Photo by Sam Lion on
The emperor's new clothes

The emperor was sorely vexed,
When all the clothes he'd bought from Next
Were poorly made, in fact, see through,
And subjects saw his didgeridoo.
Photo by Pixabay on
Brain Food

in your bowels
makes vowels!
Photo by Pixabay on
The gas man's here!

Gas fitter Dan,
Put a fire in for Anne,
One of his favourite nieces.
The pipe sprung a leak,
Blew them into next week
And now they're both Resting in Pieces.
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on
Charles Dickens' Sister

Though Dickens didn't crow it,
His sister was a poet,
And, most loved of her ditties,
Was A sale of two titties.
Photo by Cytonn Photography on
Just a thought

Pacing the floor
whilst searching for more
inspiration, a thought
pops up and is caught
in Hobbo's nonsensical head,
his life spent composing,
but now decomposing,
perhaps he is already dead!
Photo by Michelle Leman on
A woman's prayer

God grant me,
The serenity 
to accept the clothes I can not change.
The courage
to give to the charity shop
those I do not need,
and the wisdom
to know the difference.
Photo by Julia Larson on
Don't mention it!

He peeled away her unmentionables,
She removed his indescribables,
He discovered her delectables,
She found his inexplicables!
Photo by Robert Stokoe on
A Twilight Age

We reach a twilight age,
When every pristine page
Has already been perused,
Thumbed, digested, used.
We've been there, seen it, done it,
Fought our corner, sometimes won it,
Heard gross tetes and bigger cheeses
Spout the nonsense they think pleases.

Bloody conflicts, costly war,
God knows what their fight is for.
What do all these deaths achieve,
When millions more are left to grieve?
We've borne disease, lived through pandemic
And seen how greed can be endemic,
Witnessed poverty, violence, hate,
Some things, they barely fluctuate.

Of course, we've seen the brighter side,
Loved and laughed until we've cried,
Blessed with children, watched them growing
Up contented, happy showing
Nurtured wisdom, common sense,
A bouncing back resilience.
Our parents having guided through,
It's mirrored in our children too.

We've sung, we've danced, we've had that ball
And money's never been our all,
We know the value of real friends,
A lifetime shared until all ends
And now our race is almost done,
We've made the most, we've had some fun.
One mystery left, take note, remark it,
What happens when we finally cark it?
Photo by Snapwire on

Gamesmanship in any sport
Is specious talk for cheating,
Consequently, if you're caught,
Expect to take a beating.
Photo by Thomas Ward on
Only average

Being par for the course,
He went round in par,
So, this golf playing horse
Did not, win the car.
Photo by Daniel Friday Danzor on

She could not keep tabs
upon her new bloke,
Mohammed Rizla 
liked his smoke.

She said, "I am going,
to have to acheter, 
for you, my dear,
a giant ashtray.

acheter: French verb, to buy
Photo by Melvin Buezo on
Fashion Victim

Little Miss Fashion,
Flaunts her life's passion,
Designs some ridiculous clothes.
Her lines can't complete,
When her pleats overheat,
Igniting, and then decompose
Photo by Pixabay on

She was less champagne
and more shampoo,
a little less maintain,
a little more make do.

He was less Don Juan
and more Don Key
She said,"He's my man,
He's just right for me."
Photo by u0410u043bu0435u043au043au0435 u0411u043bu0430u0436u0438u043d on

A ticket for the barbie,
Looking forward to it too,
But, when he read it properly,
It said, 'A barber queue.'
Photo by Vlada Karpovich on
The Note

Son, I am sorry.
I had always hoped
that your mum would go first.
Finding her like this,
cold, lifeless,
has broken my heart,
torn me apart,

I love you
and your sisters,
and the grandchildren, of course I do,
mum was my rock,
my strength, my support,
my raison d.etre.
Life without her
would be unimaginably bleak,
an existence, not a life.

So, I am sorry, but it's my choice
and there are worse ways
to end it
than a bottle of best malt
and some happy pills.
When you find us,
take comfort in our togetherness
and tell the others
that we love you all,
Photo by Markus Spiske on

I lost my dear friend, Laura,
Will never see her again,
If I had gone before her,
She'd have caught the right damn train!
Photo by Lalu Fatoni on
Robin the Hoodie

Robin the Hoodie
Had a band of in-laws
Reputation as a goodie
Who would fight for a cause.

He made Marion join his gang,
To irritate King John,
Whose taxes were a scam.
And who treated people wrong.

He was hated by the bad,
But revered by every goodie,
A bit of a Jack-the-lad
Was Robin the Hoodie,
Robin the Hoodie.
Photo by Elena Saharova on
Till death us do part

Half asleep and yawning,
You took the downtown train,
A misty, murky morning,
I never saw you again.

Burning rubber, squealing brakes,
Tired driver at the wheel,
Too late now, to fix mistakes
And tell you how I feel.

It was the old, old story,
You left me for another,
But God can keep his glory,
And I will have your brother.

Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on
The prisoner

Eighteen months, trapped behind bars,
Like a woman who'd contracted SARS,
Unfair, maybe, that was her lot,
How the toddler detested that cot.
Photo by Elle Hughes on
Four Just Men

He was one of the Four Just Men,
Just going to do something, when,
He just remembered something else,
So, just never fitted those shelves.
Photo by Tomu00e1u0161 Malu00edk on

The Cleggs met at a works Christmas party,
For each one, their very first crush,
Now married for thirty-odd years,
After six livin' ovver the brush.

Two fine strappin' lads they'd been blessed wi'
Who'd each flit the nest one be one,
First, Burnley, to feed 'pie addiction,
And t'other, Australia, for sun.

Their house were becoming too large now,
Enough space for soldiers to billet,
But lodgers named Eric and Ernie,
Their black Labradors, helped to fill it.

Dog's lives, are shorter than people's,
And 'ousehold became 'umanized,
With two on 'em rattlin' around it,
A decision were made to downsize.

Mr Clegg says,"We need summat smaller,
Where 'roof on it sits nice an' low,"
Mrs Clegg says,"Ee, tha's a duck egg,
I think as tha' means bungalow.!

The missus were 'brains of the couple,
Says,"We need a reet good stratagem,"
So, she got on the phone to an agent,
Who took lots of nice pics of their gem.

They started to think through their options,
An apartment - that's posh talk for flat,
But they 'ad things called maintenance charges,
And the savvy Cleggs didn't want that.

Gettin' to grips with the interweb,
The Cleggses drew up a short list
Of things wi' a bit of potential,
And some as were too good to miss.

First one they looked at were lovely,
New kitchen, a luxury indeed,
But, wi' no sign of a tub in the bathroom,
No way, were they gonna proceed.

Next 'un they found, what a beauty
Brand new, wi' a smashing big lawn,
Which is when Mr Clegg put his foot down,
"I'd be mowing, from dusk  until dawn!"

Desp'rate they carried on looking,
A near miss, caused a bit of a spat,
Mister Clegg thought 'place were perfect,
But missus said,"Tha' couldn't swing a cat."

Month after month they spent searching,
Nothing quite fitting the bill,
And wi' t'other 'ouse 'aving sold quickly,
It were makin' the pair on 'em ill.

Then all of a sudden, they found it,
The retirement 'ome of their dreams,
Which they toasted wi' best Yorhshire bitter,
And a packet of nice custard creams.

For many a long year, they lived there,
'Appy they'd found the right place,
Till they both kicked the bucket together
And died wi' big smiles on their face.
Photo by Clicker Finger on
Will's honeymoon

William Shakespeare's honeymoon,
The man was fairly frothing,
Consequently finished too soon,
So, Much Ado About Nothing.
Photo by Thought Catalog on
A novel idea

Novels are read
Porn movies blue,
Fantasies fed,
And Winnie is Pooh.
Photo by Dana Cetojevic on
Fun at the fair

Life is a roller coaster
Which we need to make the most o'
It is a slippery slide
That takes us for a ride.

Hell, it's a magic roundabout,
Sucks us in, then kicks us out,
A dizzy helter skelter,
Joe Cocker's Lady Delta.

Life is a fleeting candy floss,
Which will show you who's the boss,
And when you think you are in clover,
The fun fair closes, it's all over.
Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom on

What's what?
What's what?
What's what, why?
Why what?
Why, what's what?
Not who?
Who, who's who?
Who's what?
Who's who, not what.
Why, what's what?
Oh, I give in!
Photo by Belle Co on

She swallowed her pride
Took it all in her stride,
Went with the flow
And learned to let go.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
A nightmare

I had a dream,
Shot in the head,
I didn't scream,
I just played dead.
Photo by Vlada Karpovich on
Why I love you...

You have the grace of a tipper truck,
The courage of a mouse,
The looks of a duck billed platypus
And the allure of a louse.

You show the kindness of a sociopath,
The morals of a whore, 
The discernment of a virus,
But the wit of a shit house door!
Photo by Max Vakhtbovych on
A tight fit

Squeals of delight
Heard through the door,
"Yes, that is tight, 
Give it some more."

With sweat on his brow,
He eased the thing in,
All he had to do now,
Make sure it would spin.

"Missus, that's great,
Turn the dial down to thirty,
My plumbing's first rate,
Your clothes won't get dirty."
Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on

Chess master unbeat
Up to now, any rate
Has to admit defeat
To a little Czech mate.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on
The food critic

Hobbo the poet
Purchased a cruet,
To sugar his food with some spice.
His missus smiled wryly,
And said to him dryly,
"Criticism implied, has it's price."
Photo by Irina Iriser on
The new vicar

All of the girls 
From the parish were there,
Neatly turned out 
In their best Sunday wear.

Church was as packed
As the very first time
They did Songs of praise,
Back in seventy-nine.

The weather was poor.
Fog, murky, not sunny,
No chance of a pew,
For love or for money.

The maiden sisters,
Who in number were four,
Sat on the front row,
With eyes glued to the door.

Widow McGee
Squashed herself in-between
Wearing a frock
Which had never been seen.

Spinster ladies,
Isabella and Grace,
Both looking demure,
With fresh powdered face.

Church bells rang nine,
A buzz went through the crowd,
Holding their breath,
All collectively proud.

An entrance was made,
What was happening now?
It must be a mistake,
Our new vicar, a frau!
Photo by Aaron Burden on
Three Steps

There are three steps to heaven
Or so goes the song,
I think there are seven,
But I could be wrong.
Photo by Burst on

My wife says I'm important,
I think that's what she said,
She can't have meant impotent,
We weren't even in bed.
Photo by jae park on
Things that posh people do

If you are intimidated
By men with lots of dosh
Or you get exasperated
With a woman talking posh,
Then spare a thought
For things they do,
When they disport
Like me and you.

They enter earth
Completely nude, it's
So the nurse
Can see their rude bits.
A good long year
They shit at will
And make it clear
They're volatile.

Once toilet trained
They use the loo
And unrestrained,
They'll wee and poo.
Growing older
They learn to fight
As they get bolder
For their rights.

They do have sex
Like me and you,
Yep, with their ex,
They do that too.
They'll cheat, defraud,
Amass, be greedy
Hide their hoard
For when they're needy.

These people Porsche
Are just like us,
(Except, of course),
Won't catch a bus.
They tell you many things untrue,
To save their skins, they lie,
Then, just the same as me and you,
They curl their toes, and die.
Photo by Patrick Case on
Tough Cricket

Cricketers use many balls,
Red, and white and pink,
But when it hits them in the smalls,
Then they turn black, I think.
Photo by Pixabay on
Size does matter

He rammed it,
Then he jammed it,
But could not
get it in.
He took it out,
Turned about,
Yet still, the same thing.

"It's too big,
For this gig,"
Said she, "It's a shame,
It should be quite small,
Hand luggage it's called,
The clue's in the name!"

Photo by Gustavo Fring on

If there was but one
girl left on the earth,
I might choose you hon,
for what you are worth.

If I had a heart
I wore on my sleeve,
that wouldn't be smart,
it would ruin the weave.

If I were to dream, 
it might be of you,
your grey hair unkempt,
and breath like dog poo!

If I were to woo
the girl of my dreams,
not sure if you'd do,
we're on different teams.

If I had a soul,
then you'd be my date,
my lick of the bowl,
my sexy soul mate.

