42 – The Ultimate Answer

Poem number 42
The Ultimate Answer
Thank you, Douglas Adams for the world of Frogstar B
Thank you for the monkeyman who’s always craving tea
Thank you for the Vogons, so un-bricklike in the sky
Thank you for the formula for learning how to fly
Thanks for Slartibartfast driving quickly, like my wife
Thanks for poor old Marvin and his disappointing life
Thanks for Zaphod Beeblebrox, for Trillian, The Guide
Thanks for Ford’s old satchel and the towel he keeps inside
Thanks for mice and peanuts and the number 42,
I wrote ‘Don’t Panic’ on my tablet, and it’s all because of you.


432 – I Might Kill You Tonight

Poem number 432


I Might Kill You Tonight


I might kill you tonight

But then again I might not.

You sleep, so trusting, beside me with no ounce of fright

But who am I?

The gentle, smiling husband, all sweetness and light

Or the murderous stranger?


I might kill you tonight

As I have killed others, perhaps

My murderous urges have been hidden from sight

By decorum and patience

But perhaps, underneath, your wrong is my right

And I will snap.

But then again, I might not.

We’ll have to wait and see.

434 – Holy Marshmallow!

Poem number 434


Holy Marshmallow


God’s beard is made of marshmallows

Or so I’ve heard it told,

Marshmallows so wonderous

They can cure the common cold


To touch a Godly Marshmallow

Is tantamount to bliss

And to taste a Godly Marshmallow?

Oh! Audrey Hepburn’s kiss!


But you can’t touch Godly Marshmallows

It’s simply not allowed,

They have to stay right where they are

Above the Godly Cloud


For God is quite protective

Of his sugar laden beard

And I’m sure he’d be a little miffed

If bits just disappeared


Indeed they say that years ago

A lad called Jack Mcghee

Tried to steal a Marshmallow

And take it home for tea


He climbed up to the Godly Cloud

And found the Godly house

Then crept in through the window

Like a sneaky little mouse


He softly climbed the Godly stairs

To where the good Lord slept

He took a pair of scissors

But was, sadly, so inept


With the scissors that he missed the beard

And pricked the Godly chin:

With a roar the Godly Lord awoke

And ripped off all Jack’s skin


Enraged, he ground up all Jack’s bones

And baked them into bread

Then he burnt the loaf on purpose

Just to make sure he was dead


So remember, though delicious

That Marsmallow’s not for you

It’s a part of God’s hirsuiteness

It’s not there for folks to chew


It’s not worth the risk to life and limb

So follow my advice:

Just stick to earthly marshmallow

Which, though it’s not as nice


As the Godly stuff aboard His chin

Is good for you, I swear

‘Cause the thing with Godly Marshmallows

Is God don’t like to share!

437 – Christmas Spirit

Poem number 437


Christmas Spirit


Oh Santa with your nose so bright

Don’t you drive that sleigh tonight

You’ve had too many apple schnapps’

You’re tipsy and you may collapse

So toss those sleigh keys over here

I’ll come along and help you steer

I’ll help you drop those presents down

The chimneystacks of every town

We’ll make a rather spiffing team:

You call the shots, I’ll live the dream

And when at last the morning comes

I too will have a shot of rum –

The elves can put the sleigh away

Whilst we drink toasts to Christmas day!

438 – No More Mr Spice Guy

Poem Number 338


No More Mr Spice Guy


I live above a takeaway

The smell seeps through the door

I used to like a curry

I don’t eat them any more


I’ve washed and scrubbed for hours

But the smell won’t disappear

The curtains stink of balti

And the rugs of sag ponir


My nose is always tingling

From the cumin in the air

A turmeric aroma

Is embedded in my hair


My friends no longer visit

And at work they sit downwind

They’ve banned me from the deli

So I have to eat from tins


My girlfriend upped and left me

‘Cause she couldn’t stand the stink

Of tandoori in the bedroom

And pasanda from the sink


It didn’t used to be this way

When first I bought the flat

The downstairs was a sex shop

And a quiet one at that


There was no smell or odour

From the men in dirty macs

Who wandered round ‘just looking’

At the dildos on the racks


Their stock was clean not smelly

So my flat remained pristine

And they always shut by ten o’clock

So night-time was serene


Not like evenings now, of course

The take-out’s open late

And the customers are rowdy

So my sleeping isn’t great


I’ve tried to sell the premises,

Bring matters to a close,

But I couldn’t find a buyer

That was born without a nose


So I’ve realised, with a heavy heart

There’s just one way to win:

I’ve bought two tonnes of Semtex

And a detonator pin


I set the plastique round my walls

Then took the pin downstairs

And hid it in their telephone

Whilst they were unawares


And now I sit here dialling

From my Semtex ridden flat:

Pretty soon they’ll answer and…

Kaboom! That will be that!


