7. Naturally Hobbo

Photo by Aenic Visuals on Pexels.co
The graceless swan
Her paddling technique was a doddle;
A sort of a water-borne waddle
But although her mum loved her to bits,
She'd the grace of a bomb in a blitz.
Frog in the throat
When the frog lost his ribbit
It was quick to inhibit
His world-renowned talent for courting.
A medicinal soak
Soon sorted his croak
And now all his tadpoles are snorting.
The fussy seagull
Mrs Gull's daughter
Refused to drink water
Complaining the ocean was salty.
So, selling her jewellery
They moved to a brewery
For drinks that were varied, but malty.
Mixed Emotions
The cherry blossom's on the tree,
yet once again, it's raining.
I'm in good health, I'm Covid-free,
I shouldn't be complaining.
Canine Cuddles
Dogged by grey-sky thinking,
Her mood was slowly sinking,
But bought a dog
Which cleared the fog
And now she gets the drinks in.
A foolish choice
Little, black mole
Grew bored of her hole
Full of worms, sought the sunnier side.
Then an owl saw her there,
Enjoying the air.
Swooped down and scooped up her wee hide.
Feline Folly
She had two cats, named Bits and Pieces,
Presents for her favourite nieces,
Which in the midst of summer season
Strayed away, no rhyme or reason.
Keen to learn their whereabouts,
She found them, there or thereabouts.
But someone had renamed her cats,
Now one's called This, the other That.
The pony
Peter the pony was losing his voice,
Nothing too serious of course,
Taken for treatment - he'd really no choice,
Diagnosis by vet - little horse.
The temperature's freezing,
My human is sneezing.
This is great fun! Wag. Wag. Wag

It is chucking it down
And she's looking half drowned.
This is great fun! Wag. Wag. Wag

Now I need a poop,
Good, she's brought out the scoop.
This is great fun! Wag. Wag. Wag

Oooh, bestest of all,
She is throwing my ball.
This is great fun! Wag. Wag. Wag

It's time to go home,
Think I might get a bone.
This is great fun! Wag. Wag. Wag

Oh great, here's my grub
And a quick tummy rub.
This is great fun! Wag. Wag. Wag

Now she's drinking her tea,
Never thinks about me!
Let's have some fun! Wag. Wag. Wag
Ladies man, Reg
Had meat and two veg
Which were so monumental in size,
The kilts that he wore
Had to reach to the floor
Or the girls got a nasty surprise.
Worker bee and bumble bee
Were harvesting a bumper,
When worker bee says, 'Sweet chickpea,
I love that stripy jumper.'
Toy romance
My teddy bear
Is so threadbare
I call him Freddy Teddy.
He loves my doll,
Imperfect Poll,
In fact, they're going steady.
A terrapin, budding headmaster,
Played chess with a tortoise grandmaster,
Their flippers got tangled,
Chess pieces were mangled.
Result was a turtle disaster.
Appetite for destuction
The control for my new television
was eaten by Carrots, my bunny.
I did not try to hide my derision.
"Sorry pet, not even remotely funny."
Koalas are cuter than crocs,
I don't know the reason precisely;
Perhaps if they wore funny socks
And attempted to socialise nicely.
Granny's cat
My gran, who lives in a council flat
Has been told to get rid of her tabby cat.
The pope chappy up at the vatican,
If he wants to keep a cat, he can.
Which is why I shall strongly insist,
They take gran's cat off their wanted catalyst.
Dog's dinner
I recommend the Dahlias
as tasting rather nice,
though as for the azaleas,
I wouldn't eat them twice.
Fresh sap is rising
in the trees,
sweet honey running
for the bees.
The birds are singing
in the breeze
and lovers all
have grass-stained knees.

For spring has sprung
it's in the air,
old Mother earth
lets down her hair
and pretty girls
with shoulders bare
will soon have need
of new pushchair.
Don't you
it's not good
to malinger;
a poor excuse
for being late,
you've sprained your
little finger.
Cat and mouse
A mouse and a rat
Were having a chat,
As rodents who lunch often do,
When, from under the mat,
A fat cat, called Pat,
Crept up on them, sadly it's true.

