I enjoy some of Spike Milligan's potty poetry and I reckon he influenced my own writing of silly, fun verse. Here are four light poems to brighten a grey, drizzly morning:
LIME ERIC
I like lemonade I suppose
sucked through the end of a hose
but I have my troubles
with dozens of bubbles
tickling the end of my nose
A MOOSE TAKE
There once was a tired moose
who relaxed in his comfy hoose
he kicked off his shoose
sipped pineapple joose
and watched the nine o'clock noose
BRINETEASER
It's alright for you
said the fat sardine
you enjoy the sea and sand
but when I swim
I run the risk
of being caught and canned
AHA
I know I put it somewhere
said God to his friend called Jim
I cannot find the morning
then it suddenly dawned on him
Tuesday, 8 November 2011
Monday, 7 November 2011
BAD NEWS
Even as they are telling me, I half-listen,
choosing to believe one word, ignoring another,
shutting out the bad news, eyes open to anything
that will give me a sign that none of it is true,
but they keep talking, talking about you.
I had watched the news without a second thought,
no reason to connect you to the carnage,
it was just news and scenes of a near-empty road,
zoom-shots on blue lights, yellow coats, cars crashed,
somewhere prayers answered or hopes dashed.
This morning, a hug, a goodbye kiss,
now a life to realise the person I'll miss.
choosing to believe one word, ignoring another,
shutting out the bad news, eyes open to anything
that will give me a sign that none of it is true,
but they keep talking, talking about you.
I had watched the news without a second thought,
no reason to connect you to the carnage,
it was just news and scenes of a near-empty road,
zoom-shots on blue lights, yellow coats, cars crashed,
somewhere prayers answered or hopes dashed.
This morning, a hug, a goodbye kiss,
now a life to realise the person I'll miss.
Sunday, 6 November 2011
THIS WAS A MORNING
This was a morning that refused to be taken for granted,
a morning of pleasant chill, blinding sunshine, birdsong
and colours in the trees to widen the eyes with wonder,
every head turn a new picture, slight movements, soft rays,
one of those peaceful mornings, a rare day of days
in a world of worry, of anguish, of guilt and wrath,
a morning not taken for granted on a woodland path.
a morning of pleasant chill, blinding sunshine, birdsong
and colours in the trees to widen the eyes with wonder,
every head turn a new picture, slight movements, soft rays,
one of those peaceful mornings, a rare day of days
in a world of worry, of anguish, of guilt and wrath,
a morning not taken for granted on a woodland path.
Saturday, 5 November 2011
BREAKFAST AND FURIOUS
I sat down to breakfast,
bacon, egg and toast,
pot of tea and orange juice
and the morning Daily Post.
But all at once I jumped ten feet
frightened for my life
when the egg let out a scream of "Oi,
watch where you put that knife!"
Then the bacon laughed and laughed and laughed
and began to dance a jig,
singing "I wish I was at home again
on the backside of a pig."
The teapot lid was banging,
the crusty toast began to cuss
but the orange juice let out a pip
to quieten all the fuss.
I came down from the ceiling
chaste and unaccusing
vowing to give up fatty foods
for something more ameusling.
bacon, egg and toast,
pot of tea and orange juice
and the morning Daily Post.
But all at once I jumped ten feet
frightened for my life
when the egg let out a scream of "Oi,
watch where you put that knife!"
Then the bacon laughed and laughed and laughed
and began to dance a jig,
singing "I wish I was at home again
on the backside of a pig."
The teapot lid was banging,
the crusty toast began to cuss
but the orange juice let out a pip
to quieten all the fuss.
I came down from the ceiling
chaste and unaccusing
vowing to give up fatty foods
for something more ameusling.
Friday, 4 November 2011
8 HAIKU POSTCARDS FROM A TRIP TO SCOTLAND
1
spontaneous smiles,
border signpost welcomes us
to new scenery
2
near Ecclefechan
our boys collapse in giggles,
tickled by the name
3
empty sky except
cloud wisps, birds, aeroplane tails,
we pass Lockerbie
4
approaching Glasgow
we drift into the accent,
blind to our insults
5
M8 grey rain-spray
denies us countryside views
near Edinburgh
6
old town vantage point
looking down on Prince’s Street,
we feel history
7
posing at Mons Meg,
camera points, a split second,
tourist free background
8
leaving for home now,
looking through the back window,
our vanishing joy
Wednesday, 2 November 2011
NOAH SURRENDER
Noah's neighbours had had enough
of noise and smells and animal stuff.
They canvassed hard for lists of names
to put a stop to his beastly games.
The local council slapped a ban
to scupper the ark and this animal man.
The neighbours rejoiced at this common sense
and the neighbourhood became less tense.
But courage remained in Noah's blood,
he had work to finish before the ....drip...drip...plip...plop...
of noise and smells and animal stuff.
They canvassed hard for lists of names
to put a stop to his beastly games.
The local council slapped a ban
to scupper the ark and this animal man.
The neighbours rejoiced at this common sense
and the neighbourhood became less tense.
But courage remained in Noah's blood,
he had work to finish before the ....drip...drip...plip...plop...
Tuesday, 1 November 2011
MRS RANKIN
This poem was prompted by the horrific, senseless, pointless murder of 81-year-old grandmother Mrs Maire Rankin in Newry, Northern Ireland in 2008. The story of the crime and how her family coped was made into a BBC NI documentary - A Family Trial: The Murder of Maire Rankin - viewable on iPlayer until 7 November 2011. RIP, Mrs Rankin.
She was all that she could be,
all that she had to be,
sister, wife, mother, grandmother,
all that she wanted to be,
a life of more than four decades,
a family life, well-earned comfort in old age,
a nice house in a quiet terrace
brought to an end in brutal rage.
We can talk about who and how and why
as justice done was signalled by a gavel's smack
but just as justice serves a partial purpose,
it has no power to bring Mrs Rankin back.
She was all that she could be,
all that she had to be,
sister, wife, mother, grandmother,
all that she wanted to be,
a life of more than four decades,
a family life, well-earned comfort in old age,
a nice house in a quiet terrace
brought to an end in brutal rage.
We can talk about who and how and why
as justice done was signalled by a gavel's smack
but just as justice serves a partial purpose,
it has no power to bring Mrs Rankin back.
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