Poem number 1
The Very Last Poem
This is the very last poem
I’ve got to the end of the road
For better or worse
There’ll be no more verse
When I’ve got to the end of this ode.
This is the very last poem
I’ve run out of meter and rhyme
The cupboard is bare
No haikus in there
Just silence, to last for all time.
This is the very last poem,
I’ll leave with a thought if I may:
There’s magic in words
So if life gives you turds
Just read, and the shit goes away.
Poem number 2
On Vegetables And Destiny
I was only the Greengrocer’s bag-boy
But I knew how to dig up a spud
I could pick perfect peas
And shake fruit from the trees
Tell a good runner bean from a dud.
The village folk called me Veg Wonder
And said with my skills I’d go far
But bored with my greens
I soon split the scene
In a knackered and rusty old car.
I drove up the coastline to Norway
Where I granted my dying mum’s wish
I opened a chippy
Called Old Mr Drippy
And spent my life battering fish.
Poem number 4
A girl with no boobs in her bra
Said “A flat chest is better by far,
‘Cause golf is my thing –
Boobs would hamper my swing
And I’d never get round under par!”
Poem number 5
Wise Olde Shakespeare
Fret ye not on tynee thinges
Saide Shakespeare to his wyfe
Sette yor minde on positives
To help ye thro yure life
Putt that bunyon out yure head
And thinke insted of me
I may be pore at presente
But wille mayke it big, you’ll see.
Poem number 9
I’ve just been sick
I don’t feel right
I’m off to bed
An early night
To close my eyes
And lie quite still
And hope there’s no more
Poem number 10
Friday is as Friday does
With Saturday to come
Stick your Monday Tuesday
Wednesday Thursday up your bum
Sunday’s nice and peaceful
But it’s over far too quick
Then it’s Monday, far from Friday
It’s not fair, it makes me sick!
Poem number 11
Do your stuff Miss Marple
Find the killer, root them out!
Elucidate on motive
And eliminate all doubt,
Gather folk together
With the killer in their midst
Serve up some red herrings
And then cross them off the list
Before finally, The Great Reveal!
The murderer is named!
Confession, then they’re hauled away
Miss Marple wins the game!
Poem number 13
Damn You, Albert Einstein!
An hour at home takes half an hour
An hour at work takes three
All because of Einstein
And his Relativity
If he’d only stuck to patents
And ignored his big IQ
Then I could leave for work at lunchtime
And be home by half past two!
Poem number 14
No One Loves Their Bed Like A Parent Loves Their Bed
Oh soothing sensuous blissful bed
Oasis where I rest my head
The children sleeping down the hall
No tantrums now, no bouncing ball
No battles fought with cardboard sword
No pleas for things we can’t afford
No ‘Dad, Dad, Dad!’ Or ‘Mum, Mum, Mum!’
No skinless knee or damaged thumb
Just bed, and peace and space to pause
Just darkness in a worthwhile cause
The day was long and much enjoyed
But now, in bed, my spirit’s buoyed
By thoughts of all those hours ahead
With nought to do but lay in bed
Was e’er a rest well loved as this
A parent’s bed, a place of bliss.
Poem number 15
I’m off on holiday today
I’m off to get some peace
In an English country idyl
With the pigs and ducks and geese
I’ll put my past behind me
Spend a weekend on the farm
In Midsomer, what a lovely place
No chance I’ll come to harm.