What I'm trying to say,
please don't break my heart,
or I'll go to the pub
and get pissed as a fart.
Photo by RODNAE Productions on
The laundry basket

One disgusting T-shirt, covered in saucery,
Two pairs of dirty knickers from last night's debauchery,
Three lots of jeans, caked in festival mud,
Four stained sheets because, you would not be good,
Five pairs of undies, where you have left your mark,
Six fluffy rabbits, glowing in the dark,
Seven pongy towels, from when the dog was ill,
Eight lacy handkerchiefs, edged with a frill,
Nine sweaty headbands, fresh from the gym,
Ten smelly socks and now it's full to the brim.
Photo by Harrison Haines on
Mutual Attraction

Wes, was the son of a gun,
Annie Oakley, a chip of the block,
He discovered that wood can be fun,
And she proved she could handle his stock.
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on
A Misunderstanding

He left her, for another,
She needed T.L.C
But, when she told her mother,
She fetched the T.C.P.
Photo by Pixabay on
The blocked flue

Love, this is more than routine,
Your flue needs a bloody good clean
And why are you looking so shocked,
I'm not kidding lady, it's blocked,
And it isn't just covered in smears,
I don't think you've used it for years.

Your back passage needs a stiff sweep,
But I'm telling you missus, I'm cheap.
A poke with a rod's what's required,
I can do it without getting tired,
And that husband of yours, who's inept,
You can tell him, your chimney's been swept.
Photo by Lukas on
Carry on camping

The millennium dome
Is to be used as a home
For all of the homeless - makes sense,
A government voice
Claims this is their choice,
In pursuit of a policy in tents.
Photo by NEOSiAM 2021 on
Being me

I like being me,
Cos I'm bonkers you see.
Don't need to act serious,
Sage or imperious,
Can say what I like
(Except to my wife),
With Dauphy converse,
More often in verse,
Wear my greying hair long,
Or burst into song
About rabbits and chillies
Or cats with big willies.
Arrogant men
Feel the wrath of my pen,
As do women who use
Their beauty for news.
But I do what I like,
Catch fish on my bike,
Eat porridge for supper
And moan about upper
Classes that use us,
Cheat and abuse us,
Think they know better
Than my Irish Setter
Who loves who I am,
Not the King of Siam,
Just Hobbo the poet,
And he don't even know it.
So for my epilogue,
'This man loved his dog'
Is all that I ask,
(And perhaps a hip flask).

Photo by Lisa on
The poems I write

A poem I write
May make you laugh,
It could be trite,
Or daft, or naff.

The poems I write
Are sometimes true,
These poems can bite,
May get to you.

The poems I write
Could make you cry,
Squeal with delight,
Or wonder why.

The poems I write
Are not highbrow,
I keep them light,
Well anyhow..

The poems I write
Are not too clever,
They may excite,
But, I would never

With poem I write
Claim things untrue,
Be too forthright,
For I need you.

A poem I write
Needs to be read,
Your fire ignite,
Or words are dead.

The poems I write
I share with you,
And at their height,
They may just do!
Photo by Ba Tik on

They are gathered by bees
And whispered in the trees,
Reflected in your eye,
Or the non too subtle sigh.

They will haunt you in your sleep,
These secrets that you keep,
When you're sure the world is dumb,
They will bite you on the bum!

Gnaw your conscience till it's raw,
And you forget the fatal flaw,
For you know, without a doubt
That your secret will get out.
Photo by cottonbro on
Joseph's Coat

Joseph's gran knit him, a coat,
Multi-coloured, fancy stitches,
And though the colours get his vote,
He will not wear it, as it itches.
Photo by Rachel Claire on
Time Please

He bought her a clock
Which was sold as a click,
Because, instead  of tick-tock,
The thing went tock-tick.
Photo by Max Vakhtbovych on
Toilet Etiquette

When travelling abroad
And in need of a loo,
It's not always easy
To know what to do.
You may want a Thomas,
A little Tom Tit,
In industrial language,
You just need a shit.
You could ask for a pony,
A pony and trap,
Or say out upfront,
You're in need of a crap.
What number is it,
A one, or a two,
Are you bursting to piss,
Or only to poo?

Then there's the room,
Do you ask for the dunny?
The little boy's room
Attracts looks that are funny.
I need the bathroom,
Why, are you mucky?
I'm searching the ladies,
You should be lucky!
Where are the gents,
Why, are you gay?
Can I use the rest room,
If you're tired, you may.
Could I powder my nose,
May well seal your fate,
By the time that's translated,
It may be too late!
Photo by AfroRomanzo on

Tchaikovsky was a ladies man,
Far silkier than the amateurs,
At 18.12, his nights began
With smooth talk from his overtures.

Photo by Masha Raymers on
Smart Casual

She was a mess in a dress,
Yet suited a suit.
A flirt in a skirt,
But she screwed in the nude.
Photo by Dziana Hasanbekava on
Comfort for food

They are not the height of passion
And they do bot all for passion
But elasticated pants
Are great for restaurants.
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on
A first poem

wrote a
poem, it was
a very
long composition, an
epic in
about two star
crossed lovers.
I edited 
it hundreds of
times, but
could not get
it to
rhyme or 
scan, it had
no rhythm and the
meter was
all wrong but
the story was still
a terrific
one. 'Hmm,'  I
'That's novel.'
Photo by Pixabay on
The cycling poet

William, a poet, was cycling
When his chain broke, and forced him to stop
So he popped ovver 'road into Wainwright's
Who ran a small bicycle shop.

Embarrassed because he'd no money,
He said,"Alf, can you fix me chain right,
And I promise to pay you back later,
Which I'm hoping you'll say is alright

He'd fix it for nowt he said kindly,
If he were the last man on earth,
"Because you, William, are a poet,
And we're all aware what your word's worth.
Photo by David Jakab on
Wordsworth's Idea

I wondered, only half aloud
If I had paid my fuel bills,
Then all at once, there lifts a cloud,
I'll put them in the post, with Jill's.
And if they're fake, or parodies,
I'll owe no one, and live at ease.
Photo by Vesi Dimitrova on
Shopping Al Fresco

When shopping for food
She always went nude,
A decision eccentric, if rash,
But the girl was no fool
And though sometimes cool,
She was never again stuck for cash.
Photo by Pixabay on
A Briton abroad

I long for blooming Britain,
To hear the booming Bittern
And I'm stuck in Helsinki
Where life is hell, but kinky.
Photo by Pixabay on

The world's full of faux millionaires,
Who try to impress with their airs
And graces, who constantly swank
Of how much they have in the bank,
Who select only privileged mates
And have nothing to do with estates,
Unless it's a property they own
And can boast of how much it's grown.

Whose interests are only compound,
And the likes of which usually are found
Exclusively in the best seats
At sporting events and such treats,
Where they sit and hold court, and they brag
Of their jets and their ill gotten swag,
Granted knighthoods for whom they might know
From Cambridge or Oxford, or even Harrow.

Look at me, see my wealth, what I've got
My luxury cars and my yacht.
They work every hour God sends
To accumulate more and more spends,
Which usually results in, of course
A history of splits and divorce,
So, for all they amass and accrue
I trump the whole lot, I've got you.
Photo by on
Thoughtful Gifts

A thoughtful gift for Father's Day
Was unexpected when
C.E.O of Hobbo's Poems
Came, inscribed on Parker Pen.
Thank you James!

Then arrived a voucher,
On posh hotel to spend,
A second thoughtful gift
For me and special friend.
(Or I may take Mrs H.)
Thank you John!
Photo by nappy on
A second chance

If I could live it all again,
All the pleasure, all the pain,
All the errors that I've made,
Rewound to birth, and then replayed.

If I could do it all tomorrow,
All the joy, but all the sorrow,
Would I relive that holy mess?
I think, on balance, yes, hell yes!
Photo by Koshevaya_k on
For the love of reading

There is little to beat
Diving into a good book,
Immersing yourself
In the characters,
Swimming around
In the plot,
Its mysteries,
Then climbing out
At the deep end
Completely rejuvenated.
This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is pexels-photo-104764.jpeg
Photo by Somchai Kongkamsri on
The Conscript

Jack Sprat would eat no fat,
He drove his missus barmy,
She bopped him in his cobblers
And made him join the army.
Photo by Somchai Kongkamsri on
The Conscript

Jack Sprat would eat no fat,
He drove his missus barmy,
She bopped him in his cobblers
And made him join the army.
Photo by Monica Silvestre on

The Stage

The whole world is a stage,
Thus spake playwright Willy,
Well where's my actor's wage?
The man was talking silly!
Photo by Cedric Fauntleroy on
The receptionist jobsworth

Urine sample needed
Specimen bottle bought,
Careful bit of pissing,
Urine sample caught.

Took it to the doctors'
Desk staff said,"Not right,"
Refusing to accept it,
"Top should be red, not white!"
Photo by Black ice on
The Class System

There are people out there
Who are devil-may-care,
Don't do what is fair
Or count who they scare
And will steal whatso'er
Howso'er and when'er.

Or the vin-ordinaire
Who live laissez faire,
For whom life's an armchair,
To snooze unaware,
Without having to bare
Their soul anywhere.

But the people who dare,
Are the humans who care
That we all have our share,
Who seek to repair
That unjust affair.
For them, say a prayer. 
Photo by Mau00ebl BALLAND on
Scout's honour

I look back through a haze
To those 'Bob a Job' days,
And I think, once a boy scout
Then always a boy scout,
But unless your wife's tough,
Well, once a knight is enough.
Photo by Ru016bdolfs Klintsons on
Life's Lottery

I'm too old to play cricket for Yorkshire
Or win 'Master  Chef' with my cooking,
Much too honest to be a world leader,
No way, would you call me good looking.

I didn't earn millions of dollars,
But you see in the lottery of life,
I drew out a platinum ticket,
Two great kids, and a wonderful wife.
Photo by Mathias P.R. Reding on
Cheeky Chap

Charlie Drake, comedian, was
Small, reached women's breasts,
Catchphrase,"Hello my darlings,"
Was used to greet his guests.
Photo by Quang Nguyen Vinh on
All roads lead to Russia

The cul-de-sac which I call home
At one time would lead me to Rome,
I do not know when, why or how,
That same road, now goes to Moscow.
Photo by Daisy Anderson on
The waiter's mistake

A vampire, a la carte
Ordered a steak.
It was put through his heart
So he did not partake.
Photo by Pressmaster on
The beer hunt

I'm going on a beer hunt,
I don't scare,
Tonight I will be blind drunk,
Sod that bear!
Photo by Tu00fa Nguyu1ec5n on
The Fairy

The elf which sat upon her bed
Was delicate, but tough.
"You said your name was Nuff," she said,
"Would that be Fairy Nuff?"
Photo by RODNAE Productions on
Curriculum Vitae

I used to teach history,
Though that's in the past,
Then I learned cobbling,
But that didn't last.

Went back to teaching,
But gave up because
Nostalgia's okay,
Yet it's not what it was.

Astrology next, but
With no future in it,
I worked on the refuse
But then had to bin it.

Finally tried cooking,
A real piece of cake,
Now on the dole
It's no give and all take.

Photo by Armin Rimoldi on
University Challenge

The team found it hard to anticipate
And answers for points to articulate,
A substitute A.K.A gobshite
Was forgiven, when found to be erudite.
Photo by Posawee Suwannaphati on
Lounge room lizard

He purchased a small grass of red
Intending to tempt her to bed,
But he had to stop and rethink
When it turned out she drank like a sink.
Photo by Anthony on
Olympics 2021

The effect will be a domino,
There is a need for status quo
The thing is fait comme il faut
Postpone it, please do Tokyo.
Photo by Jc Laurio on
Royal Lineage

The princess had turned eight,
No point in trying to fool her,
Mother gave it to her strsight,
"You're going to be a ruler."
Photo by Yogendra Singh on
It's just not cricket

As summer breezes billow,
Hear leather struck by willow.
Though, it's a mystery to me
Why a cow climbs up a tree.

Photo by Samantha Garrote on
Accident Prone

She fell from a forty foot ladder,
On to her face, bit her tongue,
Prognosis could have been sadder
But she fell from the very first rung.
Photo by Cats Coming on
The wrong choice

Doctor Radford
Went to Bradford.
To taste authentic curry.
His chicken madras
Gave him pain in the ass
And he didn't go back in a hurry.
Photo by Pixabay on
The experimental farmer

The farmer tried his cattle
On fodder made with platinum,
It made their udders rattle
And cost too much to fatten 'em.
Photo by Kampus Production on
This is not a quadrille

They sneaked into
my bedroom
under cover of
darkness, slipped 
on the handcuffs and
placed me under
arrest. I protested
my innocence, but the
poetry police wouldn't
listen.  A
quadrille is a dance
originating in France
I insisted and refused
to say another...
Photo by Vlad Cheu021ban on
The lottery win

A tight fisted feller named Otto
Defied logic by winning the Lotto.
His celebratory bash
For friends short of cash
Disappointed with only risotto.
Photo by Polina Tankilevitch on
Mrs H saves the day

Wetherspoon's at Redcar,
A pint of Guinness please,
A red wine for the missus,
And pie with chips, no peas.

Get shakes and spill my beer
It slops upon the floor,
Mrs H discreetly,
Hands to me a straw.

