Poetry for the EU referendum

goat man C3

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


Poetry for the Man of the Sea

the man of the sea 2

Behold the Great Man of the Sea
The heroic swimmer of Cromarty
Who swam all the way to Aberdeen
The greatest feat of swimming
There has ever been
And to astound onlookers
And stop them in their track
The next day he waved farewell
And then swam back
But he is a modest chap
And made no fuss


And after a cup of tea
At the harbour café
He set off home
On the local bus


The End

Poetry for my Trip to Scotland


I have been away
But now I’m back
I have been
Exploring Scotland
With my haversack
I got to see a Polar Bear
A Seal, some Dolphins
And an Artic Hare
(Ok the Artic Hare was hiding)
At first I stayed near Inverness
Ten feet from the sea
Where I ran about on the beach each day
As that is the sort of chap
I tend to be
(Yes OK I say ran I mean stagger about)
I then headed off to Aberdeen
To visit family
And they cheered and clapped
And said many things
Like gosh it must be time for you to go
And we were going to phone
But then well you know
Life is so jolly busy
And you are after all a bit totally mad
But it is good to see you we are very glad
And my cousin Andrew said DAMN
You have discovered my new address
But I said it was just an educated guess
And then I headed home
But was made rather ill
By a Motorway service Death Sausage
Which was certainly
Not a thrill
But I am getting better by the hour
And I’m sure sometime soon
Some ice cream
I will devour


Poety for Pirates at the Edge of the World

Fish in the Sea 1.

Here we go sailing on the blue briny Sea
Chasing Sea Monsters and Serpents
Drinking Rum, and sweet hot tea
Hauling the main sail as sailors always do
Shouting har har har me hearties
And singing the odd sea shanty or two
Chase a fair wind
For new adventures, in the great unknown
Right to the edge of the world
We hope to be blown
Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest
Yo ho ho we will go, and do our very best
Dropping anchor at tropical islands
Full of unknown tribes and strange beasts
And on the white silvery sands
We will have big barbeque feasts
Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum
Shout the crew
As they raise the Jolly Roger
And Jolly Roger complains
As the seagulls peck at his eyes
But this is what happens to
The English redcoat spies
And once we reach the edge
We will look over into the abyss
Before returning back to blighty
And giving the harbour wall
A Kiss

Poetry for an Escapologist doing handstands on a Police Car

Dancer 2


Delilah was a contortionist
And an accomplished escapologist
Who to annoy her Ex-boyfriend
Police Sergeant Jim McDonald Scar
Would do tricks upon the roof
Of his much beloved police car
Much to the amusement of a certain
Miss Salome Bridgewater White
As she was regularly arrested
For being a lady of the night
But she was reputedly or so it was said
A rather good friend
Of a local man of the church
The very reverered
John Samuel Arthur Spiller-Birch
So every morning she would be freed
Because she had seen the light of God
And claimed it was a dusky pink
Which Police Sergeant Jim McDonald Scar
Thought was very odd
But then each morning as he left
To go out on patrol
Delia would be doing handstands
On his roof of his car
And sticking pins in a voodoo doll
And dipping it in hot tar


And when ask why she was so bitter
She explained that at their wedding
He ran off leaving her standing in the aisle
As he said he had villains to catch
And it was going to take a while
Then he discovered
Delilah’s Uncle George
Was making fake money in his garden shed
So Police Sergeant Jim McDonald Scar
Went to see Delilah and said
I will not marry into the criminal classes
So our love affair is
That seems rather hard
And after all Uncle George makes very good fake money

Poetry for men who look at old Mechanical things

Jasper James 2 colour

The great mechanical Marvel
With its dual time elapsed
Escapement movement
Turns slowly on its axis
Gears spinning driving its
Built in helical spring
And with its divergence inverted organ pipes
It can be taught to loudly sing
It truly is a wonder
As grown men drool
Over its polished Brass pipes
And not just old men in rain coats
But even younger well suited types
And they will look and point
And nod in a knowing way
A way that women don’t understand
Even in the more enlightened times
Of the modern day man.
You see
The great mechanical Marvel
Is a product of the past
And modern ones are all plastic
And never ever last
As bits fall off
And the escape value sticks
And the all important
Trestle adjustment screw
Keeps moving
So you stick it in with glue
The great mechanical Marvel
Grow men looking at its polished Brass
Supping on an ice cold pint of beer
Will always reassure a chap
After being trapped in a large supermarket
With his wife
And a supermarket trolley
That will not


Poetry not approved by the local ornithological society

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My New Grumpy Poet Selfie, taken yesterday when I was attempting to look like a slightly cool poet which is why I have my sunglasses on. I was attempting to smile but I failed as I always do in photographs, I think its a timing thing a bit like poetry. The plan is always to be happy and somehow it sort of goes wrong

I don’t think I have posted this yet?



It is nice to set fire to a seagull
Or a robin or a crow or a huge scary eagle
Although some will say this should not be done
But even they will concede it is rather fun
And if folk say it’s a terrible thing to do
Just point out they throw chickens on their barbecue
You see us humans are a hypocritical lot
And most other lifeforms
Think we have just lost the plot
But there is nothing worse than being by the sea
When seagulls pinch your fish and a chip or two maybe
And such an event is surely bound
To invoke a sense of revenge as something you desire
So it is perfectly natural to set the seagull on fire
OK burning a robin or crow
Might be considered petty arson
But the burning of Eagles is best left
For the local vicar or parson
With the fire brigade close at hand
And a confused and bewildered ornithological society
Who are slightly grumpy?
And just