Giving no chance to talk,
The cat drew a fork
And gobbled them up, yes, the two.
This fat, feline pest
Wasn't even a guest,
I think that's bad manners, don't you?
Donald's duck
Down on his luck,
Donald purchased a duck
Which allegedly played the maracas.
She played them all right,
Every morning and night
Till the sound, in the end, sent him quackers.
The confused budgie
I'm not a damned woodpecker,
There must be a mistake;
All this banging with my pecker
Has given me headache.
Arboreal Heroes
Soldiers, our trees, standing at ease,
Guarding their secrets, keeping their peace.
A shelter for squirrels, a haven for birds,
Centuries' sentinels, barking no words.

Timeless their wisdom, unique what they know,
Where we all come from, whither we go.
The circle of life, the pull of each season,
History repeating our blind lack of reason.

Abuse of the planet, the rape of our earth,
Warfare, destruction and lack of true worth.
Trees try to help, to become the solution,
Arboreal heroes who drink our pollution.

Solid and firm, wooden but true,
Trees won't be swayed by things humans do.
And what their reward for this life without flaw?
A premature end in the teeth of a saw.
My tinnitus
Is limitless,
An engine in my ears,
Loud ringing,
Then odd pinging;
I need sound engineers.
Worry less, live more
I wish I was 
a bumble bee,
she never frets
like me, you see,
buzzes round,
producing wax
and not a cent
to pay in tax.

Or a bird
upon the wing,
all day long
to sit and sing,
never empty
cupboard panic,
free fresh food
and all organic.

The tree that sits
deep in the woods,
spares not a thought 
for worldly goods.
The animals
upon the farm,
what use they
for an alarm.

Fishes swimming
in the sea,
all these creatures
wild and free;
don't recycle,
empty bins,
worry what
the future brings.

Even my best
friend, the dog,
never once
has cleaned the bog.
Which of us
then is the fool
and why so many
years at school.
Twice a day
When I became ill,
I was given a pill
The doctor prescribed, to get better.
I took it with water,
Which she said I oughta;
I'm no longer poorly but wetter.
Tea time
A calmer old sort of a farmer
With a field full of very stressed Llama
Gave them chamomile tea
To drink, caffeine free,
Resulting in Llama with karma.
A blackbird, singing heartily,
was balanced on a twig,
which twigged how much the blackbird weighed
and turned into a big

branch who surreptitiously
branched out, became a bough
and bowing at the awesome weight
turned to a trunk, which now

before it got trunkated,
shot down into the roots
and rooted round, frustrated
to flex her unshod boots,

where all her spreading toes got soiled
among the good earth, firm,
wherein a little creature toiled,
a tiny, baby worm,

which wriggled, wormed into the air
to stretch out,  gracefully,
until the blackbird saw him there
and harvested him for tea.
The unlucky cat
A feral feline
Had used eight of her nine
And was fast running low on her chances,
When she met with a genie
But the little blue meanie
Spurned all of her purring advances.
A bird in the hand
The bird in my hand
Would have stayed in the bush
If she knew I had planned
To give her a push.
Clever dog
His dog was a star,
It could drive any car
-It once drove from Glasgow to Dover
But his four-pawed best friend
Turned to drink in the end
And was christened Champagne-Super-Rover.
The rhino's diet
A baby rhinoceros from Leeds
Had a penchant for poisonous weeds,
These herbaceous ventures
Soon ruined her dentures
And now, as a rule, she sucks seeds.
When output equals input,
We should be very grateful
To know that every morsel
Of food upon our plateful
Has done efficiently
What it was meant to do,
Said a quick hello
And simply passed on through.
The forgetful kangaroo
Where is my Joey,
I put him down so he
Wouldn't get lost, I could vouch.
Oh, here he is look,
With a colouring book,
Tucked, warm and safe in my pouch.
Hearty fare
I was discouraged
lost heart
When I got to the nub
the heart of the matter
And knew that you'd altered your opinion
had a change of heart
Because I'd made you blub.

I could have told you, essentially
at heart
When we had that long chat
heart to heart
Not to worry
eat your heart out
What I can tell you, off pat
by heart

Is, you show your emotions
wear your heart on your sleeve
I know it's sincere
but I really think, darling
You're not my kind of deer.
My doctor talks ever so nicely,
Articulates very precisely;
Attempting to sound nice and chummy,
She always calls stomach, a tummy.
My bottom is never a bummy,  
So why is my stomach a tummy?