Sucking, without spilling
Negates the need to pour,
My missus is a genius,
Wish I'd thought of this before.
Photo by Engin Akyurt on
Courting, Yorksher style

She breathed down me neck,
I thought, 'Flippin' 'eck.
I am in wi' a shout,'
So, I bought 'er a stout.
Photo by Anton H on
Music Collection

She sold all of her singles,
 And eight tracks, 
Piano, jukebox and E.P.s
Seventy eights, CDs and L.P.s
Record player,
Cassette player.
And Trombones.
The whole of her collection,
Going, going, gone
Auctioneer's discretion.
It all went for a song.
Photo by Czerrysh Ann on

Wee Willy Winky
Ran through the town,
Showing off his dinky,
With his trousers down.

Mrs Willy Winky
Says,"You've got a nerve.
Cover up that pinky,
You naughty little perv,"
Photo by Alexander Dummer on

When Jack swapped mum's cow
For a handful of beans,
His mother said,"Now
We are left with no means."

Jack pitched his wares,
Got a meeting of minds,
Now they're millionaires
And Jack's called Lord Heinz.
Photo by August de Richelieu on
The vacuous politician

I'm a little windbag, short and stout,
Hear me bluster, hear me spout.
Soon becomes quite clear that I know nowt,
Got to wait four years to vote me out.
Photo by Pixabay on
My new table

This table I am looking at
Is four by two, and very flat.
It's green baize cloth is not wipe clean,
Impossible to get a sheen,
And all the way around the edge
Is like a cushioned little ledge.
On the corners, up the sides
Are pockets, where my dropped food hides.
I'm snookered as to what to do
With it. Are you?
Photo by cottonbro on

He, rather unwise,
His eyes on the prize.
No thought of disguise,
Stared long, at her thighs.

She, to his surprise,
Having quickly apprised,
Said,"Try these for size,"
And gave him black eyes.
Photo by Barthy Bonhomme on
Sounds like?

Can I make it clear
That onomatopoeia
Is a sound word
For word sounds.
Like water down a plug,
Glug. Glug. Glug, glug, glug.

Noises when I speak,
Groan, grunt, growl, eek,
Mumble, murmur, squeal, squeak.

And right before that prang,
Crash, crunch, clatter, clang,
Smash, screech, slap, bang.

Pets I keep, cock-a-doodle-doo,
Chirp, cheep, cluck, cuckoo,
Honk, howl, tweet, twit twoo.

But you! You make my heart go fwoosh,
Whiz, whip, waft, whoosh,
Fsst, flutter, swish, swoosh.

So, let's hear it, my dear,
A great dollop of cheer
For onomatopoeia!
Photo by Alexander Mils on
The Speculator

Shares in stock
She did obtain
And now she's on
The gravy train!
Photo by Min An on
La vie est belle

There's nothing much to do up here,
I can't get the hang of this harp.
Saint Peter said to learn by ear,
So is this E flat or F sharp?
La vie est belle, they said,
It sure beats being dead.

I'm looking down on all my friends,
And the small stuff causing worry.
It's not too late to make amends,
Life's way too short to hurry.
La vie est belle, they said,
It sure beats being dead.

And who let all these people in,
My long lost friends and relatives?
It's nice to see loved ones again,
But some of these are negatives!
La vie est belle, they said,
It sure beats being dead.

Enjoy your life and make the most,
it ain't all work, it should be fun.
You're far too long a flipping ghost,
And once it's done my friend, it's done.
La vie est belle, they said,
It sure beats being dead.
Photo by on

My mobile is broke,
I got in a flap,
But spoke to some bloke,
All I need is a nap.

Photo by Tim Douglas on
 Mother Warton and Dauphy 

Dauphy, don't be so dozy, 
Nothing beats a good nosy. 
Stand here, pretend you are chewing 
And find out what people are doing. 

Intelligence, key to it all, 
Info, no matter how small. 
Whatever news happens are way 
Will help us to gossip all day. 
Photo by Gary Barnes on
Mixed Messages

Give me your hand,
Close your eyes.
What I'm gonna demand
Won't be a surprise.

A lifetime together,
Through thick and through thin,
Whatever the weather
And no violins.

We're good for each other,
So you say, of course.
You're too like your mother,
I want a divorce!

Photo by cottonbro on

In many ways,
In long gone days,
Computers not invented,
We knew what should,
We did what could
And mostly stayed contented.
Photo by Pixabay on
Crazy, crazy life

The world's going mad,
To be honest, it's sad,
Plain common sense is departing,
When a girl from the States
Hooks up with her mates
And' earns' thousands of dollars for farting!
Photo by Pixabay on
Flying Fish

There's a new craze in town,
To play when you're down.
WetBet is the race,
And I got third plaice.
Photo by Dih Andru00e9a on

A fun loving nurse,
Who loved writing verse,
One week wrote a hundred and forty.
To a publisher went,
But back it was sent,
Marked, some of this stuff is too naughty.
Photo by Pixabay on
Boy's toys

There was a little boy
And he had a favourite toy,
Playing with it every day.
He brummed it on the floor
Excitedly before
His momma took the tortoise away.
Photo by 8kspain on
The Apparition

If this apparition appears in the sky,
You will know that the end of the world is nigh.
With gossamer wings, metal mouth, nose and hips,
This harbinger's name, well it's Anna Copperlips.
Photo by John Ray Ebora on
The Queen's Dreams

Are the dreams of the queen
Very often obscene?
Does she knight in the nude,
Or is that, way too rude?
Has she jumped from a cliff
Whilst smoking a spliff?
Does her majesty shout
But nothing come out?

Is she chased by a bear,
But has nothing to wear,
Or stuck in a lift
With a peasant who whiffs?
Does she fly in the sky,
Then get chased by a spy?
I'm prepared to opine
That her dreams mimic mine.

Photo by Kevin Bidwell on

The way that this tattoo fad's going,
Pretty soon, there'll be no way of knowing
If we're black or we're white
With tattoos inked so tight
That there isn't an inch of skin showing.
Photo by Sora Shimazaki on
Vive la difference!

The slowest thing upon the road,
Will reach its destination,
And wealthy king, to common toad,
We all need procreation.

Our differences make us unique
And should be celebrated.
It's prejudice that keeps us weak,
So why's it tolerated?

Photo by Mike on
The Big Clean

Out with the scrunchy, crunchy crisppacketry,
Half finished cartons, of takeaway racketry,
Car parking tickets, which spill from the pockets.
What's this under here? Oh, look it's a sock, it's
The one from last week, when carried away,
You just couldn't wait for a roll in the hay.

The stinky old ashtrays, they're getting emptied,
Into the bin bag. You know I am tempted,
To make it smoke free, and to ban any food.
This once a year clean up, puts me in a mood.
Wet wipes and dog wipes and arse wipe in rolls,
Sticky suck sweeties, and cloths full of holes.

Out of date maps, with half the roads missing,
And look, I've discovered the cause of that hissing,
A half finished bottle, now flat as a fart.
Gone mouldy from Aldi, an unwanted tart.
Now, move with the hoover, suck up all the crap,
And when this car's spotless, I'm having a nap.
Photo by Laura James on
A free trip

The inaugural use
 Of my bus pass today,
Just needed to choose, 
Had nothing to pay.

Bury market return,
With bus wheels a thudding,
Only two hours to burn
For a piece of black pudding.
Photo by Dainis Graveris on

Standing atop of a hill,
Moody, magnificent, still.
Outsize penis, erect, with a view,
Boast, I can piss further than you.
These phallic symbols immense,
Speak of more money than sense.

Photo by Blue Bird on
Packed Lunch

A secretary, peripatetic,
Brought lunch in a snack box, hermetic.
When she cracked an egg's shell,
The sulphurous smell
Worked swifter than any emetic.
Photo by Lina Kivaka on

Every single
Has promised
To clean the streets,
Eradicate dog shit,
Employ more police
Spend my money wisely.

The first one
To stop bullshitting,
Tell the truth
And not treat me
Like a child,
Will get my vote.
Photo by Pixabay on
A Nappy Event

The woman was pregnant, she reckoned,
When the ultrasound spotted a second,
A third, fourth and fifth,
Then even a sixth,
"Congrats," said the nurse, "You are fecund!"
Photo by Cristian Rojas on
Full bodied red

The stunning redhead,
A New Yorker,
Her spiraling threads
Were a corker.
The full bodied red
Proved a talker.
No driving, instead
He'd to walk her.
Photo by Paul Kerby Genil on
The Princess and the Pea
(The real story)

Princess, breakfast time,
"I'm not amused", says she.
A dozen mattresses to climb,
Whilst bursting for a pee.
Photo by Jill Burrow on
Drug of choice

Coffee or tea,
That first caffeine hit,
The absolute key
To not feeling shit.
Photo by Johann on
The dog walker

She upturned a new leaf,
And found an old shoe.
A bit of relief,
-She was searching for poo.
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on
Her own little world

Your fiction is flash, madam,
That clever twist, you had 'em,
And readers, I am gambling,
Enjoy your erudite rambling.

Most everybody knows
You are articulate in prose,
Your poetry is stunning,
Those metaphors, quite cunning.

Your novels are, well, novel
And I don't mean to grovel,
Because when you've finished writing,
That barbecue needs lighting.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Joy of Socks

Socks can be cosy,
Can even keep you warm.
Socks can be soggy,
If caught in a storm.

People who boast socks,
Ten for a penny,
Women who have socks,
Varied and many.

Socks could be costly,
Socks could be free,
If you have odd socks,
Someone's sure to see!

Have socks at Christmas,
Get socks for a treat,
Socks for your birthday,
Or socks you can eat.

Socks could be shortish,
May last all day long.
Socks may be stylish,
Chance to wear that thong.

Socks can be smelly,
Nature's sense of fun,
Better wear a coat,
To stop a little bun.

Socks to have meaning,
Really needs a pair.
Socks all alone is
A rather sad affair.
Photo by Aaron Houston on
Sex workers
(parody of Common Cormorant by Christopher Isherwood)
(Contains adult themes)

The common prostitute, or slag
Earns money for her goodnight shag.
The reason's clear, she needs the cash,
To feed her habit, buy the hash.
But what these unobservant men,
Have never noticed, is that when
They use the services she trades,
There's more than one, her work degrades.
Photo by Sinitta Leunen on
Mirror, mirror...

What tangled tales
You never tell.
Your angled rays
Reflect, compel.

A thousand views
You hold in one.
Like quicksand news,
You're never done.

You can not lie
To age or youth.
Your cocotte eye
Reflects the truth.

If you could talk,
Your secrets spread,
How I would baulk
At what you said.
Photo by Markus Spiske on
A frustrating game

What a round of golf today,
Like Ballesteros in his day.
Next time out, a different story,
Harry Hookit in his glory.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on

Recorded Message

If the problem you've got
Is the internet,
Go to,
"I can't, you silly get!"
Photo by on
Flat Scream

I choose to watch news
For its in depth reviews,
Or i flick it to cricket,
And see every wicket.

I might, in the night
Stay up late, watch the fight.
At dawning, still yawning,
A soap in the morning.

Get my fix of the flicks
Which knock me for six.
Mademoiselle, you can tell,
Telly's my lockdown Hell.
Photo by vectors icon on
The Car Boot Sale

A man finds an old Union Jack,
Tries to sell it as junk, bric-a-brac,
But at car boot is seen
By a not amused Queen,
And with handbag, is given a whack.
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on

I paid tax on my wage,
Now it's tax on my pension.
As I get to old age,
I feel I should mention,
That I also pay tax
On all that I buy.
The taxman extracts,
And will till I die.
Photo by Skitterphoto on
Inspired by Ingrid

Twixt metaphor, and simile,
I got mixed up. Why silly me!
All similes are metaphors,
I should have known that fact before.
All metaphors aren't similes,
If you're not sure, here is a key.
A metaphor, I am a tree,
Daft as a brush, a simile.
Useless as a tongue tied poet,
Analogy, and don't I know it.
Photo by Tony Pham on
God loves a trier

Oooh Tobias,
Look at your Uncle Jake,
He's in the kitchen, 
Learning how to bake.
First he turns the stove on
To cook what he has made.
Now he's set the place on fire,
Best ring the fire brigade.
Photo by Nadezhda Diskant on
The Temptress

Before he could have his dessert,
She slowly unbuttoned his shirt,
And turned the lights low,
Till the landlord said,"No,
This is my pub, you shameless young flirt."
Photo by Gustavo Fring on
The passionate pensioner

You are my Aphrodite,
May find me rather flighty.
I pray to God Almighty
You'll wear your sexy nightie.
Photo by Max Fischer on

"You know your shit sir."
Her teacher concurred.

