Silly Cat

I went into the garden, to sit on a chair,
And found next door’s cat already sat there.

There she was, wearing trendy shades and a pink straw hat,
Looking more like a film star than an ordinary cat.

‘Shoo’, I cried as she stretched and purred,
The entire situation was quite absurd.

A Tale of Two Knights

Sir Michael Coughalot, a relative of Sir Lancelot,
Rode into town upon a white horse, in full armour, of course.

The weight of the metal buckled the poor beast’s knees,
And they had to bury him in the forest, beneath the sycamore trees.

There must be a lesson to be learned by us all,
Just wear a suit of armour at a fancy dress ball!

Lonely Man

I knew a man who lived alone,
With his cat and a mobile phone.

His house was large, but rooms were bare,
Just a broken table and three-legged chair.

No hot water, no fresh food,
A bottle of lager, half unscrewed.

His life had changed in a very short time,
To being alone after years of crime.

He has no friends, they’ve all left town,
He’s now in a cell painted brown.

Make time to love

Make time to love, not to hate,
On this point please deliberate.

There’s too much tension, too much stress,
When all we want is happiness.

Give a helping hand to those in need,
A flower will grow from one small seed.

Love can be a wondrous thing,
So open your heart and hear it sing.

Bereavement

Whether it’s animals, children, relatives or friends,
being bereaved is not the end.

Life goes on, spring is around the corner,
Buds will appear, the weather will feel warmer.

Babies will be born, the days will be longer,
and then you will feel so much better and stronger.

Deception

You told me you were single,
I believed your every word.
Your charming nature and pop star looks,
Make me now feel absurd.

I thought we had a future,
Build a home, raise a family have a happy life.
Instead I find the man I loved
already had a wife.

I’ll never trust another
and be wary of all men,
and will leave no stone unturned
unless I find a gem!

1.   Clichés

At a charity shop, the other day
I bought a tome - a reference book
Of clichés, words now deemed passé
It’s worth a close and careful look
Expressions, each now thought has-been 
Sayings, hackneyed in this day and age  
With phrases, much too often seen
I noticed flicking through each page

But, when I’m lost for any word
This book will really beckon  
None of its sayings are that absurd
Well-known could be a plus, I reckon
It’s true there’s not much novelty
In using a stock expression
But it’s balanced by familiarity
And instant recognition

So I’ll use the book from time to time
And choose from its many pages
A cliché (that may even rhyme)
And risk the pedants’ rages
With it the writing’s on the wall
The moment of truth is here for all
My clichés will be the best in town!

2.  History is Bunk

‘History is bunk’ claimed Henry Ford
But can studying the past be such a waste
To learn of king, queen, saint and fraud
Of valiant warriors, and maidens chaste?

Of politicians of all kinds
Of strife and war and settled times
Of epic battles for hearts and minds
Invasions, conquests and war crimes

Of lives in other times and parts
Of great discoveries and inventions
Of suffragettes, trade unions, music and the arts
Of fashions and conventions

There must be lessons we could learn
In spite of what old Ford implied
Yet, what history teaches we tend to spurn
With present errors multiplied

Mark Twain, is said to have claimed one time
That history does not repeat itself
But, he went on, ‘it’s inclined to rhyme’
- I think that’s rather apt, myself

For mistakes of history are oft remade,
Though perhaps not in the self same way,
Yet, with no crystal ball for us as aid
History must still guide the way

 3.   There Was a Young Tailor

There was a young tailor of Bute
Who joked as he sewed every suit
His mates were in stitches
Not his suits – they had glitches
No surprise that he soon got the boot!

He then joined a band, playing flute
But a wrong note came out with each toot
The musicians were irate
The listeners – infuriate
He escaped with them hot in pursuit!

He was next on a stall selling fruit
From the back of a lorry – t’was loot
But his apples were rotten
His profits ill gotten
Which he spent getting drunk as a newt

He ended up quite destitute
His situation becoming acute
To keep the wolf from the door
He fell foul of the law
He’s now sewing mailbags with jute!

This tale’s lesson is beyond much dispute
Its import you can hardly refute
Keep your mind on your job
Earn a scrupulous bob
And you’ll merit the whole world’s salute

4.   The Long and Shorts of Love

An eight footer of Yale was excited
By his height he’d been feeling benighted
But his spirits quite soared
When in love he twice scored
Making two four foot twins quite delighted

5.   The Pain in Spain

Did you hear of the young tourist in Spain?
Who, in Spanish, was trying to explain
To a doctor about his unbearable pain
That was caused, when on route there, on the plane
By hot coffee spilt on his private domain
Making him yell with some words quite profane
And dance about in the aisle - though not like Fonteyne!

To the doctor the story was really mundane
And he ordered the treatment to make the pain wane
This involved an injection of novocaine
Followed by a dressing in cellophane
I’m glad to report that, in the main
It seemed to cure him, and it wasn't in vain 
But he WAS left affected – later events made it plain

For though he ended up wedding a girl called Elaine
Why there weren’t any nippers, this tale might explain!

‘At the drop of a hat you can write a poem’, looking up at me she said
She had in her hand my latest work, which she had just carefully read
‘Thanks very much’ I replied to her, ‘I appreciate your praise,
For I know you’re keen on poetry - you value every phrase’.

But it isn’t quite so easy, as her opinion might imply
The words don’t come that quickly - however much I try
First, there’s the theme or topic, which won’t appear at will
So I listen for a word, or saying, that I think might fit the bill

I don’t bother much with theory, on that I am distinct
It’s less of meter, form or rhythm, and more my own instinct
I try to ignore the poems of others, of which I have a pile 
My wish is just to cultivate my own particular style

I build around the chosen saying, and a poem should then take shape
I might then keep extending it, as I make it more shipshape
But this poem I‘m keeping rather short, I give this caveat
For it’s almost written as she described
-at the proverbial drop of a hat!