Days of Christmas
On the first day of Christmas my agent gave to me
A letter saying he likes my story...
On the second day of Christmas my agent gave to me
Two calls for a meeting and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the third day of Christmas my agent gave to me
Three emails, two calls for a meeting and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the fourth day of Christmas my agent gave to me four taxi cabs, three emails, two calls for a meeting and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the fifth day of Christmas my agent gave to me five texts by phone, four taxi cabs, three emails, two calls to meet him and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the sixth day of Christmas my agent gave to me six memorandums, five texts by phone, four taxi cabs, three emails, two calls to meet him and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the seventh day of Christmas my agent gave to me seven faxes pending, six memorandums, five texts by phone, four taxi cabs, three emails, two calls to meet him and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the eighth day of Christmas my agent gave to me eight Blackberries humming, seven faxes pending, six memorandums, five texts by phone, four taxi cabs, three emails, two calls to meet him and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the ninth day of Christmas my agent gave to me nine cries to hear him, eight Blackberries humming, seven faxes pending, six memorandums, five texts by phone, four taxi cabs, three emails, two calls to meet him and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the tenth day of Christmas my agent gave to me ten shrieks to heed him, nine cries to hear him, eight Blackberries humming, seven faxes pending, six memorandums, five texts by phone, four taxi cabs, three emails, two calls to meet him and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the eleventh day of Christmas my agent gave to me eleven screams to listen, ten shrieks to heed him, nine cries to hear him, eight Blackberries humming, seven faxes pending, six memorandums, five texts by phone, four taxi cabs, three emails, two calls to meet him and a letter saying he likes my story...
On the twelfth day of Christmas my agent gave to me a promise of publication, hee, hee!
Living in Wonderland, With Alice...
The White Rabbit called when he got the word,
And he said, I suppose you’ve heard –
About Alice.
I rushed to my book,
And I looked inside,
And I could hardly believe my eyes –
As Christmas rolled up,
Into Alice’s drive.
Oh, I don’t know why she’s leaving,
Or what she’s gonna do,
I’m sure she’s got her reasons,
But I really need a clue,
‘Cos for all of my life,
I’ve been living it up with Alice.
All of those years in a Wonderland of fun,
Sharing every the moment; living in the sun,
Now I gotta get used to living my life without Alice?
We grew up together,
Two kids sharing a laugh,
We loved every moment,
We lived for the spark,
Of living Alice.
Now she’s going away,
For a very long time,
Perhaps forever; did I see her smile?
As Christmas took Alice,
Into his warm imbibe.
Oh, I don’t know why she’s leaving,
Or what she’s gonna do,
I’m sure she’s got her reasons,
But I really need a clue,
‘Cos for all of my life,
I’ve been living it up, with Alice.
All of those years in a Wonderland of fun,
Sharing every the moment; living in the sun,
Will I ever get used to not living my life with Alice?
The Rabbit spoke again, and he said to me,
Go with her and Christmas if you want to be free,
You and Alice.
He said, in your Wonderland,
Of writing and verse,
Forever together,
At the Top of the World’…
Then I joined her, Alice…
Oh, I don’t know why we’re leaving,
Or what we’re gonna do,
I’m sure she’s got her reasons,
Now perhaps I’ll get a clue,
‘Cos for all of my life,
I’ll be living it swell, with Alice.
All of our years in a Wonderland of fun,
Sharing every the moment, living in the sun,
Will I ever get used to living my life with Alice?
Oh, I love my fairytale life with Alice.
Doctor Who and the Daleks
Doctor and the Daleks, I hear you say,
Who can they be, and what an affray,
On our minds and our wits at this time of appeal,
Of recession, so biting; bad times, surreal.
It’s the DOCTOR, I tell you, the DOCTOR, that’s WHO,
And as for the Daleks, my mind is askew,
If I were to explain who they in fact are,
I would need several years and STILL not get far.
Oh, the DOCTOR, the DOCTOR, you answer me back,
Why didn’t you say so, why didn’t you track,
The way I was feeling, peeved by the mire,
Unlike our politicians in splendid retire.