"I mean, you're shit"-she,
"As in simile!"
Photo by samer daboul on
A parody of Jaberwocky
by Lewis Carroll

Twas payday, and the slimy toads,
Drink fire and gamble in the snug:
All flimsy were their heavy loads,
And mum released the drug.

Beware the Crowing Cock my son!
The beak that pecks, the feet that scratch!
Beware the Spotsport bird, it's won
A famous cricket match.

He took his sabre light in hand:
Three days his little toe was caught-
So rested he in The Old Oak Tree,
And drank a pint in thought.

And as in mighty mood he sat,
The Crowing Cock, with wattle raised,
Burst in the pub with cricket bat,
W.G.Grace be praised.

Three, four! Three four! And at the door
The sabre light went in and out.
And from the floor, a mighty roar,
"Crowing Cock-It's your shout!"

"And hast thou tamed the Crowing Cock?
Give me a hug, my beastie boy!
Oh fanlous say, De Doo, De Day!
My bosom weeps for joy."

Twas payday and the slimy toads
Drink fire and gamble in the snug:
All flimsy were their heavy loads,
And mum released the drug.
Photo by Janko Ferlic on
Goldilocks, the true story.

Despite being quiet as a mouse,
Goldilocks was caught in the house
Of three bears, who took a dim view,
And phoned for a policeman, or two.
The Sergeant said,"Burglary miss,
I think you'll get porridge for this."
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
The Faithful Servant

The King was squatting on his throne,
Isolated, all alone.
Came a tap upon the door,
The voice of royal servitor.
"I'll wipe your bum sire, when your done."
"No, I can manage, thanks my son."
Fearful knighthood might be missed,
Squeaks the servant, "I insist."
With flourish, fuss and royal caper,
Privy Seal commits to paper.
Photo by John Rocha on

God made the Earth,
I do believe,
And just for mirth,
He added Eve.
Photo by Mikhail Nilov on
To err is human

As a young man, I committed an act,
Trivial in nature, but monstrous in fact.
To cover it up, I told me a lie,
Which bothered me since, and will till I die.
A man of the church, would pray to his God,
And cancel that sin. If only I could.
So as I've grown old, I've started to trawl,
Through wrongs in my life, and that was not all.

The errors I've made, are varied and many,
A clock won't rewind, or cancel out any.
Can't live a life, on what-ifs and maybe,
An innocent man, there is only the baby.
We're human, we err, it's sad, but it's true,
Learn from mistakes, the best we can do.
Live for the future, as life is so vast,
Don't look behind you, the past, it has passed.
Photo by Mike on
The considerate monarch

Clever, canny King
Buys Queen a mannequin,
So that meeting
And greeting
Missus stops panicking.
Photo by Lisa on
A Poetic Wrinkle

I like poems to rhyme,
With a touch of symbolism
I have learnt over time
To avoid words like journalism.
Photo by Chevanon Photography on
Accent, what accent?

Did you say stirring or staring,
Whirring or wearing,
Farting or fighting,
Karting or Kiting?

Are you larking, or liking,
Harking, or hiking,
Was it bangle or bungle,
Jangle or Jungle?

Were you walking or working,
Jerking, or joking?
Your accent is funny,
Or should that be fanny?
Photo by Brett Sayles on
Broadband Blues

Never in a million years
Did i imagine all the tears
I's shed, before I die.
if you knew me, you'd wonder why.
My life's been great, I've had some fun,
A bit of rain, more often sun.
The reason I break down and cry,
I chose B.T, instead of Sky.
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on
 Jeux vidéo

The teenager played on her video game,
Call of Grand Theft, or some silly such name.
Thumb speed impressive, her digital powers
Were honed at the screen over hours and hours.
Playing on line, she had posted a score,
Which rivals acknowledged, they couldn't ignore.
You would not divert this young girl from her quest,
Her burning ambition, to be best of the best.

Hours turned to days, and she'd give meals a miss,
Surviving on but an occasional kiss
From mother, who worried and fretted her daughter
Was wasting her life, when really she oughta
Be studying hard for her exams at school,
Instead of what dad called, a video fool.
Till one day discovered, collapsed on the bed,
She'd been zapped by her rivals, who left her for dead.
Photo by Robo Michalec on

Referee, why can't you see
How much united mean to me.
It was a goal, and not offside,
So, let it stand. Restore my pride.

Our striker's shot, hit like a rocket,
You must be in City's pocket.
I'm annoyed, and with good reason,
You have ruined our whole season.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Conflicts of interest

Yet another politician
Seems to be upon the fiddle.
Let me state with much precision,
I own shares in squit and diddle.
Photo by Dick Scholten on
The School Run

School run, car share,
Flat shoe footwear.
Marley jamming,
Car doors slamming.
Early risers,

Titter, tatter.
Parents chatter.
School bell ringing,
children singing.
Little darlings
Flock like starlings.

Note from teacher,
School rules breacher.
Bag, wet knickers,
Someone snickers.
Lend a kind ear,
Never mind dear.

Queueing traffic.
Got through somehow,
Nearly home now.
Tired kids yawning,
Back in morning.

Photo by Marx Ilagan on
Old dog, new tricks

I must admit that in the past
I've stained a thing, or two.
Tomorrow though, because you ask,
I'll stain that bench for you.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Poet

Her boyfriend had split,
Which hurt her a bit,
So she had a good look
In her little red book.
But try as she might,
And she did try, all night
She could not find a rhyme
For the two-timing swine.
Photo by Alexandr Podvalny on

Hannibal, the cannibal,
Was munching on his lunch.
He chewed the stew anew when told,
His wife gave it the crunch.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Mother and Daughter

Choose your path carefully
my beloved daughter.
The well trodden one,
that of your ancestors,
leads to children,
a partner, domesticity,
even possible happiness.

The other,
not yet carved,
requires courage and commitment.
You may get lost,
but you could fulfill your dreams.
Choose wisely darling,
for there is no return.
And, if I want both mummy?
Then my dear child,
you are truly my daughter.
Photo by Engin Akyurt on

I don't give a toss for
an Oscar.
A Bafta
is not what I'm after.
A knighthood
means nothing to me.
I can manage
with no MBE.
All I need
is a nice quiet life
and a cuddle from you,
or my wife.
Photo by Uriel Mont on

In order to get work
She rang round her network
Who only had pet work,
Considered too wet work.

What use those contacts
Who gave her the wrong facts,
As much use as tin tacks
in a tubful of floor wax.
Photo by Pixabay on
Life is...

is a puzzle.

A cryptic crossword
that makes no sense.
A jigsaw
with missing pieces.

A word game
in a foreign language.
A sudoku
that doesn't add up.

A Rubik Cube
with seven sides.
A word-search
for meaning.
Photo by Anna Shvets on

Try implants, a brand-new you.
Temptation talked, I paid for two.
Although the dentist did her best,
I'm still unhappy with my chest.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Betrayal

You, are my diamond, my jewel,
So how can you treat me so cruel?
You're my very best friend, you're my wife
And I've loved you for most of my life.
You're my treasure, the girl I adore,
There is no one in life I love more,
But it hurts, don't you know, can't you see,
When you ask me to make my own tea.
Photo by Sonja Maric on
The Invitation

Sit down here
And rest a while.
Buy me beer,
And make me smile.
Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on
Divorce Settlement

She got the house, the car, the frills,
Jewels, clocks, the Louis d'or.
He got to keep his precious drills,
For all is fair in love and law.
Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on
Light Verse

Considered silly, not serious,
Impish, but never imperious.
My verse is light, not stodgy, heavy,
Less red wine and more beer bevvy.
No clever rhymes to take your breath,
My verse won't scare you half to death.
When I paint pictures, it's by halves,
I'm only here to make you laugh.
So, if you chuckle at my poem,
Tha'll do for me and I've hit home.
Photo by Element5 Digital on
Voting Time

It must be voting time, 
They are knocking at my door,
Feigning proper interest, 
Which they've never shown before.

A vote for them, they claim,
Ensures that all is well,
Whilst the opposition party
Will send us all to Hell.

They're the only party
Can stamp out racial crime.
Excuse me, but that's something
You should do, all the time.

Can't trust a word they say,
Not even half of it.
They promise us the world,
And feed us all bullshit.
Photo by Godisable Jacob on
Fashion Victims

Designer jeans,
what a farce.
All those holes,
you look an idiot.

Pumped up lips,
look at that.
Sorry love,
you look a twerp.

Baseball cap
worn back to front.
you look a clown.

Height of fashion,
latest look.
Do I really,
give a fig.

Photo by cottonbro on
The Performance

The actress likes to do her flirtin'
Hidden by the theatre curtain.
Soon apparent,
This transparent,
Quite a sideshow, that's for certain.
Photo by mali maeder on

You are a silly old sausage, she teased.
Well, let's be more specific, he wheezed.
Am I Andouille, tasty but smelly,
Or a small Chipolata, a body like jelly.
A spicy Chorizo, made up of hot stuff,
Or a big handsome Bratwurst, who can't get enough.
I was thinking of Breakfast, because of the taste,
Lacking in substance, but too good to waste.
Photo by Pixabay on
A girl's best friend

Wear those diamonds,
Show them off.
Don't be shy now, 
Act the toff.

Bigger's better
Bait for mating.
Chance to sparkle,
Carbon dating.
Photo by Pixabay on
Broken Promises

Her wordplay
Reduced to this,
Broken Promises,
More Piss.
Photo by Barbara Webb on
Smart, casual

She put the kettle on,
She should have worn a dress.
The look was, well, all wrong,
A steaming, boiling mess.
Photo by Pixabay on
A tribute to Tina

Cottonfield baby,
Abandoned by mom.
Deserted by father,
Too tough to succumb.
You rock the house baby,
You rock the house.

Blessed with a voice
Of an angel that rocks.
Your fist happy husband
Was calling the shots.
You rock the house baby,
You rock the house.

He left you with nuthin'
Apart from your name
Which you shrewdly perceived,
Was your gateway to fame.
You rock the house baby,
You rock the house.

Your sexual presence,
Left fans screaming, more.
High octane dance moves,
And legs to die for.
You rock the house baby,
You rock the house.

Not private, your dancing,
From public, no rest.
You deserve happiness.
You are simply the best.
You rock the house baby,
You rock the house.
Photo by Patrick Case on
Rugby League

The Rhinos and Tigers were playing a game
Of rugby, in Yorkshire, from where they both came.
The big cats were giving the hard hides a drubbing,
But when they had finished, they all went out clubbing.
Photo by Leah Kelley on
The chauvinist

A woman considers it dutiful,
To do what she can to look beautiful.
Her man doesn't care
As long as she's there
Keeping his glass absolutely full.

Photo by Pixabay on
You look very smart

There was Joseph, George and Jeff,
They were in the RAF.
Alfred, Al and Arnie,
Soldiers in the army.

Douglas, Dan and Davie,
Sailors in the navy.
Billy, Bert and Buzz,
All of them were fuzz.

Ernie, Evan, Eddie,
Trained up paramedics.
Darrell, Douglas, Daz
All worked for Yorkshire Gas.

Julian, John and Joe,
The counter at Tesco.
Ian, Ivan, Ivor,
Experienced train drivers.

Their uniforms attracted,
Seriously impacted.
She couldn't pass one by
Without the need to try.
Photo by edwin josu00e9 vega ramos on
The works trip

There's a little known fact'ry in Yorksher
That's as rare as an 'oss what lays eggs,
Making shoes just for one footed people
Them as lacks quite a full set o' legs.

One half of 'fact'ry makes left shoes,
Whilst t'other specialises in 'right,
And 'cos 'shoes were selling like 'ot cakes,
Operations went reet through the night.

The two halves of 'fact'ry don't mix much,
Except when it's time for a brew,
Or at lunchtime, a quick game of footy,
Would spring up, on the spec, impromptu.

Charlie Clegg went to work in this fact'ry,
After flunking 'is exams at school,
And because of 'is Catholic leanings
He were put in the left footed pool.

Once a year they would 'ave a works outing,
Organised by the new boy or girl,
So, wi' Cleggy being 'newest of 'rookies,
He were asked if he'd give it a whirl.

Usually, they repaired to an alehouse
Where they all got as pissed as a fart,
But Cleggy were more into culture,
Like statues and paintings and art.

So he purchased some entrancing tickets
To 'world famous Pontefract Gallery,
What 'ad loan of a painting from Barnsley,
Of a big local lass, Moaning Valerie.

They made it to 'gallery, all sober,
And admired the celebrity painting.
Some of 'em moved close to tears,
And some as was almost a-fainting.

On 'way homeward they sloped off to 'pub,
One nicknamed,'The man with two bricks'.
A chance for the boys and the girls
From both sides of fact'ry to mix.

