views which lay in the distance without interruption,

Unspoilt by any industrial corruption.

We heard whispers of a Limestone Mine, but thought as one does ‘not in our time’ –

And it wasn’t close to us, so we couldn’t understand the fuss.

A factory chimney like Tower of Babel then clambered up to help enable

The making of Cement – an industry of rocky, hard and grave intent.

Gradually, the lorries’ roar increased incessant past our door

Birdsong was drowned, foundations shook, and what was once a quiet nook

Is now a thundering motor way, with endless noise and dust each day.

I’m getting deaf and very grey but match the landscape in a way;

They say ‘it’s progress’ and ‘fulfilling  need’;  but why such devastating greed?

If only at that time we’d thought about the things which

Ramping, unstopped ‘Progress’ brings, we might have changed the way of it.

None come to visit here – the noise and outlook is too drear –

Those who could move are far away, but sadly here we’re forced to stay.

The house won’t sell, we’re stuck with it – if only we had thought a bit!

 

WITH RESERVATION

There’s a Leopard on the Mountain!

He treads on soft paws to drink at a fountain.

Though elusive and not very easy to spot

Its decided to catch him though he likes it or not.

For folk they are frightened and somewhat in awe

Of his very sharp teeth and his rather long claw.

So there is a plot and there is a plan

To trap him and send him away if we can.

He’ll go to a place where  there’re others like him

Who with civilized people don’t really fit in -

There it is  certain he’ll be quite OK

And have spotty kittens with a mate one fine day.

 So far three silly Baboons have been got

Which clearly had to be summarily shot.

There’re lots of Baboons one can see every day

As they come with their families to scamper and play.

Baboons just aren’t cute and can be quite a pain

So if you can kill them it’s only a gain.

But sometime ahead, when there’s nothing but housing to see

Will we trap the Baboons to let them live free?

 

BOMBED OUT WITH ZEAL

With a jolt the Zealot awoke

As screams and dreams of unquenchable hate

howled in his throat

And throbbed like the beat of a Tom-Tom

Pounding his brain with each note

 

Life is just a moment in time

                 BOMB

I am just an atom

                  BOMB

Must keep the ball bouncing

                   BOMB

What’s yours is mine

                   BOMB

I’m so angry I’m exploding

                    BOMB

Set the world on fire

                     BOMB

They’ll be shocked by my demand package

                      BOMB

No bomb squad will ever find this

                       BOMB

 I’ll get the Bastards yet

                     BOMB

Till they don’t forget

                      BOMB  BOMB    BOMB       BOMB

There’ll be no

                       BOMB

Shelter from  this

                       BOMB    BOMB     BOMB     BOMB    BOMB  

 

STOP THE PRESS

Stop the Press I’ve had enough.  The news it gives is hard and tough –

Dictators doing what they please and growing rich on what they seize,

While those with influence suggest a chat to get things off  the chest –

Are they joking? Do they jest?

All parties should meet round a table talking frankly to enable

A fair solution to be found, democratic, good and sound,

The best solution everywhere, a means to amicably share.

Of course what’s best for those in power is hanging on to Last Trumps’ Hour –

Why let go of  what you’ve got ‘cause you’re a Have and not Have Not.

Possession is nine tenths the Rule, a saying known by any fool –

A Bully bullies, nothing will alter; his intentions never falter

He’ll hold on till he’s dead and done ‘cause Power can be so much fun.

The things he does are just the same as most others in his game –

And history books  most always show that no-one lets his Power go

Willingly and with good grace, he’d rather kill than lose his place!

All men have held fast to this view even when the World was new.

 So stop the Press!  Turn off  T.V.  I do not want to hear or see

Another miserable story showing Man in all his glory. 

Enough of  murder, rape and  lust, of  children starving in the dust,

I think I’ll get a Video and watch a silly comic show.

 

I’M ALL RIGHT

We hear a lot these days about our rights and all the ways

In Laws they’re written out, so there can’t be any doubt

About the ways we must behave or to our freedom goodbye wave.

Cars have stickers in small size proclaiming ‘I am Legal-Wise’

(So don’t cross me or you’ll be mad, there’re many lawyers to be had!

Don’t attempt to vex,  for then I’ll send a team of Legal Men!)

Children may use the telephone reporting parents in the home

For smacking when they shouldn’t aughter – be he son or maybe daughter –

There is a rule for how a kid for misdemeanors should be chid –

Beware as you must get it right, or we’ll invoke the Law’s full might!

There are Women’s Rights and Peoples’ Rights and Children’s Rights

And many out of sight rights, perhaps a Left is Right Right,

But perhaps because the word’s no beauty, no one ever talks of Duty.

