Sunday Night Blues

I try. I really do.

To make the most of it.

I try. I really do.

To not fall in to the pit.

 

The pit is known by most of the nation;

It’s big and black and sour.

It is notorious within our nation,

For its destructive power.

 

It is overwhelming and terribly tragic,

It holds us if it can,

As it works its dreaded magic,

Whilst we writhe within its hands.

 

It is, I believe, why we have the Sunday roast;

For us workers, a grand meal.

As we try our best to make the most,

To not fall back upon the wheel.

 

The wheel and the pit, you see,

Have quite a close relationship:

One lulls you in, won’t set you free;

The other won’t release its grip.

 

And so we try with all our might,

To live our weekends to the full.

To make the most, enjoy our Sunday nights,

But that awful Monday morning has a strong magnetic pull!

What is Life About?

Must you get a sensible job?

Clean the bathtub, clean your clothes, clean your body toe to top?

 

Need you fastidiously eat five fruit and veg a day?

Be polite, toe the line, say the things you ought to say?

 

Settle down, earn your money to buy a four-bed house?

Find a partner, a suitable match, an approved-of spouse?

 

Join a health club, exercise daily at the gym?

…

Or can we throw the book out, break the rules and go out on a whim?

No Cycling

Today I was not allowed to cycle.

The cycle pump was taking the Michael.

Not a peddle here,

Or a gear change there.

Oh no, today I was not to cycle.

Stupidity and The Toothpaste

I just blinded myself for a minute, maybe two!

I was in agony, writhing round, there was nothing I could do!

Throwing water in any direction, longing for it to hit my eye.

Swooshing water any which way – 30 seconds had gone by!

 

Thinking, ‘O my goodness! I may be blind! I may be blind!’

I nearly shouted for me Mam. “Mam, help!” I nearly cried.

But I thought, ‘No don’t be ridiculous, don’t be silly, don’t be daft.

It must be temporary blindness. I can’t have lost my sight,’ I laughed.

 

So I persevere, throw more water in the direction of my eye,

And hastily use my finger as my eye begins to cry!

Feeling round for anything that should not be in such a place,

I glide, I jab, I stroke, I tease, as tears trickle down my face….

 

Yet nothing makes a difference. I’m in such a lot of pain.

I’m blinking like I’ve a World Record to try for and to gain.

This is it for me, it matters not that I’m not deaf;

I shall never be allowed to join the RAF….

 

As it happens, that dreadful minute of my life is now through.

My eye still watering as if chopping onions, certainly it’s true.

So I’ll still be allowed to soar, to glide, to fly that fighter plane.

Who knows, the RAF may be awed by the way I flick toothpaste with such aim!

A Tricky Pet

I do so love giraffes,

They’re wonderful and tall.

If I had a friend who was one,

I think we’d have a ball.

 

I do so love giraffes,

They have a coat of spots.

And if one would let me,

I’d comb their coat of dots.

 

I do so love giraffes,

They have a purple tongue.

I’d like to have a pet one,

Whether old or young.

 

I do so love giraffes,

It could live in my back yard.

But that, I suppose,

Might prove a little hard.

 

So instead,

I have a cat.

And although it’s very short,

I suppose I’m alright with that.

The World Cup

The World Cup is upon us,

The flags are hanging out.

I hate the hype and fuss;

What’s it all about?

 

I strongly declare,

“I shan’t watch them score!”

I haven’t a care,

I’ll find it a bore.

 

Group stages begin,

There’s a terrible din.

It’s on in the next room,

I hear the telly boom.

 

Second round, whistle blows,

Anticipation grows.

It’s just a hum in the background,

Volume down, barely a sound.

 

Then they play team 3,

And it’s tight – I can see.

We’ve not necessarily won this,

I’m hoping they don’t miss.

 

Unbelievably, we’re in the next stage,

And England are ablaze!

I’m screaming at the telly,

As my legs wobble like jelly…

 

Now I’m watching it all,

And cursing at the ball.

Telling the team just what to do,

As if somehow I have a clue.

 

The World Cup is upon us,

I’ve completely changed my tone…

I love the hype and fuss,

And singing, ‘Football’s Coming Home!’

 

I Choose Cats

I love dogs

I really do

But who would want a pet that makes you pick up poo?

Climb Into The Pages

I’d love to jump inside a book and see behind the scenes,

Meet characters read about by old and young and see lands before unseen.

 

Tumble in to Wonderland, play croquet with the queen,

Sit down with Hatter, Hare and Ches and slurp a cup of tea.

 

Dive in to Mordor and escape Gollum’s fishy breath,

Adventure instead to the Shire to avoid a painful death.

 

Fall through pages to see notorious Toad speed by in his motor car,

Punt on the river with Ratty, laze on the banks under the stars.

 

I’d like to watch the case unfold, listening to all that Atticus heard,

To understand the world through Scout, in To Kill A Mockingbird.

 

Learn to transfigure in to a cat and catch the golden snitch,

Take charms class with Professor F and play Seeker on the pitch.

 

Follow clues and solve mysteries in the flat on Baker Street,

Spending time with the genius Holmes would be incredibly tough to beat.

 

I’d love to jump inside a book and tell secrets from the scenes,

Learn from times and characters, and worlds that will never be seen.

Is There Something On My Face?

Off I go down the lane,

Smelling sweet morning rain;

The shower’d been reviving,

Breakfast? – Energising!

Off to work nearly skipping,

Today could be rather thrilling;

 

‘Til you notice a lady,

Gazing at you all shady;

Then another wide-eyed stare,

Had I forgotten to brush my hair?

And what is he pointing at?

I’m really not that fat!

 

Starting to feel a bit like a freak…

Uh oh! … I’ve still got slippers on my feet!

Is It So Great Being Human?

What would it be like to be a tiny vulnerable little bird?

Is it a never-ending game of hiding from frightful noises heard?

 

Might it be fun to be superior and regal like a cat?

Or through all the naps do they calorie-count, it’s so easy to put on fat?

 

I wonder if it’s a tall order being the size of a giraffe?

And whether their gracelessness they loathe as others look on and start to laugh?

 

What of the poor old wolf who everyone thinks looks terribly frightening?

Is he actually scared of dark, spiders, loneliness and lightning?

 

What of the crazy crab who walks sideways all along?

Going forwards is far easier, does he know yet that he’s wrong?

 

But actually when I think about it, who am I to judge their ways?

Having all their skills together would really brighten up my days…

 

Imagine how great to be a soaring feathery bird,

To drop on Mr Nasty a smelly, dirty little turd!

 

It must be rather nice to be a superior regal cat,

To have people waiting on you at the first drop of a hat!

 

What about being a giraffe, not only are you tall,

But sampling ice creams with a tongue like that must be the best skill of all!

 

And whilst we think of food, we’ll think of wolfy in his pack,

What could be better than being so scary, you can choose your favourite snack!

 

And finally – we questioned his walk – crusty crab under the sea,

But to breathe on land AND in the sea must be way better than being me!