Poem

A poem can move, can calm can thrill,

Its lines can guide, help to decide,

Much more beside, yet still,

At times, its words unwind

And leave their many powers behind

And wander where they will.

 

In countless ways a poem has soul,

Its meanings change, it’s not that strange:

Its readers range, each role

A brave new part to play,

The poem has fresh things to stay,

Each thought a compact whole.

The Wise and Friendly badger

You see them in the stories; they’re always very wise.

With gravitas, with patience and with kind and caring eyes.

They steer the woodland animals away from foolish errors,

They keep the mice and rabbits and the hedgehogs from all terrors.

Their guidance is unparallelled, their insight quite astounding,

Their sense of fairness most advanced, their qualities abounding.

Their homes are neat and cosy, their habits most fastidious,

Their entertainment perfect as each one’s a host punctilious.

The other forest creatures know that these beasts can be trusted.

They’ll sit and tell their troubles in a cottage highly dusted.

But if you see a badger as you walk out in the twilight

A rustle in a hedgerow and a peek of black and bright white,

Don’t tell it all your problems!  Don’t expect it to be nice.

It will tear your sodding throat out without even thinking twice!

 

The topic for this was chosen by a Twitter friend, Sian Ifans () and I’d like to thank her for it because it was a lot of fun.

Curses

May you always be caught as the lights turn to red.

May your socks start to slip as you run for the train.

May your bladder fill up as you get into bed.

May you exit the salon into lashing rain.

May The One Show come on when you’ve lost your remote.

May you email your boss with a kiss at the end.

May a pair of tights stick to the back of your coat.

May you spot the text typo just as you press ‘send’.

May you go a whole day with your top inside out.

May you think you’ve got tea when you’ve drunk the whole cup.

May you ruin your photos by trying to pout.

May you get in the ‘down’ lift and find it goes ‘up’.

May you buy the wrong ink for the printer you own.

May your laptop keys break so there’s no ‘e’ or ‘r’.

May the Crazy Frog ringtone get stuck on your phone.

May a gull take a dump on your freshly washed car.

May your series link fail so you miss your best show.

May you make a mistake and put talc in your stew.

May your nettles run wild but your roses not grow.

May you see this and realise it’s about you.

D.U.L.L.

I hate the sound of my own dull thoughts,

Drilling their way through the things that matter,

Waving insistent hands behind my eyes

And shouting “LISTEN TO ME NOW!”

 

Why do I even have such dull thoughts?

They should be pushed out by things that matter.

Sometimes I can’t even believe my eyes

As thoughts parade, shouting “WATCH ME NOW!”

 

I need a way to be rid of dull thoughts.

Without getting shut of the things that matter.

Then all the annoyance will slip from my eyes

And I’ll shout out “I’M FREE AGAIN NOW!”

The Whole Day Blues

Well, I woke up in the morning

And the sun streamed in the room,

I wish I’d had the curtains closed

I sleep better in the gloom.

I’ve got the blues.

I’ve got those half asleep blues.

 

I’m tired right through the daytime.

I’ve got the whole day blues!

 

So I got up and I drank some tea,

To make me feel awake,

But I hadn’t switched the kettle on

And that was my first mistake.

I’ve got the blues.

I’ve got those half asleep blues.

 

I’m tired right through the daytime.

I’ve got the whole day blues!

 

Then by the time I started work

I thought I was okay,

Till I signed an email with a kiss

And sent it on its way.

I’ve got the blues.

I’ve got those half asleep blues.

 

I’m tired right through the daytime.

I’ve got the whole day blues!

 

By lunchtime I was wide awake,

My mind was free of doubt,

But it turns out that my cardigan

Had been on inside out.

I’ve got the blues.

I’ve got those half asleep blues.

 

I’m tired right through the daytime.

I’ve got the whole day blues!

 

And when the day was over

And I got back in my bed,

I couldn’t get to sleep with all

The things stuck in my head.

I’ve got the blues.

I’ve got those wide awake blues.

 

Keep wakin’ in the night time.

I’ve got the whole day blues!

A Sonnet for Liam

It’s now 16 years since my brother, Liam, died from complications connected to his MS.  He was as dark as I am fair, with brown eyes that I always envied and a wiry strength that stood him in good stead as he carried out his gardening work.  He was my big brother, yet now I’m older than him and that’s not something I can quite wrap my head around.  So this poem is for my little big brother.

 

We never looked alike in any way,

Our hair and eyes as different as could be.

But when together, we had much to say,

With common int’rests binding you and me.

The music that we liked, the books we read

Were oftentimes the same or close in style.

We’d talk of these, and many things you said

Would paint upon my face a cheerful smile.

Now that you’ve gone, a chasm stretches wide

Between contentedness and lonely strife.

An unexpected, unwelcome divide

Has brought a core of sorrow to my life.

I never could replace you with another,

My one and only missed and cherished brother.

 

The Weirdo Cat Non-Rhyming Rhyme

My cat’s a total weirdo; she’s such a unique cat.

Although, like all the others, she can be an utter scamp!

She used to fail at climbing things but now she has it mastered.

She climbs onto my wardrobe and she craps on it, the madam!

My cat’s so disobedient; she treats me like a sucker!

She steals my food when I turn round, the cheeky little monkey!

My cat plays fetch and buries stuff, she’s learnt to beg and sit.

She also chews my favourite shoes; the wayward little imp!

My life with cats is very strange; it’s something of a farce!

And mostly it’s because of her, that crazy, feline pal.

I Want To Be A Poemer

I want to be a poemer; I want to write dead good.

I’d love to find the perfect rhyme, like every poemer ought.

I’d write about important things, (the best stuff, not the worst).

But every time I pick one Brian Bilston got there first.

I want to be a poemer; how brilliant would that be?

I’m already great at scanning as I’m certain you can plainly see.

Real poemers are the coolest, which is why I’d love to try it.

I’d write a book of poemings but nobody would buy it.

I’d love to be a poemer, a versador, a bard

But, to be as frank as I know how, it’s just too bloody hard!

A Modern Prayer

Lord, help me avoid temptation,

Ban all good games from Playstation,

Please make chocolate less addictive,

Make my gossip less vindictive.

Keep my lips from wine and gin,

Maybe then I could be thin!

Make my tweets go unretweeted,

Let that habit be defeated!

Shield my eyes from crap TV

Which somehow just entrances me.

Block all Facebook invitations,

Help me gauge their limitations,

Such as stalking all my workmates

And those men who were my worst dates.

I know I’d be so productive

If temptation weren’t disruptive