In splendid retire, ensconced in their towers,
Of ivory white, not grey and ragged like ours.
They’ll get their comeuppance, of that I am sure
When the Daleks set off and exterminate them all.
Rath
Rath, grath, path of past light,
Slumbering mound beneath which a king lies,
Enshrined in his glories, entombed with his gains,
What good are they now to his rotten remains?
Rath, grath, path of our light,
How we’ve forgotten, abandoned our lives,
To celebrity fame, icon renown,
What good is it to our wretched lives now?
Rath, grath, path of hope’s light,
Be not a king or celebrity blight,
Live your own life and when your time comes,
Return to your Maker and eternity sun.
Graves
Graves,
Graves,
Silent rust down,
Graves,
Graves,
Strained bedfellows are we,
Graves,
Graves,
So near and so far,
Graves,
Graves,
What more can I say?
Blessington Lake
Blessington Lake; quiet and surreal,
Where water joins land and matter joins meal,
An area of distinction renowned far and near,
A place of great solitude that masks a dark fear.
This expanse of great water is hiding a fact,
A village it drowned; this is a true fact,
Under the waters a village waits slumbering until,
The next time it’s exposed, resurrected, unfilled.
Now and again, when the weather is dry,
The eerie, still waters retreat from its high,
Until the small hamlet freed from the lake,
Reveals its worn cobbles, houses and gates.
During this time bones surly do rise,
From the damp mud; I saw it with my eyes!
Rambling about amongst the ruins of homes,
Rekindle old friendships with other cold bones.
When the waters return it drowns village again,
Cobbles and pavements, houses and lanes,
And ghosts of old ages slumber in that dark space,
Until the water recedes they are asleep in the lake.
A Few Miles From Home
Altamont Gardens, a few miles from home,
; A garden of excellence, a garden standing alone.
Sitting proud in the countryside, yet hidden from view,
Altamont Gardens is waiting for YOU.
Well, what are you waiting for? Go visit it NOW!
Mr Ed
A horse is a horse, of course of course,
And no one can talk to a horse of course,
That is of cause unless the horse is the famous Mr. Ed.
His teeth go clackity clack every time of day,
But Mr. Ed won’t talk unless he has something to say.
I went to the source and asked the horse,
Why he was eating a plant pot, of course,
Laughing, the source that is the horse said, ‘Because I’m Mr. Ed!’
19th April 2012
I saw the first swallow of summer today,
It was flying above me, enjoying the day,
Tears welled in my eyes on spotting this treat,
It made me so happy my heart skipped a beat.
It’s Better Than...
Monday morning; full of woe,
The weekend’s gone; it’s so far to go,
Until next time, when I can live again,
Oh, well, I suppose it’s better than living in ba-NAMA-land!
Wikipedia Doesn’t Know Me
Mad Eye Moody, can it really be,
That splendid interpretation; a hero so free,
Who gave up his all for the cry of the truth?
So we could know that good is forsooth.
Of course they can all Twitter, be it here, be it there,
About American Idol and Celebrities fair,
But can they replace a genius, so fine,
Like Rowling or Dahl or even Wilson’s strange mind?
When next you are shopping in Wal-Mart, I think,
If its bargains you’re after then remember the ink,
On the paper, in the book section, where I’m waiting for sure,
To temp you with my writing and so open a door.
And when it is open my world of strange stuff,
Will entrance and beguile you; the air will be hushed,
As you read about Alice, the Cat and the Mouse,
Harry Rotter and Jimmy and Beetle About.
Forget about Powerball, cars and the news,
Never mind Danny Choo – who is he? I muse
Wikipedia doesn’t know me; heck, do I care,
When so many love my stories in the real world out there.
A Slug Called Reilly
There once was a slug called Reilly,
Who was incredibly slimy,
He thought he was smart,
Going out in the dark,
Until he fell down in a hole, did Reilly.
While stuck in
My Crazmad Book of Poems Page 3
