Fun and Nonsense Verse
There’s nothing worse than a good old fashioned cold!
You know how it is
When your head’s full of cold,
When you’re aching and miserable
And feeling quite old.
Your sinuses blocked,
Your nose a bright red,
Fighting the urge
To just go to bed;
Taking the tablets
That the wife said you should,
Never really knowing
If they do any good,
Hoping it’ll be gone
In the next day or two,
And hoping like mad
The wife doesn’t catch your cold too!
Five minutes, just five minutes, …that’s all I wanted.
Is it asking too much?
The fly found me
As on my sunbed I rested,
Buzzing about my head,
My short fuse sorely tested.
Why flies? Why me?
Aren’t there other attractions?
All I wanted was five minutes
Without any distractions.
From my head to my arm,
From my arm to my knee,
This fly had decided
It rather liked me.
If its aim was to annoy
It was certainly succeeding,
All I wanted was five minutes
With the book I was reading.
I brushed it away,
But it still persisted,
And my very best swearing
It completely resisted.
At every new invasion
I felt its tingling touch,
Trying to bite or infect me?
It was all getting too much.
So I closed my chapter,
The plot would have to wait,
That annoying, buzzing fly
Had now sealed its fate,
And with the book I’d been reading
I now tried to swat it,
And after my five minutes of time
I finally got it.
I am always writing verse, jotting down ideas, sometimes on scraps of paper, sometimes on my phone. It can drive the wife up the wall, but I tell her it could be worse, much worse…!
The wife says I’m a nuisance always writing my verse;
But there are things I could do that I think would be worse;
I might have a car engine in bits on the lounge floor,
Or sit with a telescope watching the woman next door.
I could buy a drum kit, try to be the next Ringo Starr,
Or imitate Queen with an electric guitar;
Or invite mates round who’d all get quite drunk,
Being sick on her carpet, as we listen to punk.
Perhaps a DIY freak, carrying out home repairs,
With half finished jobs left waiting for years.
Or have a X Box, on which I’d play through the night,
Being invaded by aliens with whom I would fight.
I could be a model maker, sticking things I’d then paint,
With the smell of it all making the wife feel quite feint.
Or brew my own beer, taking over the kitchen,
Or sniff something nasty and form an addiction.
I could collect tarantula spiders that sometimes escape,
Or believe that I’m Zorro and wear a mask and a cape,
Maybe answer the door naked, giving callers a scare,
Or eat boxes of chocolates that I’d refuse to share.
I could be cyclist, wearing those tight Lycra shorts,
Or be a couch potato watching all sorts of sports.
So, you see, there are many worse things I could be,
Than someone who sits quietly, writing his poetry.
While explorers and adventurers seek out hidden treasure or dangerous wild animals, climb mountains or dive to to the ocean floor, I’m happy just to look for cuddles………
I am a cuddle hunter,
Now be careful how that’s said.
If you get it mixed up,
It could be very rude instead!
I search for cuddles daily,
I search both near and far;
They can be hiding in my bathroom,
Sometimes waiting in my car.
Sometimes they’re on the sofa
Or even on the stairs;
I can be standing in the larder
When suddenly one appears.
I like it when they creep up on me
And take me by surprise,
And when I feel them squeezing me
It makes me close my eyes.
I like cuddles in the morning,
And after lunch as well.
But those cuddles in the evening?
Well… I’m not supposed to tell!
Just when I thought it was safe to come out of my garden shed…….!
The house has now had its final inspection,
Just back from the docs, I’ve had my injection.
So we’re all geared up now for what’s in store,
The annual visit of the mother-in-law!
Three weeks is how long she usually stays;
That’s a very long time, it’s twenty one days!
When each day can seem more like a week;
It’s an awful long time to watch how I speak.
She’s not too bad really, and at ninety years old
It’s amazing how much whiskey she is able to hold;
(And it’s my whiskey she’s drinking, the Famous Grouse,
An appropriate name when she’s in the house!).
She arrives on Monday on a budget airline,
Her broomstick’s been sold, on E-bay, online.
Far too old anyway for that form of travel,
With the wind in her hair, her perm would unravel.
Her room is all ready, the bed has been made,
It hasn’t been used since the last time she stayed;
We left it alone so that the spiders could breed;
Well she frightens me, so I’m returning the deed!
I’ve just painted the cauldron, so now she can brew
Her potions and lotions, her toad and newt stew;
It’s a specialty of hers, of which she is fond;
And that reminds me, I must look for her wand.
I do love her really, she so sweet and so kind,
The best mother-in-law that you’ll ever find;
That is, of course, while she’s a long way away,
It’s a whole different ball game when she comes to stay.
Not long now! I’m having a panic attack;
Need calming down with a good slug of Jack.
There, I can see her now getting off the plane,
Wearing that black pointed hat once again!
