Author Archives: Words from a Lentil Institution

Little white flower

If I had the power,

I would spend on hour

Watching the little white flower

seeing how it grew.

War an Voos

“War an Voos”

Not a missive from Tolstoy,

but a possible name

for something or other

that I might

or might not do.

It might mean something to me,

but probably little to you.

War an Voos

is ‘on the table’

and can be used as such.

I like the idea,

but can I put it into practice,

or should I kick it

into touch?

The Collared Dove(s)

The collared dove

spoke of love,

as one who’s been there before;

another dove did listen,

and did surely the first adore.

.

Soon, the two, did bill and coo,

and those they were their names,

they loved each other dearly,

and played their loving games.

The Green chameleon

‘Wow.’ said the chameleon,

with less enthusiasm than a house brick,

‘I’ve got a green tail,

and nobody makes much fuss about that.’

.

The comet hit the planet Earth

at quite a few miles per hour,

and the chameleon

still wasn’t impressed.

Yet, the dinosaurs were visibly moved

by the experience.

Because you liked a poem from insert famous poet’s name here we thought you might like this poem

How wrong they were.

I do not concur;

If I had been William the Bee,

I would boy conquer,

or I might have,

but not told

anybody,

especially Harold,

who could just carry on

unaware

that I was even there.

Classic Song Lyrics – The Taximeter Car (c.1906)

THE TAXIMETER CAR

Just now the taximeter car in London’s all the go
They’re flying all around the town and making quite a show
The driver with his uniform a big sensation’s made
The poor old cabby and the bus are fairly in the shade, so

Chorus:Oh, the car, the taximeter car
It’s better than taking a trip to Spain
Or having your honeymoon over again
If you’re out with your sweetheart, your mater or your pa
Do it in style
At eight pence a mile
In a taximeter car

You open the door and get inside and light a big cigar
And fancy you’re the owner of a slap-up motorcar
The man in front is driving while you lay back on your own
And if there’s a breakdown, you don’t have to push it home. So

Chorus:

For newly married couples it’s the best thing that is out
It fairly beats the hansom cab, without the slightest doubt
While driving to the station, to go on your honeymoon
The driver can’t look through the top, and watch you kiss and spoon, so

Chorus:

All together, ha, ha It’s a lovely Chorus: isn’t it?
It’s better than taking a trip to Spain
Or having your honeymoon… eight pence a mile eh,
They charge you about five shillings when you get there
Oh, Do it in style
At eight pence a mile
In a taximeter car.

Written and composed by Harry Heath & Will Hyde – 1906, Performed by Billy Williams (1877-1915)

NB I was listening to a radio production of the Psmith stories by P.G. Wodehouse and they took the ‘Taximeter Car’. Which became the ‘Taxi’. G:)

https://youtu.be/34m-97I_SWg

go to this link on YouTube if you would like to listen to the song.

The Missing Prompt

I sought a prompt

to inspire my imagination,

to allow me to write

upon subject interesting,

not matters trite;

but,

sad to say,

there was no prompt in evidence,

and so I flounder about like a—-

flounder?

I can tell

it’s going to be that sort of day.

My suitcase

Made from reconstituted bananas,

my suitcase

was filled with all manner of clothings.

From the flip-flops of a pharaoh,

to a hat worn by the Olympian gods,

there was nothing that wasn’t at odds

with current styles,

but all valued mementoes

of many worthy whiles.

Friday Frenzy

Friday Frenzy

Have to say

say to much

push all senses

into touch

don’t have stanzas

just one block

keep it rolling

culturedshock!

Thursday Throwback – You are the audience – from over three years ago!

You are the audience

You…

are the audience;

and

I

am the poet

(If you are, at any stage of my act, amused – please show it –

if you have any overripe fruit

I ask you, please,

‘not’ to

throw it),

and we should get on fine.

These poems,

that I am about to perform,

are all mine;

unless they stink,

in which case, ‘Wordsworth’ wrote them in indelible ink.

I begin this evening’s performance

with a poem that has an overlong title;

but considerably few ‘actual’ words in it.

This poem is called, ‘What chance have you got, when the world gives you lemons, and oranges are the only fruit?’

Vitamin C

means

‘little’

to me.

And here I do the universal gesture for ‘my current poem has finished’ (puts arms to side like a poorly Harrier Jump Jet), please be clapping or raucously ‘cheering’ but only for two point four seconds, as I have a schedule to keep to’.

Thank you.

My second poem… of twenty – just joking! – is called, ‘Whither did you come from, my love; and was there a stork or a gooseberry bush involved?’

I looked upon your face,

and paused;

three hours later, sad to say,

I remembered what it was I’d caused,

found the remote control,

and pressed ‘play’ –

you were not at all impressed.