She'll talk of my manhood as penis
An accurate term, what I mean is;
Doctor never tries words that are silly,
Like knob, dick or todger or willy.
My bottom is never a bummy,  
So why is my stomach a tummy?

She is erudite talking angina,
Carefully explains a vagina,
Avoiding slang terms, she is fussy,
Don't expect beaver or pussy.
My bottom is never a bummy,  
So why is my stomach a tummy?

Doctor, of course, will know best
So, if you've got a lump on your breast
And you find your world falling to bits,
She won't ask to look at your tits.
My bottom is never a bummy,  
So why is my stomach a tummy?

So tell me Doc, I'm not a dummy,
Give it me straight, please do, lumme
Why do you sound like my mummy
Insisting my stomach's a tummy?
My bottom is never a bummy,  
So why is my stomach a tummy?
Stream of confidence
silver tongued,
watery messenger,
picking up confidences
as you chatter
over stones
and leap
down waterfalls,
ever onwards,
always downwards;
your gossip
at the astonished
 mouth of the
ocean, she
shrouds it in breakers
and drags it
to her dark secret womb,
holding it there,
To your health
The poets over years
have not paid much respect;
your self-effacing character
has been dismissed as wet.

Some people find you bubbly
but there are others still
who claim to see right through you,
or use you for a thrill.

We never pay you homage;
on reflection though, we oughta
raise a glass and drink
to you, my dear friend, water.

Upside Down
I love the world inverted
Especially in the pubs,
Where I've got men converted
To give me tummy-rubs.
Two worms in the grass
Were at an impasse;
Neither sure how to advance.
But encouraging words
From the bees and the birds
Kick-started their spineless romance.
Helpful Cow
It's cool to be cruel
When you run out of fuel;
Simply, catch you a cow that's well fed;
Then the gas in her ass,
From all of that grass,
Will get you home safely to bed.
Crocodile smile
The crocodile needed new teeth
Decayed past repair underneath.
When told, open wide,
Resist, though he tried,
He snapped up the dentist beneath.
Baby's favourite drink
She'll never refuse
A weak orange juice.
In fact, it's her favourite tipple.
Except perhaps, milk
As smooth as clean silk,
Quaffed warm and fresh, straight from mum's nipple.
Flower Bud
as a button
latent opulence
and dormant splendour
a whisper
of warmth
an explosion
of colour
a celebration
of life
A proposal
A cuddly koala
And male kangaroo
Fell in love on a day trip
To Whipsnade Zoo.

In the gift shop and cafe
He bought her a rose,
Knelt down on his pouch
And softly proposed.

Koala, delighted,
Of course love, she said
And completely exhausted
Sneaked back to her bed.
A mug's game
With the flights in her sight
She was doing all right
And running along like a good 'un.
Till she fell, the last fence,
Should have used common sense,
Not backing a horse with legs, wooden.
Kid's legs
I feel really sorry
For children today,
Many whose legs
Do not work the right way.

Exceed fifty yards,
Their bodies break down
And you'll find they need lifts
In your car, into town

Or to school, or the flicks
While they sit in the rear
Playing video games
With their buds in their ears.

It doesn't last long-
Like a teenager's grub-
When they relearn to walk
With their mates to the pub.
in my early-morning headlights,
your rag-doll body
twisted at unnatural angles.

Beautiful face
a grotesque parody
of slumber.

I hope nature
gifted you
a fulfilled life
the wheel of the lorry
brushed it aside.
It's cold, mum!
I'm freezing, said the polar bear,
This snow is so cold, mummy.
Since we've gone vegan, we must wear
Synthetic fur, my honey.
Shoe shopping
A little black spider
With no one to guide her
Went shopping around for some shoes;
She found two, to fit right,
Two more, were too tight
And a pair made the six-o-clock news.
It's coming!
Hills silhouetted
With knife-edged clarity
Against bare-fingered trees
And the background hilarity
Of suet-plumped birds
In the timorous sun,
Bullish beginnings
Of an early spring, sprung.
Does nature
or nurture
compel my
young Lurcher
to search
fellow creature?
A greedy gorilla
A Weetabix eating gorilla,
Keeping semi-skimmed milk in her chiller
Munched Cornflakes and Sugar-Smacks,
Muesli and Wheatie-Snacks
-The gal was a cereal-filler.
A rabbit's habits
A rabbit cohabits
From sociable habits,
Producing her young by the score.
And when she is old
Then her partner is told
Not tonight bunny, I'm sore.
me and my dog
have a bit of a blog
but he don't earn his keep
he is often asleep
it's an age thing I think
so I don't raise a stink
and I love him to bits
I guess that makes us quits
The Learner
Go for it, you wimp.
But mum, it's so high!
Don't be a wuss.
It touches the sky!
There is nothing to fear.
Mum, that's absurd.
Just do it, please.
Am I really a bird?
We all have to learn.
I don't like this ledge.
Oh, for goodness sake, son
-just jump off and fledge.
Animal Passion
An amorous beaver
And glamorous diva
Fell base over apex in love.
They were married next day
By a hippo called Faye,
As witnessed by Luvvy, a dove.
A view
Sea-sculpted cliffs
and wind-worn trees,
sun-blessed hollows,
a whispering breeze.