No more stench of cumin

In the air and on my lips

At last the nightmare’s over

And they’ve had their curried chips


So bye bye dear masala

The battle went to you,

But I will win the war at last

You’ve met your vindaloo!

339 – The Lady With The Needle

Poem number 339


The Lady with the Needle


The lady with the needle sits, just sewing little tags

Onto socks and shirts and trousers and a brand new nylon bag

Her son starts school tomorrow, so she’s naming all his stuff –

So new and clean and perfect, not yet worn or torn or scuffed


I watch her as she works away, a distance in her eyes

And I know she’s not just sewing tags, but starting her goodbyes

He’s four years old and up to now just ours and ours alone

But tomorrow when he goes to school he’s started leaving home


First one school and then another, growing all the while

Bigger, faster, stronger, lighting others with that smile

No longer ours but everyone’s, a cog in the machine

Then out the door, an adult, when he gets to be eighteen.


So now she labels all the clothes we’ve bought with gentle care

But she’s also marking him, our lad, and saying “You beware!

This label shows he’s mine, MY boy, you best not be unkind

Or I’ll come and rip your eyes out and cut chunks from your behind!”


The boy, the clothes, both labelled, both pristine and oh so new

Both will get a little worn before the term is through

So we’ll mend the clothes and hug the boy and keep our fingers crossed

That neither gets too battered, that no vital parts get lost


And in the end that’s probably as much as we can do

We have to trust the wider world to care for what we grew

So the lady sits in silence, simply sewing little tags

On his shirts and socks and trousers, and his brand new nylon bag.

443 – Viva Los Enterprise

Poem number 443

(With all due apologies to any non-Trekkies)

Viva Los Enterprise!


Ahead Warp factor four – engage!

Tea, Earl Grey, hot

Get off my bridge!

Raise the shields!

Tasha Yar’s been shot


See me in my ready room

Q! I should’ve known!

You have the bridge

A warp core breach

I’ll beam down there alone


You’re now confined to quarters

Opinion, Number One?

Resistance is futile!

A good day to die!

Phasers set to Stun!

447 – Sic Transit

Poem Number 447

Sic Transit

Don’t walk the streets to work my love, I fear

It’s going to rain. Take the bus instead, my love

Then catch it back again.


Don’t walk the streets to work my love, I fear

You may fall down. Take the bus instead, my love

Then catch it back from town.


You took the bus to work my love, I fear

You met your end. The driver of the bus, my love

Lost traction through a bend.


I wish you were at work my love, I fear

Our empty home. If you’d walked to work, my love

I wouldn’t be alone.


I’m going to walk the streets my love, I fear

No falls or rain. I’ll dive under a bus, my love

And won’t come home again.

448 – Major General Toothbrush

Poem number 448

Major General Toothbrush

I have a special toothbrush

That I use to brush my teeth

He cleans away the evil plaque

And bits of shredded beef


He has a little motor

So his business end vibrates

And his bristles are quite clever

Because every one rotates


I keep him in the bathroom

By the sink, just to the right

And I gaze upon his wonders

When I go there every night


I sit upon the bowl and think

By jove! That’s quite a chap

Just waiting there so patiently

For me to run the tap


Standing at attention

Like a soldier on parade

Never prone to boredom

Always ready, never paid


When I squeeze the toothpaste

In a blob upon his head

Does he flinch or pull away?

No chance! He smiles instead


It only takes one tug upon

His starter motor cord

For his engine – brrmm! – to spring to life

And put my plaque to sword


Toothbrush! Major General!

I salute you, every day

Thank God for you and all your kind

Who help me fight decay!