Maybe if Duty was a word of which more often people heard

And understood that Duty’s due not just from me but also you,

The World could be a better place with little need for Laws’ embrace.

 

HOW TO SCORE A GOAL

There never was a Jockey who never fell from Horse,

Nor Throughbred Showjumper who always stayed the course.

The Olympic Medalist holding pridefully his trophy

Never won a single thing if setbacks made him mopey.

The same applies to everyone who ever tried his hand

At painting, writing or perhaps just playing in a Band!

The lessons that we learn in life are taught from its mistakes

No single worthwhile goal’s achieved  by getting ‘lucky breaks’!

 

THE ENEMY WITHIN

With many trials Mans’ been cursed

But if he farms perhaps the worst –

Apart from Locust Plagues and Drought –

Is something most folk don’t think about.

On ever-labouring tiny wings

Its efforts devastation brings.

With ceaseless work from dawn till late

Most any fruit ‘twill penetrate.

They’re not selective – don’t care much –

Inside each one they’ll lay a clutch

Of  eggs whose grubs without a doubt

Will suck and gorge from inside out

Until the victim is quite rotten

And falls upon the ground forgotten.

The silent army, now triumphant,

Continues on until it’s rampant –

Devouring everything it touches;

Little safe from its fierce clutches.

Without a sting, without a hum,

The ceaseless invasions never done.

That Nectarine you longed to eat

Lies tortured there beneath your feet.

Left alone, these voracious cravings

Seriously erode a Farmer’s savings.

So you will understand just why

He hates the cursed and dread Fruit Fly.

 

RIEBEEK VALLEY- 1

R iebeek Vally - named for Jan V.

I n the distance appears from the pass,

E nticing the eyes as they see

B eauty beckoning in glory revieled.

E nchanting, inviting; the senses

E xciting to explore what may be concealed.

K asteelberg Kingdom of wonderous peace.

 

 

V alley of Olives and Grapes

A ll giving their jewels

L ife’s joys to refuel -

L eave care for tomorrow

 E xit your sorrow and                        

Yield to the welcome we’ll give.

 

RIEBEEK VALLEY- 2

If you miss the Riebeek Valley refusing on your trail to tarry

For a moment just to wonder what is here you’ll never know

Of little things that make life go, but you’re too fast, and we’re too slow.

Of eating Olives, drinking wine you’re not the sort to waste the time,

Or simply gazing at a view will surely put you in a stew.

But anyone who stays here long will always sing another song.

 

You’ll never meet the folk we love (but you won’t wish to God above!)

Never be served a glass of beer by Tinkerbell renowned of cheer,

Who’ll dot you one if you’re not careful, or give an innoventive earful

before you’re swiped by Mam’ry gland if you are rude or out of hand.

You won’t chat with our wise plumber - artist, sage and sometime drummer,

Friend of all who’ll buy a drink, and scurge of mothers once we think!

 

Our guru with computer who travels waves of ether to import items still unknown

but never seems to use cell-phone won’t wave at you with gentle smile, or drink

a convivial glass or two while talking of such things profound, ‘cause you simply

won’t be around.

But if you come and visit us, we’ll welcome you but not with fuss,

Be glad to see you, talk and laugh including you as one of us -

And when you leave, we’ll sorry be.  But you’ll return - just wait and see.

 

SERENDIPITY

Don’t forget the happy word, written ‘Serendipity’!

To ignore just what it means would be the greatest pity,

For if in Life you just pursue wistful, elusive, dreams

Your hopes you may not quite fulfil , however fine your schemes.

But if you go with Serendipity as you walk along the way

All sorts of other happy things will then come into play.

And by chance, who knows, one day you’ll waken with a smile

And find you’ve got your dearest dream, and had it all the while!

 

TERMS OF UNDEARMENT.

 

Why is it that the ‘fairer sex’, should she ever cause to vex,

Is termed by you a slut, a cow or maybe shrew?

A Spinster may not ever spin, and have a figure rather trim,

Although in time she may become (if in your outlook you are glum)

A hag or inanimately ‘bag’ or something even cruder –

A tramp is not a lady, and a bitch may not be dog

But the worst I’ve heard applied to man is the epithetic Hog!

Even if his features are quite porcine and behavior  more than grim,

Pig is the worst description that’s then applied to him. 

It seems a bit unfair to me that a bloke however dirty

Will, if ever called a slut, become immediately shirty.

He need not fear to be a bag however thick his skin is,

And if should cause a Nag offence, he’ll wonder why the din is!

So the spoken word is most unfair to the female of our race,

And Gentlemen, if you would be worthy of that name,

Do not malign the gentler sex with terms.