NEWSY, NEWSY

Newsy, newsy
Suzy the Floozy
(Not very choosy)
Met Boozy Susie
(Always woozy)
Then had a twosie
In the Jacuzzi
Floozy and Woozy
Then got all Oozy
And decidedly bluesy
Before Suzy the Floozy
(Not very choosy)
And Boozy Susie
(Always woozy)
Got a bit snoozy
Twosie Suzie’s
Newsy, newsy

WHO’S THE WANKER IN THE BLACK?

The song of the supporters pack
“Who’s the wanker in the black?”
That was the chant
But no longer, for you cant
Disrespect the referee
For a man such as he
Is to be protected
And respected
And no one must speak ill
Even if forced to swallow the bitter pill
Of un-just officialdom
Which is NOT seldom
No manager may mutter
Query or utter
Discontent in the refs direction
For to commit such an indiscretion
Will see them had up before the FA
Where a fine must be paid
And be sentenced to a touchline ban
For insulting the black clad man
But why should they be protected
And forcibly respected
They are a professional group
And well salaried to boot
They no longer officiate
In their amateur state
Low-tech refereeing
A hobby to be fitted in
Attending the scene of their crime
In their spare time
With no remuneration
For their dedication
No “bread and honey”
Just enough for petrol money
If lucky luncheon vouchers maybe
For a cup of tea
And a pie to warm the soul
Before disallowing a perfectly good goal
It was much better then
With those amateur men
And be able to say to their faces
That they were bloody disgraces
I don’t think we have progressed
Now we have professional refs
They now think themselves important
And no longer want to hear the chant
But I still want to sing with the pack
“Who’s the wanker in the black?”

LITTERBUG JITTERBUG

Discarded from a moving car
The litter travels very far
Each piece small or big
Performs a little merry jig
Each windblown piece at play
Participates in the ballet
Plastic bags float with ease
Waltzing high upon the breeze
Sweet papers flutter
Down in the gutter
Coke cans or maybe tango
Dance the tin can fandango
While larger papers jitterbug
Thanks to the litterbug

SQUALL

The grey skies are stormy and wild,
Strong winds gust and batter the land,
Rain carried by the squall
Peppers the windows like gravel
And stings the faces of the unfortunate traveller
God protect those caught abroad
On such a foul day as this
The winds whistle round the buildings
And make rag dolls of the trees
Being inside looking out is preferable
Warming by the fire with glass in hand
Loved ones safe about you
Ride out the storm in comfort
Until the stormy gales subside

SPRING IS HERE

Before the dawn has fully broken
I am all at once awoken
By wondrous songbird symphony
Though to some it is cacophony
But to hear the dawn chorus
Singing songs, loud and joyous
So my heart is simply soaring
For the season that I’m adoring
Now that its Spring my heart is lifted
For another Spring that God has gifted
When daffodils burst from the ground
And in the breeze they dance around
Grass is growing lush and green
The greenest that it has ever been
And with cherry blossom on the tree
Spring is here for all to see

ON SUN SCORCHED SAND

Beneath my shoeless feet
The sun scorched sand
Burned those who dwelt too long
In admiration of the vista
Beneath the swaying fronts
In the shadow of the palms
The white sands
Offered cool respite
I rested a while
Before I journeyed
Across the sun baked sand
To become immersed
In the cool of the ocean

MISTY MORNING

The early morning sunlight
Creeps across the meadow,
Where in the wet grass
The rabbits make their dawn patrol

In the meadows quiet corners
The sun glints on dewdrops
Trapped within the intricacies
Of a labyrinthine spiders web

Though the morning sun is weak
And too soft to burn the mist
It still banishes the darkness
And another day begins

SUNFLOWERS

They bloom in summertime
Blooms of golden orange
Heads the size of saucers
Unnaturally strange
They stand tall and straight
And super model thin
Large headed and skinny
Just like models again
Not grown for beauty
But for their numerous seeds
Ugly and ungainly
These giant unwanted weeds
Maybe I’m wrong to view them
As one of natures messes
But I can’t help thinking
They’re not one of God’s successes

CRADLE TO THE GRAVE

I’m taxed on what I earn
By the government knave
I’m taxed on what I spend
I’m taxed on what I save
And every penny in between
I’m taxed from cradle to the grave

FROM BEGINNING TO END

From school days
To pay days
From a lowly newbie
To the top of the tree
From earning a salary
To redundancy
From numerous applications
To endless rejections
From a life of worth
To a state of dearth
From adolescence
To obsolescence

THE THREE R’S

I was raised on the three R’s
At least on their importance
Reading, riting and rithmatic
Though spelling was more happenstance
But a greater three r ’s exist
Greater than literacy, grammar or fractions
Respect for oneself, Respect for others,
And Responsibility for all of your actions

OH GUARDIAN ANGEL

Oh guardian angel
Please watch over me
It would be a comfort
To feel the guarantee
That should I go astray
Watching over me
You would be there
To guide me back to safety

A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH

Wear your smile
Enjoy Life
If only for awhile

Enjoy the moment
It’s a special gift
That’s heaven sent

Life and death
Are separated
By a single breath

Then more or less
In an instant
Nothing-ness?

