by BarnaWilde
wafted down onto the ground. Just more dust.
Up on the ceiling the younger fly dangles,
And thinks about life from it’s different angles.
Repeating a sentence from school that he’d lately recalled.
‘Some people have curly brown hair though partly bald.’
This useful mnemonic, though scarcely symphonic,
Would now always remind him of home
Of the faltering talk that they’d had on that walk
As he bonded with Dad on their day at the dome.
(November 2000)
Sine is Perpendicular over Hypotenuse, Cosine is Base over Hypotenuse, Tangent is Perpendicular over Base.
The Chicken Shit Boxer
The boxing ring’s square, but the fights are in rounds,
Though the larynx is broken, the voice is still sound,
The coffee’s like mud, yet it’s only just ground,
He’d hang up his gloves, but they always hang down.
The bantam-weight fights for a chicken shit purse,
He can handle the beatings, the boos are the worst,
The punches won’t kill if the drink gets him first,
The bier will be his, but the car will be hearse.
He’s fat chance of winning, slim chance of success
He pushes himself for some praise from the press,
He beams when he spars to disguise his distress,
As the score sheets are filled in and out by the refs.
He knows that his ears are misshapen and bent,
He fears that his nose will be broken again,
A boxing booth punchbag was not his intent,
When he sought his big break to cover the rent.
He’s moving on fast to conclude his career,
With a vegetable brain and a cauliflower ear,
There’s no pension to mention, no winnings for years,
The chicken shit boxer fights back silent tears.
(May 2001)
Duplicity
The road did wind, I staggered on, while round the harsh wind blew.
She’d sewn the tear in my blue coat and shed a tear anew.
I’d wound my watch and watched my wound and knew her love was true.
I cursed the lead lodged in my chest, now all roads lead to you.
Last night we rowed about the boat. You rowed it home alone.
We fished for Bass, but your bass voice was chilling in it’s tone
The bullet that you spent was live, but you’ll not live for long,
For I’ll not bow and with my bow I’ll right this shameful wrong.
Keep watch behind for I am close. I’ll close this vile affair.
I’ll revenge this ill you’ve done and rid you from my hair.
We’ll both be dead by dawn, my friend, your shot was aimed too well,
So on I go to seal our fate. Ill meet you soon in hell.
(November 2002)
Humming Birds and Other Words
There was panty hose for auntie Rose
A dozen socks for cousin Rox
A bowler hat for brother Matt
A skittle set for little Brett
A shrunken head for uncle Ted
A peephole bra for Deborah
A water bowl for puppy Caesar
Water-skis for daughter Lisa
A silken scarf for milkman Arthur
Macintosh for Josh’s father
Lacy pants for Tracey’s aunts
Another hat for brother Matt
A manicure for Nanny Dora
Paperback for neighbour Jack
A tiny tin for little Jim
A little gym for tiny Tim
A humming top for baby Brad
A humming bird for mum ‘n dad
A new toy train for Hugh’s boy Shane
A ‘Twister’ game for sister Jane
Lava lamps for Gran and Gramps
Laver bread for Pat and Frank
An orange fleece for Corin’s niece
An orange mat for Corin’s flat.
A marrow bone for pet dog Rex
A mobile home for hamster Tex
A mobile phone for nubile Joan
A tiny thong for husband John (!)
Some Earl Grey Tea for Emily
A bonsai tree for Don’s wife Dee
Some aftershave for Pastor Dave
And After Eights for Jenny’s mates
Just one more present ‘neath the tree.
Oh please let that one be for me.
(December 2000)
Cookout
Surely it can’t be so hard
To learn the culinary art,
But every dish that I create
Becomes a mishap on a plate.
My apple crumble, for a start,
Turned out to be a little tart.
The critics panned my swiss jam roll,
They said I couldn’t act at all.
My spotted dick was a sore point,
I made a hash of the ham joint.
The boneless chicken was a flop.
The scrambled egg over the top.
My Peking Duck looked out of place.
The beetroot stew somewhat two faced.
I couldn’t make a pancake roll.
My seafood platter had no soul.
The stuffed green pepper was a farce.
The tough Choux pastry made to last.
My chilli pork was way too cold.
My yoghurt dip was whey, too old.
The fritters I served unembellished
Were regarded without relish,
And when I served them my bean sauce
They asked, ‘What is it now?’ (Of course).
The kitchen is no place for me.
My cooking’s a calamity.
I think that I shall never be
a TV chef celebrity.
(November 2001)
Paradise Gardens
Some people like unkempt gardens
With grasses, wildflowers and sedges.
But I prefer something more formal
With tightly clipped shrubs and trimmed hedges.
A heath’s an elysian field for them.
Paradise is a flowering tree.
But I just want neatness and order.
Yes, yew topiary’s heaven for me.
(October 2002)
Acupuncture is a Jab Well Done
A poet who is backward might be said to write inverse,
The German, sausage eating kind must be amongst the wurst.
If you eat chocolate money do your lips need to be pursed?
Do actors that die on the stage just need to be rehearsed?