Butter-fat cows,
corpulent sheep,
balancing birds
snatching quick sleep

on taut phone lines
humming their tune
to the amorous face
of a twilight moon,

as the night draws in
and the earth exhales
on a handsome view
in the Yorkshire Dales.
A gardening tip
My wife has gone to bed
So, I've sneaked in the garden,
A gardening friend once said
That cold would make things harden.
Outdoor pursuits
Their love was intense,
Their sex was in tents,
Their passion for camping was shared
But carpenter ants
Down the front of his pants
Left his canvas erections impaired.
My bristles can whistle,
I'm growing a beard.
I don't care if it's scary
Or makes me look wierd.

All this shaving, I'm craving
A hairier chin;
So long, Smoothie Susan,
Hello, Hirsute Lynne.
Not exactly a doddle,
Their ungainly waddle
Belies how they struggle to walk
But slip them in water,
These little ripsnorters
Can swim with the grace of an orc.
A racing certainty
I've broken my leg
and you want me dead,
neigh, that is blooming nonsensical.
To shoot a racehorse
without any remorse
is barbaric and so indefensible.
The Prize Bull
of selective breeding,
the size of a steam train,
a head
of bear-like proportions,
your testicles,
a pair of monster cabbages
in a grocer's bag,
almost two thousand kilos
of prime beefsteak,
an awesome specimen
of animal beauty,
at it's proudest,
and yet,
your behaviour
in china shops
is completely
A house-hunting slug
A slug, house-hunting for prefabs,
Found a snail with a shell up for grabs.
He shelled out his cash
And now, with a dash,
He plays the hard case with the crabs.
A fishy accident
A naturist
and a humourist
discussed a fish
with an aquarist,
till a terrorist
of a motorist,
knocked all three down
in a swirling mist.
The scale of it
Almost two years on
It has touched the lives of everyone;
Killed millions,
Taken loved ones,
Left many more seriously ill,
Friends of friends,
Someone's someone.
Major events are cancelled,
Weddings postponed.
Unwanted but necessary vaccinations,
Putting others first,
The inconvenience of masks.
It's been a difficult
time for all
but spare a thought
at this special time of the year
for those poor souls
who have had their 
Christmas party cancelled.
As I transition
from mid-life crisis
to the gentle senilty
of old age,
I find myself
profound questions;
what is
the real
meaning of life,
have I
my lunch yet.
Sadly, both
are equally difficult
to answer.
Elmer Fudd
He couldn't spot
a wigeon from a pigeon,
he wouldn't know
a chaffinch from a chook,
he couldn't tell
an osprey from an ostrich
but he new darn well
he'd get that ruddy duck!
Dirty Bitch!
She hunted
under cover of night,
her brush tail
trailing cubs.
Foraged for food,
Left her mark,
ancient as time.

Another she,
a cold dawn later,
can not resist
that smell,
drops her shoulder
and rolls,
ignoring her owner's
I can't cook
a Cordon Bleu meal,
I can't swim
like a fish or a seal.
I can't fly
a Jumbo Jet plane,
I can't even
sing in the rain.

I can't drive
a fast racing car
or tell you
the names of the stars,
I can't quote
you Byron or Shelley,
I can't even
tell if I'm smelly.

I can not
at all, tell a lie,
or do something
bad or be sly,
I can't hate
you or discriminate,
I'm an innocent
new neonate.
Good girl
When mother said maybe
I should play with the baby
without spreading plum jam on his face;
because she's my mummy
and he came from her tummy,
I surrendered the jar with good grace.
The zoo visit
was depressing;
a solitary
silver-haired Macaque
with no mate
or friends.

