Rhyming Sausages
(i)
Sausages though tasty
Are difficult to rhyme.
Unlike pies
Which rhyme with skies for instance.
And lies, and surprise and sighs
And capsize and flies and prize.
To mention only seven.
(ii)
Sausages though tasty
Are difficult to rhyme.
Unlike a pasty
Which rhymes with nasty.
Oddly, it doesn’t rhyme with tasty.
(iii)
Sausages though tasty
Are difficult to rhyme
So I seldom eat them.
The Rhyming Diner
Dear waiter,
I’m sorry but the service was poor.
I’m not being picky
But the cutlery was sticky
And the soup ended up on the floor.
The stew was too gooey
The chicken too chewy
And yuck! That frozen chip.
So enough’s enough
I’m off in a huff
Here’s a poem instead of a tip.
Shearing on the Côte d’Azur
In playful homage to the summer jazz festival
a topiarized bush in the shape of a grand piano
stands on a roundabout outside Vence
Every Sunday morning, a blind musician
with green fingers, sits at the keyboard
and with a pair of garden shears, tunes it.
Jellyfish Morton
This morning out walking I saw
A jellyfish playing piano on the shore
The hottest jazz, the coolest blues
I started to dance in my shiny shoes
‘What’s your name?’ I asked
When he stopped for tea
‘Jellyfish Morton,’ he said
‘And you can take it from me
It don’t mean a thing if it ain’t got no sting.’
Then he slipped back into the sea.
A Good Age
On reaching a good age
She died
The years before
Had all been bad
Then she reached a good age
and died. How sad. How sad.
Rubber Bullets
They sound harmless but without a doubt
Rubber bullets rub people out
VAT
I do not value
Added tax
Windows of the Soul
If eyes are the windows of the soul
Are eyelids the window cleaners?
There are fascists
There are fascists
pretending
to be humanitarian
like cannibals
on a health kick
eating only
vegetarians.
Conservative Government Unemployment Figures
Conservative Government.
Unemployment?
Figures.
The Leader
I wanna be the leader
I wanna be the leader
Can I be the leader?
Can I? I can?
Promise? Promise?
Yippee, I’m the leader
I’m the leader.
OK what shall we do?
A Brush with Authority
Uncle Eno
To be a sumo wrestler it pays to be fat
‘Nonsense,’ said Eno, ‘I don’t believe that.’
So he took his skinny, little frame
To Tokyo in search of fame
But even with God on his side
Eno got trod on, and died.
Uncle Malcolm
Uncle Malcolm put the shot for Scotland.
When he retired he collected shots as a hobby
At the time of his death he had nearly 200
And in accordance with his last wishes
They were buried with him at St Giles’ Cemetery in Perth
Uncle Mal is now at rest, somewhere near the centre of the earth.
Uncle Pat
Going into bat against the Windies
in his first (and final) Test
Uncle Pat wore vinyl undies
and an armour-plated vest.
But in the panic to get dressed
(wickets falling thick and fast)
left his box off.
Third ball took his rocks off.
Uncle Jed
Uncle Jed, Durham bred,
raced pigeons for money.
He died a poor man however,
as the pigeons were invariably
too quick for him.
Cousin Nell
Cousin Nell married a frogman
in the hope that one day
he would turn into a handsome prince.
Instead,
he turned into a sewage pipe near Gravesend
and was never seen again.
Cousin Daisy
Cousin Daisy’s
favourite sport
was standing
on streetcorners.
She contracted
with ease
a funny disease.
Notwithstanding.
Hill of Beans
‘Life ain’t nuttin’ but a hill o’ beans,’
drawled Granma, and removing
her corncob pipe, spat a stream
of baccy juice into the empty firegrate
before settling back with a jug of bourbon
into her old rocking chair.
To think, only this time last year
she was working for the Welsh Water Authority.
Granny
Granny plays whist
better when pwhist.
Quick on the Draw
He was so quickonthedraw
he fired twice
had a haircut
a drink in the saloon
and rode out of town
before the sheriff ’s hand
hit the holster.
Slow on the Drawl
‘Howdy y’all’
said the Texan
(slow on the drawl).
Gun Love
After the outlaw had bitten the dust
Never again to rise
The sheriff takes you for a spin round his finger
Then blows the smoke from your eyes.
Moist
Oiled and snug
In a moist holster
Six deadly pearls
In a gross oyster.
Poem on the Underground
Concourse
Lonely on a crowded concourse?
Don’t grow cantankerous
Somebody loves you
Here at St Pancras.
Ode to the Leaf
(Nissan’s zero-emission electric car)
Cornering too fast
He came to grief
Spun out of control
Turned over a new Leaf.
Autosuggestion
My wife keeps hinting
It’s time we had a new car.
Autosuggestion.
Recycling
I care about the environment
And try to do what is right
So I cycle to work every morning
And recycle home every night.
Survivor
Everyday
I think about dying.
About disease, starvation,
violence, terrorism, war,
the end of the world.
It helps keep my mind off things.
Multi-Storey Car Park
If multi-storey car parks could talk
What stories they could tell
About cars, petrol and parking
But they can’t, which is just as well.
Multi-Storey Carp Ark
Five Ways to Help You Pass Safely through a Dark Wood Late at Night
Whistle a tune your father whistled when you were a child
Cross the first two finger
s of your left hand
If you lose sight of the moon hold it in the mind’s eye
Imagine the colours that surround you waiting for the first kiss of morning
Keep a Kalashnikov in the glove compartment.