Charlie boy copped off wi' a lass,
Called Rita, who worked on the right,
There is no need to go into details,
All I'll say is, he 'ad a good night.

The trip were the best, so successful,
Yorksher folk 'aving cultural veins
And Cleggy were con-grat-yoo-lated,
All agreed, he should do it again.

Both halves 'aving got along famous
Just showed them what people can do,
When  we tolerate what makes us different,
And we each try the other one's shoe.

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on
The hold up

"This is a stick up, hand over the money!"
"I will if you want, but I aren't being funny,
Even masked up, I can tell it's you sonny.
Go home. Make the tea, and I'll see you soon, honey."
Photo by Oleg Magni on
Vanity Fare

Cosmetically tightened, her face has been tucked
As taut as a drum, where before it was rucked.
Her breasts are as pert as a twenty year old,
Where the implants were planted, no sign of a fold.

The eyebrows tattooed into near perfect arches,
Like Ronald McDonald's, and stiffer than starch is.
Her fat all squeezed out by lipo, and suction,
And lips pumped rock hard, to the brink of destruction.

Feet nibbled, quite clean, by some fish in a pond.
A brow full of Botox, hair platinum blonde.
Bikini line waxing, to make your eyes water.
Spends all on herself, trying to look like her daughter.

Absolutely no end to the things she's improved,
From the snow whitened teeth, to the tattoos removed,
But try to make friends, and she'll lead you a waltz,
She'll have nothing to do, with you dear, if you're false.

Photo by on
The Threshold

The pain threshold for men,
Is lower than a snake.
A bit of cold and then,
Why, such a fuss they make.

Where women prove their worth,
In tightening of the screws,
Is not for giving birth,
It's purchasing new shoes.
Photo by Szabu00f3 Viktor on
Big Mac

I ate a kid's meal
In McDonald's, across.
It was not a big deal,
But her mum got real cross.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Cinema

What is it with cinema munchers?
Too greedy to wait for lunch as
They chomp their way through a selection,
Of popcorn and other confection.

Popcorn is consumed by the bucket,
As noisily crunching, they tuck it
Away quickly, as though they are starving,
Never thinking of sharing, or halving.

Washed down with a tubful of drink,
Sufficient a cruiser, to sink.
Can they really not go for an hour,
With only the plot to devour?
Photo by Math on
The inventor's husband

Listen, my dear,
It's a stupid idea.
If you need a new phone,
Then you buy one, alone.
Plus a camera, perhaps,
for taking some snaps.

But, combining the two,
Well, it really won't do.
The market's all wrong,
It will never catch on.
So, he had the last word,
And her plans went unheard.
Photo by Engin Akyurt on
Heart on sleeve

She remains an open book,
Wears her heart upon her sleeve.
A funny sort of look.
A gruesome kind of weave.
Photo by samer daboul on
My Love

My love is like
A red, red rose
Sharp as a spike,
And needs no clothes.
Photo by Anne McCarthy on
Old Father Time

The slow march of time,
An idea I pooh pooh.
Now that I've passed my prime
It zooms by at mach two.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Park Bench

I could tell you some tales
About bums on this bench.
There's that woman from Wales,
A fine, sturdy wench.

The elderly couple
Who stop for a brew.
She's not so supple,
And he's eighty two.

The kids who pop by
To play hide and seek,
Or in winter, I Spy,
Is it bird? Is it beak?

But of all those I ease,
My favourite pair,
Is the courting strip-tease
With their legs in the air.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Bookworm

I scored three goals in sport, today.
Hat trick hero?  Hmm. No way!
Playing what I think is flanker,
Earned the nickname own goal wanker.
Photo by Lorena Martu00ednez on

He painted a mural
Of idyllic rural
But, typical Banksy
Duplicates pranks, he
Has done it in plural.
Photo by Nicholas Swatz on
Best of friends

Me, and a baritone gnome
Live in our home, all alone.
With no water, and no telephone
We must shower using eau de cologne.

And once all the perfume has gone,
He will burst forth and sing me a song,
He was taught by an ugly duck swan
Wearing laddered red tights and a thong.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Mechanic

The plane at the end of the runway
Ground to a halt, engine stalled.
It's captain, to fix it, knew one way
And for a mechanic she called.

The lady came out with her hammer,
Soon had it fixed, with no sweat.
A motorised sort of a stammer,
Technically called Stutterer Jet.
The Canine Poet

I tried to draft a careful poem
Of length, with strength, a testing tome.
The final draft though, monochrome
It should have stayed in house, at home.

So, I turned to trite, a ditty
Should have learned, as far from pretty.
Try to force iambic meter
Like compulsive over-eater.

Talent turns to trad. a sonnet,
Boy, that's just as bad, it's chronic.
This queer compulsion to get rhyme
To scan, oh man, it's such a crime.

I'll try some prose, see how that goes,
A budding Rowling, no one knows.
That's it, my friend, I'll write a book
With twisted end to get you hooked.

Pen a song, with awesome lyrics
Dance floor flooded atmospherics.
Writing now, on upward spiral,
Fame and fortune, even viral.

Name in lights, and big star billing.
Upbeat dog treats, snoozing, chilling.
Win awards, a prize, a trophy,
Accolades and "Well done Dauphy."

Photo by Adrianna Calvo on
Predictive Text

I wrong this poet on me phone
With the aim of predictable sex
It worms in ounce by itself
Knots who to tyre next.

Question Time

Hobbo: Enjoy your snooze Dauphy?

Dauphy: What snooze? I’ve been working. I was watching Prime Minister’s Questions!

Hobbo: If you say so.

Dauphy: I was. I’ve written a poem.

Hobbo: Fire away mate!

Question Time

Question time, 
With P.M. Boris,
Get more sense
From great aunt Doris.

Opposition though,
Keir Starmer,
Charisma of
A Yorkshire farmer.
Photo by cottonbro on
Just Eat

In his wishes, Vinny's missus
Lets him play out, catching fishes.
Not for him the cluck it, pluck it,
Finger lickin' bargain bucket.
While he's on the River Ouse
His missus rings Deliveroo's.
Checks out Chinese for her daughter
Orders more than what she oughtta.

Fish and chips, tortilla teasers,
Salad dips and spicy pizzas.
Vinny's mini's home for supper
Annie's plans he tries to scupper.
Not for him the angler's boasting
All he wants is cheesy toasties.
Wherein she turns, and out she swishes
And Vin, he learns, to do the dishes. 
Photo by Pixabay on
The Victory

Oh, how I long for the buzz of a crowd,
The hustle and bustle, the shouting out loud.
United, one voice, a community choir
Inciting, exciting as voices get higher.
Fiercely protective, allegiances proud,
As pent up frustrations are vented aloud.

The shame of the game, when your team goes one down
A penalty! Referee! That man is a clown.
The waster finds space to, nip through, equalise
Stick that up your kilt, and try that on for size.
Two more, take what for, now your world's upside down
Subdued is the mood, in the wrong half of town.

So, it's off to the pub with the rest of the crew.
The reds put to bed, and the team are all blue.
Ecstatic, emphatic, a victory, a win
Can't wait for the date when you do it again.
Your hopes for the cup are rekindled anew,
Forgetting last week, you were thankful you drew.
Photo by RODNAE Productions on
A poem about anything

Anything can make you cry,
Anything will make me sing,
Anything may cause a sigh
Anything, make you a king.

Anything is big or small,
Anything could be something
Anything was nought at all,
Anything, a mere nothing.

Anything, we writers write
I give my all for anything,
Anything, both day and night,
Anything is everything.
Photo by Mathias P.R. Reding on
Garden Gnomes

He tried to play bowls
With his miniature trolls.
Couldn't knock a thing over,
Each ball a misnomer.
Photo by The Lazy Artist Gallery on
The Bookworm

He devoured the novel
From cover to cover.
He said to his lover.

"Have you quite finished"?
She asked him, in bed.
"I think so my darling,
Yes,take it as read".

Photo by Kampus Production on
The Black Belt

Attacked by clowns
Whilst out one night,
She goes for juggler.
Serves them right.
Photo by on
The Poet's Pen

Six slim inches of ink, with proclivity
To harness her sharp creativity.
The potential for much positivity
And the power to beat negativity.

Oft times, a frustrating activity
Requiring at times perspectivity.
Striving to get objectivity,
Shunning the crass subjectivity.

She strives to achieve productivity,
Artistic, with some sensitivity,
But lacking required motivity
Writes, but once a year, a nativity.

Photo by Bruna Saito on
A nursery rhyme

Up and down the seesaw
Swaying on the swing
In and out the roundabout
And slide up to your chin.
Photo by cottonbro on
The Gift

I bought my wife some bath bombs
An anniversary gift,
Should have stuck to flowers,
She turned her nose up, sniffed.

She ran her bath that evening,
Romantically she sang.
As she shut the door behind her,
I waited for the bang.

Not a sausage, not a whimper,
They'd sold me bath bomb duds.
I'm going back tomorrow
For a refund on my goods.
Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on
This is the baby

This is the baby, all alone
With a tenuous claim to the UK throne.

This is the royal, dubbed disloyal
Who fathered the baby, all alone
With a tenuous claim to the UK throne.

Here's the famous star, in a fancy car
Who married the royal, dubbed disloyal
Who fathered the baby, all alone
With a tenuous claim to the UK throne.

This is the chat, which caused a spat
With the famous star, in a fancy car
Who married the royal, dubbed disloyal
Who fathered the baby, all alone
With a tenuous claim to the UK throne.

These are the press, who made a mess
Reporting the chat, which caused a spat
With the famous star, in a fancy car
Who married the royal, dubbed disloyal
Who fathered the baby, all alone
With a tenuous link to the UK throne.

This is the news, that airs its views
About the press, who made a mess
Reporting the chat, which caused a spat
With the famous star, in a fancy car
Who married the royal, dubbed disloyal
Who fathered the baby, all alone
With a tenuous link to the UK throne.

This is the palace, that's been called callous
About the news, that airs its views
About the press, who made a mess
Reporting the chat, which caused a spat
With the famous star, in a fancy car
Who married the royal, dubbed disloyal
Who fathered the baby, all alone
With a tenuous claim to the UK throne.

This is the child, who is reconciled
With the palace, that's been called callous
About the news, that airs its views
About the press, who made a mess
Reporting the chat, which caused a spat
With the famous star, in a fancy car
Who married the royal, dubbed disloyal
Who fathered the baby, all alone
With a tenuous link to the UK throne.
Photo by Chait Goli on
Brief Encounter

I met my wife in Venice
Asked, "What you doing here?"
"I've come to watch the tennis."
"No. That's in Paris dear!"
Photo by NEOSiAM 2021 on
Behind the mask

There's the kernel of a knuckle
Behind the ready chuckle
The gaff that makes you laugh
Which hides a paragraph
Of wit, incisive musing
Disguised as light, amusing.
The poet tempting us to grin
Achieves for both, result win-win.

But the bard that has me pause
And think about a cause
The fist inside the glove
The hawk behind the dove
They sir have my blessing
For 'tis more than window dressing.
This philosopher in rhyme
A thinker of our time.

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
The Baffled Blogger

There is no rhyme or reason
To visitors and likes
Though writing for a season
I can't predict the spikes.

I work my socks off for a week
On something that goes flop
Throw out nonsense, tongue in cheek
Which zooms straight to the top.

I thought I knew my audience
Though clearly, I do not
It's either reader naughtiness
Or I have lost my plot.
Photo by Tembela Bohle on

I'm Blue until I die
Was tattooed on his thigh
So, when the bloke was dead
They buried him in Red.
Photo by Pixabay on
Copy That
Impressionist's association
An irritating imitation
Of celebrity enunciation
Sure to kill a conversation.
Photo by Pixabay on

The world
is critically ill.

Her lungs choked 
by noxious gases.

Her arteries clogged 
with plastic waste.

Her liver poisoned 
by toxic chemicals.

Her skin scorched 
with bush-fires.

Her brain overheated
by global warming.

Her respiratory system drowning
in rising sea levels.

And her heart broken
by decades of neglect.

We need to listen
to the specialists
and take our medicine
however bitter, or expensive
before critical
becomes terminal.
Photo by Ravi Kant on

A toilet roll
Without a hole,
A useless whole.

A big Black Hole
Devoid of hole
Is big and black
But serves no role.

The footballer
Who scores a goal
What use that goal
Without it's hole?

Spare a thought
For moles and voles
Where would they be
If they'd no holes?

Those bullets fired
Through rifled hole
Of killer's gun
On grassy knoll.

The men who dig
Holes in the street
Are proud of them
The street elite.

The angel with
His gloriole
He, Gabriel
Requires a hole.

The gas inside
A fumarole
It can not pass
Without a hole.

Our own bum-hole
Speaking of gas
Trapped wind to pass.