Spotted antelope
in seasonal

A lion
and lioness
in an enclosure
a fraction the size
of their natural habitat.

Tapirs, staring
through glass screens
as though
we were the exhibits.

Then the butterfly house,
claustrophobic humidity
but breathtaking beauty,
a salve for the soul.
That's better!
Beat Club
irregular beat
of an old washing tub.

lub-dub, lub-dub,
lub-dub, lub-dub,
I'm in the new
Pacemaker Club!
When the leaves on the trees
surrender the breeze
in Autumn, our dog comes alive;
instinct predestined,
he will face to the wind,
olfactory-set, overdrive.

Be it pungent or musty,
pongy or musty;
the stronger the odour, the better
humming or whiffy,
miasmic or niffy,
for him, it's a fragrant operetta.
The baby
What surprises
does life hold for you
my little one:
happiness, health,
a life in the sun.

Or, will it
be hunger,
fear and disease,
fight for survival,
a bitter deep freeze.

Sometimes, I guess
it's a matter of luck,
spinning that Louis D'Or,
famine or flood,
fire or drought,
peacetime or war.

May your God smile
graciously on you
and may he bring
contentment in
that very rare gift
of helping humanity sing.
Second place
Who's to blame
for second place,
the horse that tried
to win the race,
the jockey sat
upon his back,
the betting media's 
hackneyed hack,
the groundsman who
prepared the course,
the stable girl
who fed the horse,
a build up of
the acid, lactic,
the trainer and
his stupid tactics,
the bookie who
advised each-way
was not the clever
way to play,
or is it simply
hapless punter
who likes to blame
the world and chunter?
General theory of relativity
The relative worth
of an uncle or aunt
is quickly worked out
from a theory, extant.

Directly proportional
to the love they invest
on their nieces and nephews;
it's an accurate test.
The baby
No wonder she's happy,
lying there in her nappy;
the pride of her mum
from her curls to her bum.

She'll giggle and coo,
that's what babies do
and if she dirties her daiper
well, mummy will wipe her.
Bag it, bin it
She fancied a bit of a walk
but dog wanted more of a run,
so, stopping with friends for a talk
man's best friend set off for some fun.

Engrossed with her chattering group,
a whole lot of things on her mind,
she failed to see dog have his poop;
not surprisingly then, she was fined.
A baby fly
who learned to fly,
flapped little wings like a good 'un,
when a baby sider
hidden beside her,
hit her with cricket bat, wooden!
A tree view
Please don't 
leave me,
said the tree,
I honestly
prefer to be
butt naked
my whole length,
bearing leaves,
all my strength.
Perfect legs
Never too big,
never too small,
no matter how little,
no matter how tall.

Our legs are bespoke
spot on, complete,
exactly the distance
from seat to our feet.
Best Mates
The thing about dogs
is the love they engender,
you get what you see
they've no hidden agenda.

Unqualified worship,
devotion wholesale,
soulful brown eyes
and a waggy-whip tail.

No back-talking nonsense,
no falsehoods, no lies,
your four-legged pal
until one of you dies.

Only one thing would make
this bond even stronger,
that's the thing about dogs;
i wish they lived longer.
Brief thoughts
cast lifelong shadows.
Small words
leave the deepest scars,
as harmonious birdsong
on sunlit meadows,
kind deeds
calm the brouhaha.
Son, Andreas' shaking
was jolted
to a halt,
when mother said,"This quaking,
my child,
is not your fault.
Going Green
I'm going carbon-neutral
from now on, gas is out,
not green, apparently,
so what of Brussels sprouts

and cabbages and cauli,
slender runner beans,
are all these gas producers
now not considered green?

It's all a bit confusing
when trying to be good,
perhaps the next new thing,
is an electric spud.
Sisters named Fat, Thin and Scruffy,
Had a brother with coat that was fluffy,
He protected these three
From behind the settee,
Because this little guy was no toughie.
The science teacher
Though angle, she reasoned,
Gave birth to the seasons,
The distance is vital as well,
A tad more remote, 
We would need thicker coats,
Much closer, we'd all burn in Hell.
Way up past me clogs,
thigh-high in mud,
for me and the dogs
this weather's no good.

