Monthly Archives: November 2017

The Lady Who Loved Cats.

Subtitle: Eaten By Cats

All through her life

She was eaten by cats;

‘Feed them,

Water them

(so they grow)’

She gave them names

So she’d know

which was which;

Toys she supplied

And scratching posts, too;

She had more big cats

Than the tiniest zoo.

And as she grew older

The cats came and went

She replaced a lost ‘kitty’

With a ‘kitty’ from Kent

(Oh, yes, she adopted them, too!)

And the numbers increased

There were dozens and more;

She kept fifty in the house

And had another fifty at the door.

Then, one day, she died;

And the cats were not fed:

“Feed us, Feed us! Here and now!”

Which is what they were saying with their ‘Me-ow, meow!” It is said.

The cats did ask

The cats did beg

Until one hungry tabby

Sniffed hungrily at a leg…

On a velocipede made for one – somewhere in England in the mid 1870s.

On a velocipede made for one – somewhere in England in the mid 1870s.

“Straddle the saddle

Paddle and skedaddle

Until into a staddle

Stone you do ride!”

Ouch! And all are

Cross, bar none.

The staddle-stone owner

Was none to happy;

Though, normally, a happy sort of chappy;

But, the cyclist – a loner

And, now a pain-groaner

Had naddled his grunions – he had!

He later spoke much of his choice

In buying this ‘thing’

And in such a high voice

That the glassware did ring –

And a Champagne flute broke

From the strain.

Our Velocipedist did the Anglo-Saxon language enlist

To describe how he felt when he’d landed;

The ladies did blush

The Gentlemen present said “Hush!”

And a ‘scallywag type’ he was branded.

The Velocipede of this injured chap’s mishap,

Was bartered for scrap;

And was never to set sail again;

For the man with high voice

Waited for Messrs. Rolls and Royce

To invent something that was not quite such a pain.

I Have Seen The Dancing People.

I have seen the dancing people,

They love to move before the fire;

And when the flames are roaring bright,

Then the people dance with much desire;

And when the flames die down and fade,

The dancing people

To rest are laid.

A Staiku (stair-ku)

Writing Staiku on the stairs

Taking people unawares;

Until it’s teatime, of course;

At which time…

She will head for the kitchen.


“A Bloomin’ Balladeer!” – a song.

“A Bloomin’ Balladeer!”


Everywhere I go


The people tell me: “No!


Don’t you come round here


You’re a bloomin’




“No!” I said


“I’m just a simple poet.”


And they said; “Oh!


Wouldn’t you bleedin’ know it!


It’s really gone downhill,


Around here.


You’re no better than a


busker on the pier!”


“On the beer?”

(No chords)

“No, a busker on the pier;

Can’t you even hear;


A poet is no better


Than a busker on the pier.”


NB or PS

A bit ‘Jake Thackray’ in places – but, that’s not a bad thing. You have to imagine the voices of the townsfolk – they are a bit peeved at the newcomer (a nod to my new location). G:)

I Met The Bard, Today (oh, boy!).

I met The Bard again today;

He made me laugh

I had to say;

He’s not normally big on jokes;

And his histories and tragedies

All end with piles of blokes

Littered around the stage

They die to order

Off the page.

But, today,

I laughed at his funny face

And, for a moment,

All was well with the spinning Globe

Of the Human Race .

The Clothes-Folder

Jane bought me a clothes-folder –

Like the one that Sheldon has –

It’s really rather good.

It’s made out of strong plastic,

And not made out of wood.

I laughed when the Postie did deliver it;

And it lay unopened for a while;

But, when unwrapped

And comprehended

Its usage made me smile.

Now all our clothes are folded so neatly

And in the cutest little rows

There seems to be so much more room

When a T-shirt in it goes.

We have taken on clothes-folding

We shall not be caught unawares;

We are now an ordered little tribe;

And as it amused me oh so very much

This ditty I did scribe.