309 – A Sonnet to my Car
Two years and a half I’ve had to treasure, To know the secret places of your soul. I like to think I’ve helped to make you whole - Insured you for business and for pleasure. When vandals kicked out your left quarterlight And splattered eggs across your bonnet fair, I swore I’d take revenge both fair and square (And park you ‘neath a streetlamp overnight). For cosseting you seems to help you start, When damp and cold have set into your points. With WD40 I anoint And let you lift on wings this driver’s heart. I’ll let no-one else drive you, for you’re...
Read MoreSonnet II – Flood
There is one teacher wonders ‘round the school His shambolic pace a lesson in the arts Of wasting time, of looking like a fool. The concept, the very idea of being smart Is lost on him – he never has the time. His marking must be three weeks out of date. Still, he accepts prose, verse or rhyme If it’s good (even though it may be late). The day we find him in a happy mood Is written down – “Flood in good mood for once!” We fight, we talk, we swear, we eat our food - He doesn’t care. We might call him “Ponce”; He takes no notice. His lessons are a...
Read MoreSee, I Can When I Want To
Rhyme! It is such a terrible thing Although some, such as Morrissey, sing In it. Oh god, I’m doing it already, It’s all I can do just to keep my hand steady. Rhyme makes you sweat, rhyme makes you shiver. Your brain turns to jelly and so does your liver. It’s easy to think of rhymes just to start But often you’ll find, once past the first part That you’re dodging ideas just because they don’t rhyme And you can’t be bothered, or don’t have the time To search for a rhyme, which you quickly discard, Then guiltily use – finding others is hard. Well, it’s easy to snicker...
Read MoreOde to my Bum
O bottom, wherefore do thou jiggle so and sag beneath the hemline of my skirt? With every passing year you seem to grow; in time you will be dragging in the dirt. Thy cheeks are marred with spots and cellulite, and stetch-marks hover ‘neath your pale white skin. The left one seems more fulsome than the right when you should be a perfect pair, a twin. Would that I could remove your veins and spots with creams and unguents specially prepared. Then hoist you ‘neath a sunlamp bright and hot to take away your pallor and make fair. But how to make your wobbling flesh lay quiet? My only...
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