light verse and much, much worse
I’ve got two mutts who sniff the butts
Of dogs whom they don’t know
But what is worse and quite perverse
This passes for Hello!
Imagine if we all did this
When meeting someone new
If that’s Hello! I’d like to know
How one would say Adieu!
Rapunzel’s prince betrothed his love
Her freedom he was wishing her
Alas, he could not climb above!
(she’d used too much conditioner)
A friend of mine who used to teach
Said some kids he just couldn’t reach
A situation made more grim
For they were learning how to swim
The President was heard to say
I am not wearing a toupée!
And though they’d said it just to kid
It really made him flip his lid.
A bear who needs to use The Gents
(one of life’s everyday events)
Faces a pressing issue:
What does one use for tissue?
According to the local lore
Passed down by those who’ve gone before
Most bears will grab the nearest thing
To wipe away those bits that cling.
A most hygienic habit
But tell that to the rabbit.
Where’s Monica? a colleague asked
The heating’s not turned up enough
It’s not as if she’s over-tasked
To take care of this kind of stuff.
Where’s Monica? another chimed
It’s 9:05, we’ve got no milk
Do we now have to have her timed?
Her job? Her breaks? Her type? Her ilk?
I never bother, you know me
Head down, work hard and see it through
But did she get the gluten-free?
If not, my bowels will turn to glue.
The printer’s low on paper too
Delivery was yesterday
It’s just one flight, it isn’t two
So why the need for this delay?
I saw her tumble down the stairs
The look of shock upon her face
Those sandwiches went everywhere
And crystal’s not cheap to replace.
What if she’s poorly, do we know?
Those files won’t files themselves today
Or HR, did they let her go?
For if they did, they didn’t say.
No, Monica is fine and well
She hasn’t quit, she wasn’t fired
Her colleagues didn’t hear her tell
In one week’s time she’d be retired.
So now she sits as each day ends
With husband, Jim, and the odd glass
And smiles at what she left for them:
A photocopy of her ass.
I think at times, oh yes, I think
That I would make the best Rat Fink
The sort who listens to friends’ tales
Then snitches, sending them to jails
For foolery and crimes and tricks
(those deeds which get you two-to-six)
But then again I’d better not
They are a vengeful, wicked lot
Who’d want to even up the score
For they know me and I’ve done more…
My dog has died and no one cares
I mention him but this draws stares
And frowns which tell me I’m too old
To mourn a pet, or so I’m told.
Empty corners, bare floor
Room before but now we’ve more
Toys donated, bed gone
No more divots in the lawn.
Coming home, a rusty gate
Announces me and though I wait
No rocket launches down the path
To knock me down and make me laugh.
Quiet mealtimes, no one begs
Or nuzzles gently at my legs
Knowing that, in time, of course I’ll
Slip him the odd, tender morsel.
Day is done, I climb the stair
And reach the top but he’s not there
I pray for sleep – those loving scenes
When he runs to me in my dreams.
My granny’s got two teapots
(this tends to make her wee lots)
Her good one goes out on display
The other she keeps tucked away
When visitors decide to call
The posh pot serves them, one and all
Dispensing cups of Earl of Grey
On her brushed-silver serving tray
A person shouldn’t trivialise
A ritual so civilised
When Elsie Burns, who lives next door
Comes calling ‘round each day at four
The Staffordshire is put away
For it’s too late for Earl of Grey
Gran reaches for her other pot
Whose contents never need be hot
And pours her canny friend a cup
Of mother’s homemade pick-me-up
A nip of whisky leaves them feeling
Life’s too short to drink Darjeeling
I’m known to stretch out on the lawn
Amidst the weekend carry-on
Of mowing, trimming, watering
And folks I know I ought to ring.
Just when it starts to get too loud
When life can push and kids can crowd
Before the next field’s needing ploughed
I lay right back and pick a cloud.
The dogs, alerted, circle me
Unsure if they should stay or flee
They know each trick, each ruse I use
To wrestle them in ones and twos.
Eventually they come to rest
On either side, heads on my chest
And then the three of us just stare
At our own clouds a way up there.
Marshmallow Fluff or Dairy Whip
A giant dollop on the lip
Of Heaven, cruising like a ship
That’s drifted, noiseless, from its slip.
I want to jump and land on it
And try my best to stand on it
Then sink into its spongy core
While eating handfuls from its store.
They have no map, no place to be
You can’t catch clouds because they’re free
To nonchalantly skirt your town
And make us run when they come down.
The trouble is, they take their time
And doing so, robs me of mine
So up I get – no time to lie!
Until the next cloud passes by…