A bicycle can’t stand alone because it is two tyred,
Whilst a pub which had a steeple might be said to be inspired.
An archaeologist’s employment lies in ruins when he’s hired,
But a potter can’t be doing well unless he’s often fired.
If you don’t pay your exorcist you might get repossessed,
But, madam, if you wed you’ll get a new name and a dress.
Though time flies like an arrow, fruit flies like banana best,
And an overtired policeman might take time out for arrest.
A plateau is apparently the highest form of flattery.
A trencher on the other hand is just a form of plattery,
And a fish and chip emporium’s a place of salt and battery,
Whilst Elliot’s Old Possum book is doggerel (or cattery?)
A highway crossing chicken is just poultry in motion.
When van Gogh tore his lobe off this was cranial erosion.
Aftershave for leprechauns might make a small implosion,
But a stupidly beached cephelapod’s a whale without a notion.
When you’ve seen one shopping centre then you’ve seen a mall I guess.
The same is true for punning rhymes when more is often less.
So when I say enough’s enough, t
he answer should be ‘yes’,
(Although an oeuf can be good as a feast some folk profess).
(March 2005)
I Wrote an Ode Today
I wrote an ode today, Oh joy, about a man who sat alone at home.
He didn’t have a single thing to say. There wasn’t much of anything to fill a poem.
I only wrote a single verse, while he stared vacantly towards the party wall.
What made the situation even worse was that there was no party there at all,
And all the while the tinny speakers trickled out their sickly sound,
Which dribbled slowly down the walls and soaked into the empty ground.
I wrote an ode today, Hurray, about a man who’s given up and gone away.
(January 2004)
If I Saw Red
If I saw red, would you be blue?
Would you sip soup if I sup stew?
If I were one, would you be too?
Would you shun hats if rain were dew?
If I said wood, would you say yew?
Would you say s’team if I said s’crew?
If I were lean, would you be true?
Would you be thrown if we were through?
Don’t say you can’t when we canoe.
When it’s your prompt don’t leave the queue.
Don’t groan when I say high seas grew.
(An ocean’s just a point of view).
Can undergrowth be overdue?
Could Old St be an avenue?
Were March skies grey when cold winds blew?
Is Catherine wheel a cross whirred clue?
A worm park might not be ooze zoo.
An honest thief might not construe.
And bad smells aren’t just for the phew.
But that’s enough…….
shalom, adieu.
(March 2004)
Are People with Fat Heads Broad Minded?
My keyboard is depressed, but I’m O.K.
My carpet is downtrodden, but I’m fine.
My antiques are distressed,
And my shirts are all repressed,
Even my house number’s odd, and yet I’m fine.
My freezer’s pretty cool, and so am I.
My paper’s on a roll, and so am I.
My desert is just a fool,
And my measure works to rule,
But my drill works on the whole, and so do I.
My computer is PC, and so am I.
My garden has neurosis, but I’m fine.
My TV‘s AC/DC,
And my crossword is uneasy,
When my garden gnome imposes, but I’m fine.
My melon’s feeling chilled, and so am I
My neighbour is near sighted, but we’re close.
Though my suitcase is fulfilled,
And my matches are all spilled,
My candle is delighted, so am I.
My prayers might need amending, but I try.
This poem is outgoing, I’m just shy.
There are no more verses pending,
No more puns nor silly endings,
When to stop is well worth knowing, so ‘goodbye’.
(August 2006)
Parrots of the Caribbean
The Caribbean’s mostly blue
Except the islands which, it’s true,
Are several multi coloured hues
Some of which are green.
Palm trees growing on the shores
Wave their wide fringed fronds towards
The open sea without much pause
To think about the reefs below.
Those coral reefs beneath the ocean
Have scant sense of time or motion,
And only share the barest notion
Of the role of bees.
A crab that scuttles on the beaches
Finds he has no time to teach his
Young the art of making speeches
Or to dance merengue.
While parrots in their gaudy frocks
Wheel above the sea washed rocks
In raucous red and yellow flocks
To sing their loud calypsos.
(June 2004)
Pirates of the Caribbean
Pirates mostly rob and plunder
Casting nobler souls asunder
Hearts and beards as black as thunder
(Unless they are marooned).
(June 2004)
A Question of Balance
Tight rope walkers shouldn’t cough,
In case it makes them topple off.
But if a tickle should begin,
And there’s no way to keep it in,
There’s one thought they should bear in mind,
As equilibrium unwinds.
It hurts less falling to the side,
Than dropping down with legs astride.
(May 2008)
Special K
Certain words, you must agree,
Always go spontaneously,
In pairs.
You never see them on their own.
They shun to venture out alone,
As though they’d shrivel up and die,
Without the other standing by.
To see a spick without a span is,
Even more unlikely than is,
Finding nooks without their crannies,
And I’ll wager that you’ve never,
Seen two dribs walk out together,
Without pairs of matching drabs.
It’s almost certain it would wither,
If you came across a hither,
Separated from it’s thither,
And no self respecting bobs would,
Leave their bits where any passing knobs could,
Knock them off or kick them into touch.
Whilst odds and ends don’t go out