Then the sight
At the tunnels end
Of heavens light

HE BELIEVES IN YOU

Humanists and atheists
Refute God’s existence
But in all honesty
They mount a futile resistance
Because for all their vehement
Creation of fuss
The great lord God
Believes in them as well as us

YOU’LL NEVER WALK ALONE

He lived his life in the shadows
Hiding from Gods light
Not acknowledging his existence
Thinking he was out of sight
He thought he walked the road alone
Without the Lord by his side
But at the hour of his death
His faith could no longer be denied
On the darkness of this death
God lights a light to show his way
Shining his light of love
To comfort those left in disarray
As he walks in Gods light
Within the sound of Heavens bells
God illuminating his path
Now he walks with the angels


THE SAINTS AND THE ANGELS

The Saints and the Angels
Watch over us all the year round
You never know they are there
For they never make a sound

But they are there nonetheless
Watching over us everyday
And they are there to listen
When you have a need to pray
 
And should some weary soul
Let slip their earthly bonds
They have angelic company
On their way to the great beyond

DIFFERENT STROKES

We are poles apart
You are north to my south
We are different ends of the solar system
You are Mercury I am Pluto
We are contradictory
You are black to my white
We are from different ends of the earth
We inhabit different hemispheres
You are up and I am down
We should be knife and fork
Brush and paint
Cup and saucer
Pepper and salt
But we are not
How did we become man and wife?

ABSENCE MAKES THE HEART GROW FONDER
 
Absence makes the heart grow fonder
Is that really true I wonder
Does it work without fail
Or is it just an old wives tale
I’m not sure the advice is the best
And I’m fearful to put it to the test
For if I were to go away
For a month, a week, a day
I fear I wouldn’t miss you and pine
But would think our separation fine

EUTOPIA (HAIKU)

Darling buds of May,
appearing in endless dreams
of bountiful days

I LOVE IT AT THE SEASIDE

I love it at the seaside out of season
When the bathers are not there
The beaches are no longer sun kissed
The sands are empty and bare

I love it at the seaside
On a bright sunny winters day
When you can stroll along
With out people getting in the way

You pick your way along the shore
Picking up driftwood and shells
Skim stones across the water
Without soliciting angry yells

I love it at the seaside
The deck chairs are all stored away
On the sea front all is quiet
And the car park is free all day

I love it at the seaside
The shops are shut and battened down
All the amusement arcades are shut
But not the Rose and Crown

OUT IN THE COUNTRY

Driving down country lanes
Top down, wind in my hair
The sun gracing the sky
The wind set fair
The smell of hay,
Freshly mowed
Beasts in the fields
Beyond hedgerows
Blue cloudless skies,
On a glorious summer’s day,
The only blot being
The cyclists in my way


OUT IN THE COUNTRY, AGAIN

When driving the byways
Travelling far and wide
Whether the lakes or the peaks
Or any of the countryside,
One thing that’s guaranteed
To frustrate the driving clan
And cause them to become irate
Is to get stuck behind a caravan

I WENT TO A FUNERAL TODAY

I went to a funeral today
What a totally depressing day
In was a humanist service
Cold and utterly soulless
With some mumbling buffoon
Waffling on in monotone
A couple of poorly read poems
From some well thumbed tomes
And ended in a fit of irony
To the tune of “stay with me”
He was not religious I will concede
But even a man lacking a creed
Should be launched into oblivion
To the sound of a rousing requiem

DEFEND IT TO THE DEATH

Liberals believe in freedom of speech
They support it on pain of death
And they will defend this principle
With their final dying breath

It’s the corner stone of liberalism
It’s the doctrine that they teach
However it most definitely helps
If you sing from their hymn sheet

BEFORE COMPUTERS TOOK OVER THE WORLD

Before computers took over the world
A virus was the flu, and a keyboard was a piano
A mouse pad was where a single mouse lived
And a CD was a bank account and a program was a TV show
The net was something you fished with
A monitor would report you to the teacher
An application was a form to be filled out
And Windows were opened to get fresh air
A hard drive was a long trip in the car
A web was a spider’s home, a cursor used profanity
Memory was something you lost with age
And if you had a 3 ½ inch floppy you’d tell nobody

MISSING OUT

They’ve taken all the fun away
It’s prohibited from the school day
Thanks to the politically correct crusade
And the heath and safety brigade
There can be no unacceptable names
Or boisterous competitive games
Now playing in the snow and ice
You must play games safe and nice
The nanny state has declared
That the nation’s children must be spared
But when I was a child we did alright
And we did survive an occasional fight
But we had more freedom in my view
We could choose what things to do
You didn’t have to climb in trees
Or pick the scabs off wounded knees
You didn’t have to play kiss chase
Or catch a snowball in the face
You didn’t have to make a slide in the snow
If you didn’t want to you could say no
Conkers was not a compulsory game
You didn’t have to call girls names
You could roll in the grass again and again
Or jump in puddles after heavy rain
You didn’t have to skip with girls
Or run with grass seed in your curls
If you didn’t want to there was no need
You could sit alone and quietly and read
But if you chose to you could do it
And after all we were young and fit

POETS OF YORE

Great poets, wordsmiths of yore
Prose and rhyme did write
Of matters that went before
Viewing them in poetic light