Dear Scott
This is just to say
I have drunk
the plum brandy
that was in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
it was delicious
so cold
and so numbing
x Zelda
Drinking Song
Drink wine
Think romance
You’re a lover
Feel fine
Sing and dance
Fall over.
Passive Drinking
Is passive drinking dangerous?
You’d think not, but last night
After watching a man down fourteen pints
I passed out like a light.
Missed
Out of work
divorced
usually pissed.
He aimed
low in life
and
missed.
The Bright Side
Things are so bad
I am reduced to scraping
the outside of the barrel.
And yet, I do not despair.
In the yard there are many
worse off than myself. (Well, four:
A one-eyed rat
A three-legged cat
A corpse and the lavatory door.)
Hard Times
When we were up we were beaten
When we were down we were kicked
We used to be given meals-on-wheels
Until the wheels got nicked.
Depressed?
When you’re
depressed
deep rest
is best.
7 a.m.
Alarm clock sends fire engines
Clanging into my nightmares
Bedroom is cold
Reach out and put on my hangover.
Another Mid-Life Crisis
3 a.m. Feeling like death
and wanting to end it all
I reach for the paracetamol.
Will there be enough?
One by one I count them out. 72?
Need more to be on the safe side.
Rummaging around I add another 30.
That should do it.
Take the first two with a glass of water.
Feel better. Go back to bed. Fall asleep.
My Philosophy in a Nutshell
Nothing to hear, nothing to see
When will the nutcracker set me free?
Worry
Where would we be without worry?
It helps keep the brain occupied.
Doing doesn’t take your mind off things,
I’ve tried.
Worry is God’s gift to the nervous.
Best if kept bottled inside.
I once knew a man who couldn’t care less.
He died.
Wartime Blues
Sex is rationed
and the dog has chewed
all the coupons.
Fired with Enthusiasm
This morning
the boss
came into work
bursting
with enthusiasm
and fired everybody.
Early-Morning Poems
(i)
Got up
did my toilet:
Shaved
Combed hair
My toilet looks much nicer now.
(ii)
Got up
Had shave
Did Times crossword
Had another shave.
The State of the Bathroom
The lost Lost Property Office
‘On buses and trains you wouldn’t believe
The crazy things that passengers leave
A ventriloquist’s dummy mouthing a scream
Two tickets (unused) for Midsummer Night’s Dream
Handcuffs, chains and a spiderman suit
The tangled remains of a failed parachute
Rucksacks, tents and rolled-up beds
If they weren’t screwed on they’d lose their heads
Two bull terriers and a Siamese kitten
Suicide note, hastily written
Garden forks with broken handles
A birthday cake with four candles
A file with TOP SECRET stamped in red
(Inside a card, April Fool it said)
Safe and secure behind a locked door
Priceless works of art by the score
Paintings by Hockney, Warhol and Blake
Two Mona Lisas (possibly fake)
Magritte’s bowler hat and Van Gogh’s chair
Duchamp’s urinal and a paint-stained pair
Of trousers belonging to Toulouse Lautrec
(short in the leg, black and white check)
A painting by numbers of Rembrandt’s head
Dirty sheet and a pillow off Tracey’s bed
Jigsaw by Rodin, of two lovers kissing
Damien Hirst skull with the diamonds missing
Am I overworked? Of course I am
The list goes on ad nauseam
A shot putter’s shot and a pole vaulter’s pole
A partial eclipse and a Black Hole
A bucket of toenails and a wooden plank
Two air-to-air missiles and a Russian tank
The Statue of Liberty and an oil slick
Mountains of mobiles and an old walking stick
Lost any of these? Bad news I’m afraid
The Lost Property Office has been mislaid.’
The Wicked Queen’s Mirror
Here she comes:
‘Mirror, mirror on the wall,
who is the fairest of them all ?’
One of these days, just for a joke
I’ll say ‘Dopey’ and watch her choke.
The Cracked Mirror
It came as a shock
But I live in hope
A new life beckons
As a kaleidoscope.
Rear-View Mirror
It is difficult
To get a good view of your bottom
In a mirror
The Dental Mirror
How would you like to spend your days
Among yellowing tusks and grey tombstones?
Sloshing around in slimy tunnels
Dodging mashers and angry gnashers?
Tongues like skinned whales threshing
In whirlpools of blood and gunge?
Much rather work in a hairdressing salon
For people with miniature heads.
What Man Wears
What man wears beneath his trousers
Women confide, seldom arouses
Silken briefs or satin thong
Will make her giggle loud and long
Of course, you’ll never stand a chance
in saggy, Y-front underpants
Wear boxer shorts, ideally plain
(Not Disney, cartoons are a pain
in the bum) Tartan only for the Scots
No stars and stripes, no polka dots
No union jacks or football logos
Phallic jokes? Definitely no-noes
Regard your underwear as a friendly go-between
So teach it manners, and above all, keep it clean.
Bath – Avon
I have a problem with Bath.
I use the short a, rhyming it with math,
Whereas southerners put in the r. Barth.
So my living there would be a kind of hell
(Although a lovely place by all accounts).
Never have an operation you cannot spell
Or live in a town you mispronounce.
Hen Party
Men seldom make passes
At girls who throw glasses
But may find romances
With those who throw glances.