So now you know
That holes aren't zeros
Empty nothings
Holes are heroes.

Photo by Steve Johnson on
Power Games

In the
of the
telly addict
she who
holds the
is Queen.
Photo by Samfotograffo on
Monica's moniker

This passion  for fashion, in naming our babies
Alas, will our lass be a Porsche, Mercedes?
Africa, India, Bangalore, Singapore
Nay, a full football team, if you feel she needs more.
Star, starlight, sun, sunlight, my oh my, even windy
Not you, to make do, with a Barbie or Cindy.
There's no shame in a name, that stands out from the crowd
Say it loud, say it proud, but for crying out loud
Remember the name will be with them forever
You may think it's clever, but don't call her Trevor.
Photo by Mike on
Last Orders Please

Near and far
Ting went the bell
To call last orders
What's that smell?

In the UK a bell is traditionally rung,
 and last orders called before a bar is shut.
Photo by Hernan Pauccara on
New Beginnings

the key
my heart.

a start.
Photo by Tristan Le on
The Old Romantic

Oh, I'm a big soft touch
Now that I'm wiser, older
I love my wife so much
I very nearly told her.
Prime rhyme time

Of the many pastimes, that I play at sometimes
My favourite thing is the writing of rhymes.
I've fiddled with riddles, since I was but little.
A bad one's a sad one, a good 'un fair chimes.
I grill and I thrill, as I bend to my will.
It's fruity, it suits me, it's lemon and limes.
Unbidden, the words spring to life in my head.
I grab one, I stab one, before they have fled.

They won't go away, they're determined to stay
And dance, in a trance, in a sashay display.
The rhyme in the stanza, for me is the answer.
Each Haiku that I do, a bonny bonanza.
A bee in my bonnet, as I sing my sonnet
To use it, is music, to lose it is chronic.
I'm impelled to, compelled to, I must do, I need ter
Search, nay research, for some rhyme in my meter.

I'll play all the day, for some words that just may
E'en shift me, uplift me, a roll in the hay.
It's easy, it's peasy, it's what poets do
It sneaks in and peaks in, while I'm on the loo.
Sometimes sensational, oft inspirational
Frantic, its antics, my Little Boy Blue.
I'm in it, to win it, I don't often bin it
When my wit, is unfit though, I might have to thin it.

If I get marooned, in the mid-afternoon
By a girl in a whirl, or a dame in a swoon
Have a nail in my pail, catch a thorn in my prune
Anchor my Tanka, before it balloons.
Then I mean, to be seen, to make it a rule
To read to the readers, my audience who'll
Say Hobbo's a laddo, he's nobody's fool
He's sunny, he's funny,  the drool in my pool.

So for humans with lumens, with light in your pen
And actors with factors poetical, then
Stop fighting, get writing, through dictionary roam
Desire to inspire us, and sire us a poem.

Inspired by an original poem by Burges Johnson

Photo by Vitu00f3ria Santos on

Two dimensional stalkers
Feeding on light
The brighter, the darker
Ghouls with no bite.

Scary imposters
Afraid of the dark
Older than life is
Yet leaving no mark.
Photo by Victor Burnside on
If coal was blue

If coal was blue
Instead of black
And ducks went moo
Instead of quack.

If seas were dry
And deserts wet
If pigs could fly
In pirouettes.

If moons were square
Instead of round
And Polar bears
Grew in the ground.

If saints were bad
And cows were pink
I'd think I'd had
Too much to drink.

Photo by Dom J on
Prime Suspects

Police had their suspect on CCTV
Stolen, were millions in diamonds
Images clear, very easy to see
Lucy in disguise with Simon.
Photo by Magda Ehlers on
Counting Games

For the pessimist
One, two, nothing to do
Three, four, can't take any more
Five, six, I'm in a fix
Seven, eight, ruled by fate
Nine, ten, I don't know when
Eleven, twelve, left on shelves
Thirteen, fourteen, whole world's so mean
Fifteen, sixteen, everything is obscene
Seventeen, eighteen, I'm a has-been
Nineteen, twenty, all is empty.

For the optimist
One, two, plenty to do
Three, four, let's go explore
Five, six, build those bricks
Seven, eight, never too late
Nine, ten, yes happy again
Eleven, twelve, play with elves
Thirteen, fourteen, everything is so green
Fifteen, sixteen, I'm a dancing queen
Seventeen, eighteen, so much unseen
Nineteen, twenty, we've got plenty.
Photo by Jill Wellington on

My Lucky Day

Barely had a shower,
Was coming down the stairs
An email in my inbox
A man who says his prayers
Overseas is dying
From some horrid disease
Needs to spend his fortune
And God had chosen me!
Bank details were required,
Well, that seemed fair enough
But, before I give them
I got some other stuff.
Text, congratulations
Huge, my lottery win
Amazing, reason I,
I’ve not paid nothing in!
Please confirm bank details
Of course, well would not you?
Then, by Jove, a phone call
The Inland Revenue.
Big tax over-payment
I only had to ring
Payment in a jiffy
Would end my suffering.
Never been so lucky
So many billet-doux
Here are my bank details
Why, help yourself, please do!

Photo by Mister Mister on

The moment
that you
to live in
already passed.
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on
Trading Places

Belly button feeling glum
Seeks more fulfilling role
Agrees to do a swap with bum
Becomes a buttonhole.
Photo by Bruno Salvadori on
Hair today, gone tomorrow

I grew a long beard
Lasted barely a week
The thing interfered
With my snogging technique.
Photo by Mohammad Danish on
This is your life

may provide
the pen
and the paper

are the one
who writes
the story.
Photo by Pixabay on
Fork 'n' knife

Let's hear it for the humble fork
Sharp as knife, and not all talk.
Unstabbed by fork my egg would slither
Down my leg, all hither thither.
Photo by Lu00ea Minh on
Spare a thought

Children, safely, in parks play
Yet, in car parks, we make cars stay
Still, like soldiers, in a row
Tidy, but it's cruel though.
Photo by Oleg Magni on
The Shopping Trolley

Squeaky wheeled, the shopping cart
Ferries goodies round the mart.
In its ever changing hold
Lie lost secrets, never told.

Errant husbands in a hurry
Farmer types who smell of slurry
Secret Santas for the office
Squabbling kids who fight for toffees.

Fussy sorts, the feely-touchers
Veggies who avoid the butchers
Grimy toddlers, babes in nappies
O.A.P's and cheeky chappies.

Lover boys with cheapskate flowers
Lonely folk who pass the hours
Chatting with the clientele
Shopping till that final bell.

Thieves with no intent to pay
Drunken louts who start affrays
Married couples, taking huff
Pin striped suits, and working scruffs.

Diets won and diets lost
Thrifty ones, who count the cost
Of each item as they pick it
Mentally arithmetic it. 

Coupon warriors, voucher wavers
Flashy spendthrifts, super savers.
You've seen the lot, know all our tricks
So, can't you get that damn wheel fixed!

Photo by Pixabay on
A Mars a day

The boffins went to Mars
In a Rover, by the way
And there among the stars
They could work and rest and play.
Photo by Klaus Nielsen on
The way

said I do
forty four 
years ago.

Sixteen thousand
cooked meals
by you
for me
with love.

silent majority

vocal minority

And your
truly special
platinum collection
made my
taste buds tango.

You didn't
find a way 
to my heart
you built
a culinary autobahn.
Merci ma cherie!
Photo by Matheus Bertelli on
Love you to bits..

You're the flirt
in a skirt.
The snag
In our snog.

You're a nail
in my mail.
The weed
in my need.

You're the pest
in my vest.
The fly
in my eye.

You're the wart
in my court.
The itch 
in my snitch.

You're the clot
That I've got.
You're the nit
in my knot...

...and I love you to bits.
Photo by Pixabay on
Tempus fugit

That breath
you have taken
you will never
breathe again.

The harsh words
you have spoken
can never
be unsaid.

That memory
you are making,
the teardrop
in your eye
and tomorrow
claims the lot,
every thing
a fleeting lie.

Be not afraid
though, little one.
Time flies like this
for everyone.
The Yorksher C bomb.

Tha' cun't use a comb
Cos thee 'airs a bit sparse,
And tha' cun't marry 'er
Cos she's gorra' fat arse.

You have no requirement for a comb
Because you are almost bald,
and you could not tie the knot with her
Because she is rather a large lady!
Photo by Miguel u00c1. Padriu00f1u00e1n on
A Palindrome

Seven Eves, madam!  I'm Adam!  Seven Eves!
Photo by Vlada Karpovich on
Love is...

Putting the bins out when it's not your turn.
Apologising before you fart.
Pretending to listen when you haven't a clue what she is talking about.
Waiting until she leaves the room before picking your nose.
Letting her clean the toilet, even though you would love to do it.
Not forgetting her birthday more than once a year.
Buying her petrol station flowers for the thrill of hearing her say,"What are these for?"
Letting her watch the football, rather than a sloppy film.
Getting her a fish supper on your way home from the pub.
Sleeping fully clothed in the bath, so you don't have to wake her.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Detective

It's not in the bath
Not in the sink
Not in the glass
That I use for a drink.

Not in the flannel
Or the waste paper basket
It wouldn't be hard
If I could but ask it.

Not on the hairbrush
The cabinet or
Caught in the towel
Lost on the floor.

A fingertip search
Of everywhere, no
Where the hell did
That nail clipping go?
Photo by Pixabay on
A Yorksher Love Sonnet

My love for you, my dear, primordial
I need you as the great white needs the sea
My little cookery book, my granny's recipe
My pressure gauge, my medical annual.

You're the tiger in my tank, my animal
The sugar in my too sweet cup of tea
My fleur de lys, my chickadee, my bon amie
My swamp duck, just a tad too spherical.

You're the girl who spends my pension every week
Who looks quite nice, when age is factored in
The cheeky twinkling in the corner of my eye
Like highly polished furniture, antique
More sturdy than that wall in East Berlin
The girl who'll get my ferrets when I die.
Photo by Anthony on
The Pirate's Birthday

Pete pirate held a party
The day that he turned eighty
He looked too hale and hearty
Insisting, aye aye matey.
Photo by Vidal Balielo Jr. on
The ringmaster's will

The circus boss got shot
His brother was an heir
He didn't get the lot
But he got the lion's chair.
Love on trial

A Parisian apartment exclusive
She murders her lover abusive
True to French fashion
She pleads crime of passion
Five knives in his back inconclusive.
Photo by Pixabay on
The Power of the Pen

A simple signature can

Acknowledge new life
or register the end of one.

Declare our undying love
or send a country to war.

Purchase a property
or buy us some time.

Make us millionaires
or turn us bankrupt.

Seal a marriage
or certify a divorce.

Give the gift of life
or end it all.

Pass me that pen, please.

Photo by Magda Ehlers on

A charitable crutch
For the poor and needy
Or, an easy touch
For the feckless, greedy.

Mere subsistence
A basic feed
Or does their existence
Create the need.

Providing human fuel
As a last resort
The question is cruel
But it does need thought.
Photo by The Lazy Artist Gallery on
The Present

I've got thee a dress, boasted Pete
So, what with the money he'd lent her
Jill thought she were in for a treat
But t'address were for Wakefield Job Centre.
Photo by Pixabay on
True Wisdom

A wise man

A wise woman
lets him
think so.
Photo by Vladislav Murashko on
The Power of Thinking

the totality of our thoughts
is hatred
we will perish.

the product of our ponderings
is love
we shall triumph.
Photo by Pixabay on
You and me, me and you

You measure success by your power
The money you earn by the hour
Your place at the top of the chart
The people who nod when you fart.

Now, I, am content with my lot
Whereas you (Sir!), quite clearly are not
I always sleep soundly in bed
But you chase the dreams in your head.

For me, life's a joy and a pleasure
My family and friends are my treasure
You are constantly searching for more
Never pausing to think, what life's for.

I consider what use I can be
To others, with you it's all me
For you, a huge house is essential
Though I think it inconsequential.

Love that we share and we give
Are the tenets by which we should live
You think that fame is a must
You forget that we all turn to dust.

When you die, are there people who'll grieve
Or, will they count the money you leave
Have you spent your time wisely on earth
It's the value that counts, not the worth.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Easy English for beginners

I'll teach you how
To pronounce bough.

Not as is sport
That's saved for nought.

No, don't nod off
It's not like trough.

And please don't go
It's easy though.

I'm sure that you
Will soon be through.

With all this stuff
Enough's enough.

Dauphy: Are you entering Chelsea Owen’s poetry challenge this month?

Hobbo: No, I don’t think so.

Dauphy: Why not.

Hobbo: I can’t get a handle on the subject.

Dauphy: What is it?

Hobbo: You have to write a rant. I haven’t got a rant in my body!

