The Tale of Nessy the Totnes Monster – it’s a biggie!
They dredged the lake
with a thirty-foot rake;
and a fishing-net with holes.
They sent down divers
with handfuls of fivers;
and iridescent poles.
They looked all around;
but, nothing was found,
it seemed Nessy just wasn’t at home.
Then came a sound,
that trembled the ground;
Nessy had returned from her roam.
TBC
A table full of Starlings;
eating up their fill;
ten more upon the fence;
and then more starlings still.
Alfred Hithcock’s not in sight;
although we have his cast;
hurry up you starlings,
the food it will not last!
The Green-Eyed Monster bit me on the leg;
and I had to go to A & E,
for a tetanus jab;
then the writing bug grabbed a hold of me;
I wrote many letters of my complaint;
but, was soon packed off to rehab.
There I met an evil fate,
and an even worse end;
they had been incarcerated
a long time ago –
when? Nobody does know.
But, them I did befriend;
and we played hopscotch
with a 12-year old malt,
until it broke the spirit of the thing,
and denied that it was anybody’s fault.
Later, I trod the boards;
crossed swords,
and smuggled out a few quasi-illegal phrases, stiff sentences, and harsh words.
It had been a fun day –
I think it was a Monday.
Posted in Poetry
I can’t see you;
because you are not all there.
I don’t relate to you;
because you are not family.
I can’t understand you;
because you speak the same language as me,
differently.
Posted in Poetry
I used to be a Window-Cleaner…
I gave it up – it’s too dangerous a profession!
It’s not the wobbly ladders,
Or the heights
It’s this…
“Lol!” I cried when I saw him drop,
His bucket, his chamois, his polishing mop.
“Don’t ‘lol’ he cried, with tears in his eyes,
“For every time some one dares to ‘lol’
A window cleaner dies!”
I stopped in my tracks
And gulped with dismay
At the knowledge I’d gained
From that man
On that day.
And, now, when I hear
Someone near, shouting ‘lol!’
I think of the window-cleaner
Whose fate bell does toll;
And I then tell that ‘loller’
About what that man said;
You know, the one I spoke of earlier,
Who is now probably dead.
Posted in Poetry
Oh, Cardenio,
where did you go, my friend
if you ever existed at all.
How I would love to spend
time with you,
pouring over your words and
learning from all the things you have to say.
Barnaby the Banana Bee
was fluttering and flitting
amongst the flowers.
He was searching for something;
but, he wasn’t quite sure what.
Was it a Blueberry Bush?
No, not a Blueberry Bush,
nice though it was.
Was it a Lemon Tree?
No, not a Lemon Tree,
deduced Barnaby,
a regular little Sherlock Holmes was he.
Was it the Staddle Stone?
’No. It was never going to be the staddle stone’,
mused Barnaby the Banana Bee.
What was the colour of the thing
that Barnaby was busy seeking?
Was it Blue?
No.
Green? Red? Black? Grey?
No, No, No, and No.
Ah, there was the colour he was looking for;
just the right shade, in the shade,
by the door;
there, stood the Banana Tree.
Barnaby made a bee-line for it,
and reaching it, was so happy.
”it’s bananas are ’yellow’ just like me!” said Barnaby the Banana Bee.