It's blowing a shout
and freezing too, see
we'd not be off out,
if they didn't need a wee!

This little pig favoured Sainsbury's
and this little pig tried the Spar,
this little pig went to Morrisons
and this one to M and S, ya!
Ocado pig stayed at home
cooking bacon for her and her ma.
Bee Loved
You're my sugar,
my sweetness,
my honeyed
You're my sweetie,
a sexpot,
a syrupy
Love Birds
Robin, said his missus,
do you fancy a nightjar?
I'd rather have a night in gale
and I don't want to get yellow hammered,
but I suppose there's time to swallow
a swift one
at the mucky duck.
So, off they swanned,
woodchatting away
but they took a wrong tern
and whydah you know
a bitter night fell.
He donned his black cap.
She told him that he looked a booby,
a great tit even
and to stop larking about.
He sniped back
though not wanting to grouse,
she said, starling,
just rook,
there's your friend, martin,
emu you like!
They all crowed together,
had a good old stonechat
until a mynah bird,
a ruddy duck,
peafowled the water,
mockingbirds as a species,
by saying, anyone for a shag?
What a bustard!
The clue
A lady rhinocerous,
Keeping liaison adulterous,
Gave her secret away,
After roll in the clay,
By a clue which was, shall we say odourous.
A collective
A string of racehorses
was set to join forces
with a coiled spring of teal
and a rookery of seals.
It's a yolk, said the oxen,
sulked, skulked with the foxes
but the black cloud of gnats
and the glaring of cats
at the dolphin's new school
said, bullocks you fools,
whilst a deaf herd of cattle
prepared to do battle
with a caterpillar army.
Puddled, said the duck,
who did not give a
flying invective
for a duck's subjective collective.
The Hair
I've located a hair, on my chest,
A hair! On my chest! Well, I'm blessed.
Perhaps, I'm becoming a hunk
Or, maybe my prospects are sunk.
It could be, this hair on my chest
Means that, I have gone well past my best
Sell by date, which, according to God,
Means it's time to sleep under the sod.
The butterfly
The breath on a mirror,
a whisper in the breeze,
ephemeral, ethereal,
susurration of leaves.

Kaleidoscope of colour,
athletic like agility,
breathtaking, scintillating,
sugar spun fragility.
Wisdom of age
Young bull and old bull, taking time out to chew,
Spy some cows peering over a wall,
"Let's run over there, and we'll service a few."
"Son, we'll walk, and we'll service them all!"
Animal behaviour
Tortoise and rock were making out,
He, with flair, she, without,
Men stopped to point and laugh and gape,
At what was statutory rape!
Did tortoise stop to ask permission,
Before pounding rock into submission?
Sporting bears
Fluffy Ted and Teddy Fluff,
Were naughty bears, got up to stuff,
Which Mummy Ted and Teddy's mum
Found really rather worrisome.
So, as a desperate, last resort,
They got their kids involved in sport.
Sir Fluffy's now a referee,
And Teddy Fluff's an O.B.E.
Feeding Time
My little brother is
learning to feed
himself, which is
very funny indeed.

It gets in his hair
and it gets on his clothes,
it goes everywhere.
and it blocks up his nose.

It dirties the walls
and it gets in the dog,
some went down the hall,
ended up in the bog.

A tiny concern
will land in his bib,
my mum says, he'll learn
but that's just a fib.

I think it's too late
for anytime soon,
when I had turned eight,
I could handle a spoon!
A mother's love
To watch a tigress
with her new cub,
is to truly observe
real power,
the power of love.
My Pal
I love our frequent walks,
The stress reducing talks.
Je suis tien, tu es mien.

And I enjoy our little chats,
Play fighting, chasing cats.
Je suis tien, tu es mien.

You are never in a mood,
Or picky with your food.
Je suis tien, tu es mien.

I knew, right from the start,
You loved me with your heart.
Je suis tien, tu es mien.

It is very plain to see,
You are always pleased it's me.
Je suis tien, tu es mien.

I love you like a brother,
We are good for one another.
Je suis tien, tu es mien.

And you have taught me how
Life should be in the now.
Je suis tien, tu es mien.
is a fragile old woman
whose mature beauty,
has us
gasp in wonder
and whose abuse
at the hands
of her inept, juvenile carers
makes us weep
bitter, impotent tears.
The mouths of babes...
Gran, is it true that my mummy
One day popped out of your tummy?
It is sweetheart, yes.