Dauphy: Psht!

Hobbo: What do you mean, psht?

Dauphy: You’re a Yorkshireman aren’t you? Ranting is as natural as breathing.

Hobbo: Thanks Dauphy. I’m not sure I agree with that, but you’ve given me a great idea.

Dauphy: De rien!

A Yorksher Rant

Tha' mun think that, am med o'brass
Well, shove it up yer Khyber Pass
Fifty bob fer chips wi' scraps
I dunt pay that fer good flat caps!

Tha' thieving sod, tha'll rob me blind
'all take me stick, 'ave 'alf a mind
To stick it where the sun don't shine
Tha' robbin' git, tha' greedy swine.

I'm an O.A.P tha' knows
I wotchit, where me money goes
So, tha' can keep thee chips, instead
'all mek do wi' some drippin' bread.

You may think that I have lots of money
Well, you can put that money in your bottom
£2.50 for french fries with trimmings
It costs me less for decent headgear.

You are a thief who is prepared to scam me
I am inclined to take my walking cane
And put it in a painful place
you robbing villain, you greedy scoundrel.

You know I'm an old age pensioner
And I have to be prudent with money
So you keep your chips for yourself, whilst I
Will have some bread spread liberally with pork fat.
Photo by Pixabay on
C'est la vie

Life is
a cornucopia of contrast
a cruel joke
of juxtapositions.
C'est la vie.

The unimaginable wealth
of royal racehorse owners
The life sapping poverty
of the homeless gambling addict.
C'est la vie.

The limitless optimism
of human ideals
the actual reality
of everyday life.
C'est la vie.

The glorious beauty 
of planet earth
our ugly determination
to destroy it.
C'est la vie.

The corrosive corruption
of absolute power
the frustrating impotence
of the powerless.
C'est la vie.

Our futile attempts
at cheating death
the inexorable 
tramp of time.
C'est la vie.

The carefully crafted images
of the poet's pen
the thoughtless hatred
vomited on social media.
C'est la vie!

C'est la vie:  That's life.
Photo by Kamaji Ogino on
This diet isn't working

I'm happy in
the clothes I wear
but in my wife's
I'm in despair.
Photo by Pixabay on

The Yorksher Alphabet

A  is food for 'osses.
B  a stripey insect that makes 'unny.
C  a big, wavy pond full of fish.
D  a river in Wales.
E  by gum, a fairly meaningless Yorkshire expression.
F and Jeff, to swear.
G  an expression of delight.
H  the thing a woman will never disclose truthfully.
I    usually come in pairs. used for seeing.
J    a type of bird.
K  a lasses name
L  where I'll likely go after I die.
M  a polite way of interrupting a conversation.
N  a domestic bird, lays eggs for our breakfast.
O  an expression of surprise.
P  done a lot after too much to drink.
Q  an orderly line, peculiar to Brits.
R  a state of existence, as in you R.
S  a whispered affirmation.
T  'ot beverage, served with biscuits.
U  thee
V   a rude salute.
W  definitely thee.
X  things that 'ens lay.
Y  a toddler's favourite question.
Z  noggin, skull, as in he's off 'is Z.

With thanks to The Two Ronnies and Baldrick for a couple of these definitions!

Photo by Jacek Mleczek on

A tribute to Wordsworth

You wander lonely as a cloud
Steer clear of all the Covid crowd
The sight of all those daffodils
Uplifts your heart, discard those pills.
Photo by nappy on
What shall we call him?

The fireman from Spain has a baby
He and his wife disagree
She wants to call him Jose
No way will he call him, hose 'b'.
Photo by fotografierende on

Listening skills

I saw Anna in town today.

That dog!

She’s had an operation on her foot.

It stinks!

Lisa’s had another baby.

It’s filthy. Think I’ll give it a bath.

They’re going abroad this year.

Is the water hot?

That back door needs painting.

Where’s the shampoo?

There’s some paint in the shed.

Can you use it on dogs?

Do you fancy a holiday?

I’ll need a towel.

A little bed and breakfast?

A big one I reckon.


On second thoughts.

You choose.

I can’t be arsed!

We’ll stay at home then.

It doesn’t smell that bad.

I’ll put the kettle on…

A Yorksher love poem

Tha'll get me pension, when I die
and 'tools inside me shed.
You are the gravy in me pie
the girl I chose to wed.

Tha's like the salt, I put on 'chips
The froth that warms me beer
a lass that wobbles when she strips
to who there's no compeer.

And tha's the lass what 'ad me kids
and set me 'eart a thuddin'.
As solid as two dustbin lids
the air in 'Yorksher puddin'.

Tha's the mush in mushy peas
The fluff in fluffy slippers
What taught me 'bout the birds 'n'bees
The girl that cooks me kippers.

Tha's the match what lit me fire
The stubble on me chin
Who dances like a tumble drier
The nine in feminine.

So, me love, rough as you are
'tis death will force our partin'
Tha's more use norra flashy car
Despite tha' flippin' fartin'.

Yorksher:  Yorkshire
tha'll:  you will
me:  my
tha's:  you are
compeer:  compare
'eart:  heart
Yorkshire pudding:  A savoury'pudding' eaten with roast dinners
norra:  than a
Photo by Pixabay on
The art of balance

Can you canoodle
carefully, in a canoe?
Can you? Cannily?
Photo by Ferdinand Studio on
The Scottish Bard

The pen is mightier than the sword
and Rabbie was the king
Twas his sword though, struck a chord
and made the ladies sing.

Robert (Rabbie) Burns, National Poet of Scotland
had a reputation as a 'ladies man'.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
The assignation

Ran like crazy, to the station
Late again, the aggravation
Would she keep their assignation
He was getting palpitations.

Then, amongst the congregation
Spied, and waved with admiration
Hard to hide his adoration
Can't control his respiration.

She's excited, pure elation
Pleased, there'd been no cancellation
Take a stroll, first inclination
Fresh air adding stimulation.

Subdued is the conversation
Lost in thought, in meditation
Feeling under obligation
He speaks first, makes observation.

No need for commiseration
This is not infatuation
This is love, no reservation
Too late now, for reputations.

What use now, a confrontation
She forgives his brief flirtation
His, a stressful occupation
She, his soulmate, his salvation.

This is more than fascination
Mutual, their declaration
So, among the vegetation
They play game, of generations.

Love is sealed, an affirmation
Wounds are healed, no complications
He can not hide his jubilation
She is his for all occasions.

Grateful for her approbation
He gives her a presentation
Birds on high, a murmuration
Fly, and sing their salutation.

She forgives their separation
Needs no other explanation
Next time he goes on vacation
She comes with him, his dalmatian.

Photo by Tim Samuel on
Domestic Harmony

Never argue with your wife
Not while she holds a carving knife.
The argument's not worth a toss
Smile, say "Yes dear, you're the boss."
Photo by cottonbro on
A story as old as time

In a village, quaint, touristic
Lived twin sisters, both artistic.

One was dour, pessimistic
Smaller girl was optimistic.

Came two men, materialistic
As foretold by Meg, the mystic.

Older, brash and egotistic
Younger shy, though not simplistic.

Girls were sexy, sensualistic
Stirred boys feelings, pugilistic.

Both called truce, men realistic
Let girls choose, so altruistic.

Women flattered, fatalistic
Double wedding, idealistic.

Choose a vicar, humoristic
Pick a service catechistic.

Thus my friends, in rhyme linguistic
Old, old story, humanistic.

Photo by Travel Sourced on
Read them their rights

Ethnic minorities
Ordinary people
Indicted prisoners
Black people
Indigenous populations
LGBT community
Itinerant people
...hell, yes. Absolutely yes, but there is another side to this...
Photo by Andre Furtado on
Photo by Pixabay on
Long John Baldry

Let the heartaches begin
Long, his talents have flown
He played for The Beatles
And sang with The Stones.

Christened John Willy
We need not harp on
No need of a wordsmith
To make this Long John.
Photo by Jim De Ramos on
The football match

My debut for the 'dads v lads'
The shortest you could see
Substituted me, the cads
Straight after 'take the knee'.

Photo by Pixabay on
Playing Games

It's only three letters, guess it, you're good.
Got it in one! The answer is bud!

Almost correct! 'B' gets you a nod.
So, if I was real you mean bod?

The 'D's' also right, you go wrong in the mid.
This is too easy, you're thinking of bid.

Ever so warm now. Driving you mad?
Nope, I think I've got it. The word must be bad.

'B' something 'D', it's all in your head!
Ah, now I've sussed it. You want me in bed!
Photo by Tim Gouw on
Adios Amigo, Au Revoir Mon Ami!

Yesterday, Trump was a president
A tweeting, unbeaten sweetheart,
in White House, no longer a resident
Trump's now a windy old fart.

Photo by ShonEjai on
Oppressor to Ornament

When Germany East was abolished
The wall in Berlin got demolished
With shovel and pick
Large chunks of brick
Were taken home proudly, and polished.
Photo by Kaboompics .com on
A biblical story

The Sam Harrington in the bible
He came from a family tribal
So when 'Daily Flood
Said that he was no good
Sam sued them for thousands in libel.
Photo by Lisa Fotios on
The Splits

Should I be going boldly
or do I boldly go?
Splitting my infinitive
could be a fatal blow.

It's difficult to truly
write with realism
when my native tongue is tied
lashed down by dogmatism.
Photo by Pia on
Jacques Cousteau

His groin got caught on the wreck
Jacques, one of life's survivors
Was freed from off the wreck
By using four skin divers.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Tykes Talking

Gerrit canyer?
Sin tin.
Tin tin tin.
Tis, sithee.
Clart he'ud!
Photo by Mateusz Dach on
If, at first...

This was his tenth driving test
Don hit a bin wagon, head on
Although docs at the scene did their best
God got to say, "You've passed Don."
Photo by fotografierende on

Spare a small thought for the devil
if Satan. should land in a hole
The guy might not be, on the level
But think, how could he, sell his soul?
Photo by Ksenia Chernaya on
It was a wrench!

The wrench it sticks
when it's not clean
so polish it
until it gleams!
Photo by Oleg Magni on
Let's twist again

surly Shirley's
sorely sorry
smelly Shelly's
Sunday sherries
simply soured!
Photo by Pixabay on
Once upon a time

There was a crook-ed man
And he ran a crook-ed house
And they all lived together
In America's White House.

Photo by Markus Spiske on
Selfless or shelf-less?

Look at those fools, panic buying
It's an absolute bloody disgrace
Not like me, I'm not selfish
Better double up though, just in case
Photo by Pixabay on

Life in the lockdown
is boring.
Wouldn't it be good
to go out.
Dictionary pages
I'm reading.
Already I've learned
next to nowt.
Photo by Pixabay on
Ode to a bogey

A wonderful thing is a bogey
Ask any male child, if you've doubts
He'll tell you, they're ever so tasty
and much better for you than sprouts.
Photo by Daniel Reche on
Out of place

She was too
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Be careful what you say

'That's cute', was a saying of his
For everything, loud voice, not muted
Until one fatal day he did this
It wasn't his wife but his ex 'e cuted.
Photo by Athena on
Little Miss Muffet (by Dauphy)

Little Miss Muffet
Sat on her buffet
Eating her pie and peas
Too hot for her knees
They fell on the floor
And little Miss Muffet
Said,"Stuff it."

Photo by Posawee Suwannaphati on

Read the label

The label, she carefully read
Grand Cru, on her bottle of red
Lay down for a little, it said
So she drank it, then snoozed on the bed.

Photo by Gene Taylor on
Scotland the brave

If I spoke Scottish
That would be good
More words would rhyme
I'd be in a good mood
Photo by cottonbro on

Simple Simon said
I'll teach you to fly
Jumped from twelve storeys high
And now he is dead.

Dauphy: I’ve written a poem for the end of the year.

Hobbo; That’s great. What’s it about?

Dauphy; It’s been a pretty awful year for most people, so I’ve written about the meaning of life.

Hobbo: Wow Dauphy! That’s a huge subject. Let’s hear it.

The meaning of life (by Dauphy)

If the Hokey Cokey
Is what it's all about
Then throw me in the chokey
And do not let me out.

chokey: UK slang for prison.

Dauphy: What do you think?

Hobbo: I’m impressed Dauphy. Very deep. Really meaningful.

Dauphy: Honest?

Hobbo: Always…

Photo by Pixabay on
Visa, the master of cards

American Expressly wished
To PayPal cash for postal order
Derek Debit, to his credit
Preferred to pay by standing order.
Photo by DSD on
Short lived joy

Cruising for
a nice young man
he found one
Yin meets Yang.
Then his joy
turned into panic
on board the ship
they named Titanic.
Photo by Public Domain Pictures on
Trouble ahead

It can not be done
Said she
But he
Out for fun
Blew away all her doubts
And curried the sprouts.
Photo by Pixabay on

If socks
are comfort food for feet
do clocks
like seconds when they eat?
Photo by Pixabay on
You are joking!

