Poem number 100 – Lovenote From The Pretty Girl Who Sits Behind You In Maths

Poem number 100
Lovenote From The Pretty Girl Who Sits Behind You In Maths
You’ve a face like a mummified arse
You’re the ugliest chump in the class
Your hair is like leather
Left out in bad weather
Your intellect’s barely a pass
Yet still you see fit to intrigue me
Your humour is second to none
Your jokes make me giggle
Although your hair wriggles
With headlice and nits by the ton.
Your nature is charming and gentle
I’m sure that you’re loving and kind
But your nose drips like tallow
And sadly I’m shallow
And have a fantastic behind
So I have to pretend to despise you
I have to submerge how I feel
But each jibe that I make
Simply makes me more fake
Whilst my ardour grows ever more real.


108 – Ode To A Speed Camera

Poem number 108
Ode To A Speed-Camera
Oh speed-camera, you have a painted yellow face
And a laser that points down the street.
You flash lights at drivers who like to race
So that they get fined for being too fleet,
We could do with you in the car park at Asda
Where several locals tend to drive too fast –
Especially that bloke in the Mazda,
You could wipe the smug grin off his face, at last.

138 Answerphone

Poem number 138
I can’t be bothered to write today
I’m tired and have no mind
So here’s a little poem
Of the pre-recorded kind:
“The poet isn’t in right now
So speak out at the beep
Or call him back tomorrow
When he’s not so half asleep,
And with luck he may just pen a verse
Or even write a rhyme
But today? No chance, el zilcho
So come back another time.”

146 -Poetic Learnings

Poem number 146
Poetic Learnings
I wish I understood
What makes a poem good
Why some verses work and others just fall flat.
If I only knew the rules
I could use them as my tools
To build poetry that’s lovely, just like that.
But maybe that’s just guff
And the rules are not enough
Perhaps it’s all instinctive, inner light.
And I haven’t got that spark
So I flounder in the dark
Over roads of odes to nowhere, endless night.

177 – Carpe Diem!

Poem number 177
Carpe Diem!
Beneath the pockmarked chalky moon,
The acne laden sky
They chanced to hear a crooner croon
Before they said goodbye.
He sang a song of solitude
Of love and loss and sex
The words were short and very crude
And left them both perplexed.
As they parted by her landlord’s door
She kissed him, rather chaste
Said “Darling if you really sure
I’m not a total waste
Will you shag me here, tomorrow
Underneath the moonlit sky?
I’d be rather filled with sorrow
If we never had a try.”
And the idiot, the total fool
Said “Could we not just kiss?
I think our chastity is cool
So let’s give sex a miss.”
The ‘morrow came as ‘morrow’s do
He brought a bunch of flowers
He stood there in his shiny shoes –
She didn’t show for hours,
When she did he said “You’re lagging!
We’re you victim of a crime?”
She said “No – I’ve been out shagging
And I lost the track of time.”
Then she kissed him, sadly, on the head
And waved a fond goodbye –
He should’ve nailed her on the bed
And not refused to try.
So the moral of this tragic ode
Beneath the pockmarked moon
Is that if you’re standing by the road
And hear a crooner croon
Then for Christ sake don’t be chicken –
Take your chance son, while you can
Or your girl will end up dickin’
Someone else, you stupid man!

209 – Ode To Ranieri

Poem number 209
Ode To Ranieri
Oh Claudio, you little gem
You little white haired ace
Your cat has killed the pigeons
There’s a smile upon my face
You made the experts eat their words
You stole the fat cats’ chips
Your underdogs have got their day
Your name is on the lips
Of the sporting world, a miracle
Birthed safely, right on cue
Through skill and guile and humour
And a steely eye or two
After 30 years of nearliness
You’ve done it sir! And how!
The Future won’t be Leicester’s
But you own the precious Now.

377 – An Ode to TMS

Poem number 377
An Ode To TMS
The world is pretty rubbish
There is no denying that,
So console yourself with TMS
Whilst England are at bat.
It’s a haven from reality
A dose of gentle calm –
The world of TMS
Is an oasis, full of balm.
No darkness dwells in TMS
No evil or mistrust
The news is never mentioned
And the only things discussed
Are the cricket, cakes and pigeons
Sometimes cranes and buffets too,
Henry’s suits and Andrew’s stats
A DRS review
Geoffrey’s stick of rhubarb
Gales of laughter at a pun
Then Aggers with his podcast
When at last the day is done.


You can hide yourself in TMS,
Cocooned within its charm
Some would say that’s cowardly
But I say what’s the harm?
Is the child who keeps the light on
So the monster doesn’t feast
To be thought of as a lesser child
Than one who slays the beast?
If a day beside the wireless
Can restore a man’s good cheer
If a rainy morn’ with TMS
Can ease a mortal’s fear
Then it’s medicine, a tonic
And not cowardly at all
Which is why in these foreboding times
I scarcely miss a ball.
So here’s to TMS, I say
For giving us a break
For keeping us from monsters
Here’s to TMS, and cake.

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!