And gran, applauding to mummy,
I then popped out of her tummy!
That's right darling, yes.

Sooo, if I have too many bratwurst,
Then my little tummy will burst?
You've got it in one, hon!
Weather forecast
High pressure, and sun,
Pack a coat everyone.
It's determined to snow,
Rain's bound to show.
Forty degrees,
Wrap up well, please.
Rainfall extreme,
Fetch the sun screen.

Wind from the East,
It will blow from the West.
Guaranteed fine,
No more sunshine.
Perfectly clear,
Hailstorms are near.
Hot for a week,
The roof's going to leak.

Drizzle a bit,
Absolute shit.
The wind will be strong,
Calm again, wrong.
Forecast is checked,
What can I expect?
If the errors would stop,
i could harvest my crop!
Stick in the mud
You threw a stick,
it stuck, in the mud.
What a dick!
Your throw was not good.

I scrabbled at it,
got it out with my paws.
Now I've got shit,
stuck in my claws!
A canine's view
I wish you'd clean up,
it's embarrassing.
i go for a dump
and get harassing

looks from the other
dog owner's who clean,
do not pretend
that they have not seen.

Okay, I know that 
it poos, a bit
but better than kids
put their shoes in it.

So, the next time I
pause for a crap,
pick it please.
Be a good chap!
The bumbling bee
A modest, nay humble
bee of the bumble
variety stumbled
on bloom, causing stumble
and fall in a jumble
head first, into crumble,
which fed tummy rumble
and stopped honey grumble.
Many people, outsiders,
are frightened of spiders,
we tend to get under their skin.
In this day and age,
we need a web page,
and the power of positive spin.
I'm off to sunny Anglesey,
To starry spangled Anglesey.
I'm going to angle in the sea,
And catch some fishes for my tea.

My worm. I'll dangle in the sea,
And hope my line stays tangle free,
When I go angling in the sea
In starry spangled Anglesey.
It is unbuttered toast,
vegetarian roast,
it's chips with no fish,
your least favourite dish.

Soccer, no goals,
golf without holes,
waterless swimming,
playing, not winning.

Life on your own,
children, all grown,
just family, no friends,
nights which don't end.

It is walks, full of tears,
it's facing your fears,
it is knitting with fog,
this is losing your dog.
It's not luck of the draw!
If you exercise more,
cut the drink down a bit
and the cigarettes quit.
Eat more veg and less meat,
spend some time on your feet,
make several treks,
give up the sex,
and don't bathe on the beach,
then a hundred you'll reach.
...But I want some fun,
ninety nine, that's me done!
Fitness Regime
I was well out of sorts
and I needed to slim,
so I bought Lycra shorts
and I joined a posh gym.

I looked like a sack
that had swallowed a seal,
so I took the shorts back
and went out for a meal.
Her home was remote,
high in the Dolomites,
and the poor little goat
had simply no head for heights.
It's here!
Squirrels, squirreling,
leaves are leaving,
glades are fading,
shades are shading.

Mist is misting,
rain is raining,
all is all-in,
Fall is falling.
Ageing disgracefully
Growing old sucks,
you can't read long books,
you lose all your teeth
and there's no more beneath.
I hated the denture,
but this bloody dementia...

I would rather be sold
than to slowly grow old
and be left in a home,
with walls, padded foam.
I hated the denture, 
but this bloody dementia...

My memory, yes, shot,
but I'd much rather not
play all-day I-spy
while I'm waiting to die.
I hated the denture, 
but this bloody dementia...

Please give me some pills
and say I was ill,
or a bag for my head
and look shocked when I'm dead!
I hated the denture, but this bloody dementia...
Death of a bee
The miniature tiger
lay perfectly still,
frosted wings motionless,
quite clearly ill.
We all have to die
but I still had to try.
I laid the poor creature
on the old water feature,
hoping that drinking
would stop her from sinking,
but this beautiful thing,
the size of my thumb
nail, breathed her last breath
and sadly succumbed.
The foxy huntsman
A foxhunting jockey
Was getting too stocky,
He needed to shed a few pounds.
In a move which was shrewd,
He switched to dog food,
And now, he keeps up with his hounds.
In the garden
Eve had to explain
To Adam, again
That the apple and snake were symbolic.
Then he peeked underneath
His lady's fig leaf
And up shot his pressure, systolic!
Don't bee silly!
His waggle dancing
at the hive,
turned to prancing,
then a jive.

