Poerty for two beasts and a wizard

A flim flam

And a falafel

Where sitting on a post

The flim flam looking bemused

As it ate some thickly sliced hot toast

You appear to have lost something

The flim flam inquisitively said

I have . . .

 I have lost a beautiful Rudy said the falafel

And it’s very very red

The flim flam smiled

As it looked out upon the Sunny day

And said

Is that it glinting discreetly?

Down there among the hay

But as they watched

A wizard picked it up

And held it in his hand

He however noticed

The narrowing eyes of the flim flam

Looking directly at his face

I suggest you give that back to its owner

As not too would be a positive disgrace

But the wizard laughed and said . . . .  Or what

As wizards tend to do

But the flim flam ate him

And on the wizard the flim flam it did chew

Until there was nothing left but a very red Ruby

Which it happily returned to the falafel

Because that’s what flim flams do . . . . .

Poetry for taking the kids in the Car

..

 

 

Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD

No No there is a long way to go

Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD

I just said we are not, and the traffic is quite slow

Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD

No I have just said, why don’t you play I Spy

Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD

No, will you stop asking or I will hit you with the cat and that will make you Cry

Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD

Look up there in the sky it’s a large Vampire Zombie Rook.

That eats small children that ask stupid questions

Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD

Just keep quiet and read a book

Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD

OK that’s it I have had enough

 

DAD. . . .Why have you locked me in the Boot I cant see.

.Are we nearly there yet . . . . . . . DAD

 

AAAAAuuuuuuuuugggggggHHHHHHHHHH.

 

 

 

DAD. . . . . . . . . The Cats Dead.

.

.

.

 

WHAT?

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Poetry for the Perfect Crime

I have trimmed the lawn
And cut the hedge
Watered the plants
And buried Reg
Underneath the patio
AH no sorry
No he has run away
To a foreign land
Or so I have been led to understand
And all his dogs have run away
And will not be back
So the neighbours say
And it was a shock to see
His house burn down
The fire brigade stuck
Just out of town
By a fallen tree on the track
Plus a several boulders in a sack
And a huge hole
Dug in the dead of night
Something the fire brigade said
Was a bit suspicious and not quite right
Meaning Reg’s house has completely  gone
Destroying the scene of the crime
Sorry I mean
Reg must be having a terrible time
Wherever he is
Although none of us know
But he is definitely not
Under my patio
.
AH
DAMN
.

Maybe I should not have said that.

Poetry for a Ticking Clock

The ticking clock

Goes tick tock

Tick tock

Even when placed

Behind a rock

And placed inside

A smelly sock

You can be sure

That it still goes

Tick tock

Tick tock

Because it is

The great eternal

Ticking clock

And

Even Einstein

Tried and tried

To stop the tick tock

So he could slide

Through the fabric

Of time and space

But in the end

He had to face

The great eternal

Ticking clock

Of the

Human

Race

Poetry for Witches and a Garden Gnome

There are witches
In the woods they say
That run about Naked
Both night and day
But I’m not convinced
This is entirely true
As there are insects
That bite
And in the cold of winter
The witches would
Turn blue
Although in the summer
It might make more sense
But even then
The undergrowth can be Spiky
And very dense
But being witches I guess
They can always cast a spell
So even dancing naked
Can end sort of well
With just a few scratches
From their faithful cats
But I bet even then
On their heads
They keep their hats . . . (The Witches not the Cats)
But one thing I know
Is you would never catch me
Running naked in a wood
As folk would snigger
If they could
I am sensible and confine
Such activity
To the privacy of
My stately home
Where I can
Run about naked
With my mate
The Garden Gnome.

Poetry for Science sort of

 

Science it seems can be quite important
Particularly if you are an alien with a laser beam
Or Professor Bernard Quatermass
And his top notch scientific team
But slightly less so if you have a van
On Clacton beach and like to sell ice cream
(Like granddad)
All I know, which is not a lot
Is science can be jolly complex
And will mess with the thoughts
Inside your head
As someone explains time is just a paradox
And Black is really red.
And electrons are all just empty space
And the human mind
Will turn everything into a smiley face
And Polypropylene is a linear hydrocarbon polymer
Which once warmed up can change its shape
A bit like my
Auntie Grace
Who seldom has
A
Smiley face.
Even when she has been heated up.

 

.

Poetry for an incident on a diving board

The Kiple once called the Grustle a fool
When it hissed at man in a large swimming pool
Who distracted fell off the high diving board
And got left suspended by
His swimming trucks cord
The Grustle amused laughed and it laughed
The Kiple accusing it of creating a draft
The lifeguard saving the man
With his trusty pen knife
Cutting the cord the man then fell on his wife
Who below was filming on her mobile phone
The video ending abruptly
With a scream and a groan
And although slightly scratched and battered
They are now both stars
On YouTube so they say

Although it’s a YouTube video
The Grustle refuses to play

 

Poetry for Professor Brexit

The strange world of Professor Vatis Brexit
Is full of in’s and outs
Where people Stay
And people Leave
And some just sort of sway
It’s a land were leaders shout I’m in charge
But are chased by lots of other folk
Who reply very loudly No you’re not
And then throw them off Big Ben just for a joke
And others shout I am right
And you are quite plainly wrong
Where Icelandic folk
For reasons not known
Sing a happy happy song
Of course Professor Vatis Brexit watches bemused
As turmoil continues day after day.
Looking up from his desk
Winking at his colleague Professor Britstay
And saying
These British are as mad as a box of Frogs
In an Eccentric British
Sort of
Way

Poetry for the EU referendum

We have reached that day

Which seemed so very far away

The dreaded EU referendum vote

Which if we leave

Will cause some to cheer and some to grieve

And some to dress up as Horatio Nelson

While others will pretend to be pirates

Or spacemen or a pantomime horse

Which the rest of Europe

Will look upon baffled and confused

And tell each other . . . .

Well they are British of course

And we have never understood them

With their terrible Eurovison songs

And their silly cricket balls

And what kind of nation

Would throw wet sponges at vicars

Or play splat the rat

Amongst the village fete festive stalls

And why do they tolerate all that rain

Then complain about all of us

I mean have you ever been on their trains

Or their inter-city bus

But if they do vote to leave

Well it will be a rather sad sort of day

But it could be so much worse

They might decide to stay