The queen said, "Son,
it makes me think,
it's excess sun,
or too much drink!"
Rain was forecast,
four o'clock,
its non-arrival
not a shock.

Perhaps they meant
train, not rain,
and they'd no drivers
once again.
Some things we all have
in common, I think.
We all like a laugh
and we all eat and drink.

And that internal voice
baying for blood?
Well, we all have a choice
to be evil or good.
Many a legion
of butts, nether regions
are sniffed, every day by our pets
without any fuss.
They're more honest than us.
A four pawed salute to Debrett's.

Debrett's: A published guide to protocol and modern manners.
A cuckoo's a lazy old soul,
never bothers with building at all,
turfs eggs from their nest, dirty rotter,
a delinquent, troublesome squatter.

Spends her whole life on free benefits,
expects others to raise, feed her kids.
This mother may sing a sweet song
but something, somewhere has gone wrong.
A hedgehog, in shock
has to visit her doc,
when the partner with whom she cohabits,
instead of all spiky,
is soft, fluffy. Crikey!
The doctor, pronounced them both rabbits.
Breath Taking
a wonderful,
coalescence of space dust.

Briefly inhabited,
and abused
by the human race,
before they were
choked to extinction
by their own
grasping, gasping

Gone now,
nothing left.
No life,
simply peace.
An opportunity
to pause,
to take a breath,
breathe fresh life,
to start again.
A fatal flaw
Several types of spider
share my house lately
Not a huge spider fan,
I wish they'd walk more sedately.

Pausing, but too briefly to
rest, then off they scurry, 
web building for a living
and always in a hurry.

Not a gentle saunter,
a wander or a ramble
never do they feel
the need to simply amble.

It's the dashing that offends me,
they could shoot straight up my leg,
shelter in my underpants
and nestle on my peg.

It's precisely so with mice;
they never stop to chat,
if they did so, I'd be nice
without the urge to splat.

Wild creatures kill for food,
they have a good excuse,
but I can hardly make that claim
for a drop of beetle juice.

If I'm being really honest,
it's the scuttling at speed
which makes me want to kill them
when there's actually no need.

So, dawdle, potter, pootle,
roam, meander, walk,
mosey, tootle, take a stroll,
stretch six legs, let's talk.
Natural healing
Gaudily coloured, thoughtless litter,
a twisted, traffic-soiled tree.
The neglected house
with it's burglar-challenging boarding.
A slovenly parade
of prematurely closed shops.
The pushchaired child
in a tissue thin frock
and summer wellingtons,
at a passing hearse,
its occupants
a study in collective grief.

a Blackbird,
dark as jet,
with a beak
the colour of school custard,
hops down
onto a knuckled branch,
opens his throat
and sings
the first few notes
of his honeysuckle song,
lifting my soul
and I know I will make it
through another day.
A baby T-Rex
the size of a chook!
Do they all need new specs?
Could it not be a duck?

This tiny T-Rex
you could keep as a pet,
did it feast on insects
or dine out at Dinette.

The dinosaur dwarf,
roosting in flocks,
she sure is a morph
that would scare of the fox.
I bud,
and leaf.

Then would
I curl
and leave.
Production Line
Her favourite chicken
for many a year,
Produces an egg
whene'er she appears.
This chicken has eggs
coming out of her ears.
Sands of time
saw a 
she's seen it 
before. I saw the 
seashore that she saw 
before.  When I saw the seashore, that she saw 
 before,the seashore that she saw, was an eyesore,I saw.
A windy mare from Windermere,
polluting half the atmosphere,
dismissed from village in disgrace
and banished to a far off place,
chose residential spot which got 'em,
she picked a town called Elslack Bottom!
The cycle
A cathedral of colour,
palette of yellow,
brown, golden, red,
mellifluous, mellow.
Impatiently shaking
her clothes from their frame,
keen to renew,
recommence, start again.

As each chirpy season
accedes to a fresh,
she herself swells,
yet fades with each breath.
In a blink, it's the bole
must make way for another,
sedately decay,
giving back to earth mother.

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