Whilst watching the footy
Reclined, with a BLT butty
Heard a joke that was smutty
About a plumber and putty.

BLT: Bacon, lettuce and tomato
a popular sandwich in the UK
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on

It's my fault
I wind him up.

It's my fault
He was drunk.

It's my fault
He loves me really.

It's my fault
He didn't mean to hurt me.

It's my fault
His tea should have been ready.

It's my fault
He doesn't like these clothes.

It's my fault
He is really sorry.

It's my fault
See, he's brought me flowers.

It's my fault
He won't do it again.

He's promised me
It's my fault.
Photo by Kate Amos on
A modern miracle

Love is blind
Affects the brain
Though marriage
Restores sight again.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Memories are made of this

He sat in the bedroom
Scratching his head
Am I getting up
Or going to bed?
Photo by Emma Bauso on
The generous bigamist

I plighted my troth
This was bigamy
Bought presents for both
That was big o' me.
The generation gap

New hearing aids fitted today
My grandson is very impressed
They work on Bluetooth technology
Whatever that means, they're the best.

Dauphy: So, are you part of the hearing aid generation now then?

Hobbo: Well, personally, I see myself more as a Bluetooth kinda guy.

Dauphy: Pffft!

Photo by Ketut Subiyanto on
A good night's sleep

It slowly dawns on you
that you may have
drunk a smidgen too much
last night
when you can't get comfortable
in bed
and your wife wakes you
to ask why
you are rolling around
on the floor
the Ali Baba laundry basket.
Photo by Maria Pop on
Arise Sir Loin

His several chins wobbled
But he put up no fight
When the noble got nobbled
By a Knight, in the night.
Photo by Nikolai Ulltang on
Growing old gracefully

Two elderly men playing golf
In the snow, in the midst of December
"Did you see where my tee shot went mate?"
"I did, but I can not remember."
Photo by on
The Lawn

That sweet smell
of a freshly mown lawn
on a summer's day
the distress call
of a million blades of grass
in their youth
by the murderous blade
of the mower
for our
aesthetic pleasure.

Photo by on

Brexit talks
The papers said
Not money talks
I've been misled.
Photo by James Frid on
The Christmas Newsletter

So, if by chance you meet
And concern is in her voice
Our living on the street
Is environmental choice

Chelsea Owen's challenge was to write
an annoying Christmas newsletter 
Photo by Public Domain Pictures on

I don't believe in a God
Where we all go to church and pray
But say one for me and my squad
Insurance does not go astray
Photo by Pixabay on
The golfer

he failed to make the golfing cut
When the judges raised the bar
Then mum fell in the water-butt
So he lost both Ma and Par.
Photo by Pixabay on

I do love words like dollop
It has a lovely ring
Plop, trollop, lollop, wallop
They make my soul sing.
Photo by on

pandemic tenterhooks
vaccine imminent
whole world crosses fingers.
Photo by Kaboompics .com on
The Daily Paradox

Undercover reporter
sheds light
on conspirators
conspiring against
conspiracy theories.
Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko on

Santa was their Christmas treat
She'd taken them for years
When Archie asked for granddad back
She couldn't stop the tears.

Photo by Ali Pazani on

One girl's hair is wavy
Which fashion don't permit
Hair straighteners, the answer
They cost her quite a bit.

The sister's though is ramrod straight
But she wants wavy hair
So she wraps it all in rollers
tell me, where's the logic there?
Photo by Matthew DeVries on
The Church

First appearance, 
One November
Cried a bit
But don't remember.

Second time
A lovely sight
Never seen her
Dressed in white.

Last time there
The incense curled
Couldn't smell it
Dead to the world.
Photo by Pixabay on

My wife wants me to leave
Pack my bags, wants shot
Wished misery on me, so
Dilemma, do I go or not?
Photo by Ann Nekr on
Instant Food

Curry in a hurry
Soup in a cup
Oven chips, instant mash
Where will it all end up.

In the UK chips are fat french fries
Photo by Donald Tong on

You say 
That you love me
But you won't
Do that
It's not a lot to ask
Not all the time
Just now and then
Would be nice
To show that
You really do
Love me
And it's not
Just words
A little sign of respect
That would not
Go amiss
I'm not asking a lot
Am I
So please try it for once
It won't hurt you
The next time
I'd really appreciate it
You could
See your way to
Putting the seat down.
Photo by Pixabay on
A tough life

The next time
You have the temerity
to complain
That your steak is tough
Try to look at it
From the cow's perspective.
Photo by Artem Beliaikin on
Photo by Anne on
Hurley Burley

Kay Burley
Meets Liz Hurley
Nice dress
Good press.
Photo by Gustavo Fring on

Our shopping trip took longer
When he forgot the money
If we hadn't lived ten miles away
It would have been quite funny.
Photo by Mu00e9line Waxx on

It's alright now
Because you see, I'm Free
and if you get that pun
Then you're as old as me.
Photo by Tim Mossholder on

His teeth scrubbed with a bog brush
Which Dave claimed stopped decay
Had turned his teeth bright orange
And kept the girls away.
Photo by abhishek goel on
The Firm

she needs well oiled machine
she gets a well oiled drunk
her firm collapses.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on

One is smaller
He hears girlfriend snigger
A worrying thought when
He thought one was bigger.

Snigger; UK slang for titter, giggle

Photo by Ronu00ea Ferreira on

Batman's caught the virus
Lost his sense of taste
Won't come and get his
Dinner, dinner, dinner, dinner
What a blooming waste.
Photo by cottonbro on

My gran
Was so funny
Always made me laugh
She would say
"Watch her
She's a flibbertigibbet.
Great word gran!

Flibbertigibbet, a frivolous, flighty or excessively talkative person.
Photo by Karolina Grabowska on

She dissatisfies
He diversifies
She tries
He falsifies
She identifies
He denies
She spies
He solidifies
She pries
He lies
She clarifies
He justifies
She decries
He mortifies
She vilifies
He pacifies
She amplifies
He sighs
She goodbyes
He cries
Love dies.

Photo by Omran Jamal on
Humpty Dumpty

Humpty Dumpty
Sat on the fence
He had no opinions
And no common sense.

All of the papers
And all of the news
Couldn't get Humpty
To tell us his views.
Photo by Pok Rie on
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Hey Diddle Diddle

Hey diddle diddle
My dad's on the fiddle
And mum's run away with a neighbour
I'm in the pink
But I'm heading for clink
Where my girlfriend, sixteen, is in labour.
Photo by JACK REDGATE on
The chuckle muscle deep in his belly
Is in for a whole load of welly
He gives mum a squeeze and a cuddle
Wriggles free and jumps straight in a puddle.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
The Story
Sally's story had won the first prize
Though she wasn't particularly clever
Mum swelled with some pride and surprise
When she heard teacher say, "Best end ever."
When I questioned my mummy
How I got in her tummy
She said daddy had planted a seed
Well that was a hard 'un
Cos we have no garden
And daddy does nothing but read.
Photo by Oleg Magni on
The Tongue
My tongue has been...
tormenting, tasting, teasing, tickling, tackling
tactless, teaching, tawdry, tatty, tubby, tattling

twisted, tangled, tigerish, talkative, testy
tingling, terse, telling, temperamental, tetchy

technicolour, talking, turbo, tragic, tedious
tender, taking, talented, taxing, tenacious.

trademark, tricky, touching, tongue-tied, tolerant
topical, toadying, tart, tardy, turbulent.

Maybe I should give it a rest for now!
Photo by Skitterphoto on
A Four Letter Word
This isn't a word
I use much in life
If I do, I'm in trouble
Most of all with my wife.

According to her
It's belittling and cheap
I admit, among men
We use it a heap.

It's a four letter word
That starts with a 'C'
Women don't like it
Demeans them you see.

The debate rages on
It is used all the time
But if I dare to say it
My life's not worth a dime.

So, you know how it starts
But those other three
I won't spell it out
But it ends with a 'T.'

And women don't like it
But men clearly do
For this four letter word
I have one final clue.

It is spoken the most
When out for a shop
Husbands open their mouths
And partners shout,"Stop."

Have you worked it out now
I know you're not lost
This troublesome word
Well, it's quite simply...cost.
Photo by John Lambeth on
Joe used to love tractors
but not any more
he's an ex tractor fan.
Photo by Johannes Plenio on
The Unknown Warrior
A million fell
You were chosen
A shortlist of four
From the Aisne, the Somme, Arras, Ypres
Draped in the flag
Of the country you died for
You were chosen
One cold November morning
In a small chapel in St.Pol
Brigadier General Wyatt
Chose you
A kings sword
A coffin of solid oak
Were chosen
Buried at the heart
Of an English abbey
In French soil
Amongst poets and kings
You are 
And will be
for centuries to come
We salute the sacrifice
of you 
and all the comrades 
you represent
Thank you
For your choice
For your sacrifice.

Photo by cottonbro on

Photo by cottonbro on
Trust is
a fragile flower
which once
must be 
carefully repaired
and can never
be fully restored.
Photo by Pixabay on
Day that we met
Best day of my life.

Day you broke my trust
Cried myself to sleep.

Day you came back
I couldn't be arsed.

Photo by Engin Akyurt on
The flames were prolific
The heat was terrific
The words from the kitchen profane
My nice chicken roast
Is burned black as toast
Sunday lunch has been ruined again.

Photo by Daria Sannikova on
A teacher, not known for sobriety
Gave her students a taste of variety
Her swearing backfired
When, improperly attired
She was sacked for a lack of propriety.
Photo by Jill Wellington on
The Sun
I was dazzled by the sun
Gazed toward her with defiance
For just a shade too long
And was blinded by the science.
Photo by Element5 Digital on
aloof, arrogant
posturing, proposing, persuading
president, challenger, ballot-box, voters
dithering, deliberating, deciding
unheeded, uncounted
Photo by Pixabay on
I snipped a hair from out my ear
A full three inches long
From where on earth did that appear
I'm getting like King Kong.
Photo by Pixabay on
It used to be
Cops and robbers
Cowboys and Indians
Japs and Commandos.

Now it's all
The Legend of Zelda
And Grand Theft Autos.

Photo by cottonbro on
What makes kippers giddy
Why are hot dogs hot
And why do fish have fingers
I've wondered that a lot.

Poached eggs, are they stolen
Flapjack, does it panic
And is this tripe made up of trash
Or something more organic?
Photo by Huu1ef3nh u0110u1ea1t on
Colour telly snooker
Exciting when brand new
Watching this in black and white?
The pink's behind the blue.
Photo by Pixabay on
A book fell on my head
Yes, landed on myself
I know that I'm well read
But I have to blame my shelf.
Photo by Buenosia Carol on
The bottom fell out of my world
When you left me gutted and rotten
So, I went on my own for a curry
Then the world fell out of my bottom.
Photo by Jurie Maree on
Whilst watching I.P.L
I had an I.P.A
The cricket rather swell
The beer was way okay.

I.P.L Indian Premier League cricket
I.P.A India Pale Ale beer
Photo by Pixabay on
Labour faces civil war
Corbyn's been suspended
One week he's their leader
The next, he's been upended.

Starmer tries to sort it out
This problem with the Jews
Jeremy sees it differently
In public, airs his views.

The fact that he goes public
Leaves Starmer with no choice
With trouble brewing in their ranks
Who'll have the strongest voice.

Former Labour party leader Jeremy Corbyn was 
suspended from the party after a disagreement 
with new leader Kier Starmer about the way 
that Labour was dealing with anti-semetism 
in the party.

Photo by Element5 Digital on
America goes to the polls
Economy versus the virus
Despite all the internet trolls
A peaceful result is desirous.
Photo by Pixabay on
Tomorrow ends furlough
Will I get my job back
Or like thousands of others
Be given the sack?
Photo by Igor Haritanovich on
Shall I go to Big Bucks
I've money in my jacket
But no, their coffee sucks
I'll go to Costa Packet
Photo by C Technical on
Pam bought a hanging basket
Discounted in a minute
When she told the garden centre
That there was no fuchsia in it.
Photo by Pixabay on
It's happened again in France
This time, a cathedral in Nice
What exactly is wrong with some people
Why can't we all live in peace?
Photo by Callum Hilton on
They've found water on the moon
Might be enough to drink
This news could not have come too soon
For holidays, I think.

No need for social distancing
No more Covid 19
I feel so happy, I could sing
Somewhere I haven't been.

I'll take a bucket and a spade
My pint glass for the pub
A brolly too for in the shade
I hope they serve good grub.

I'm all packed up and set to go
Need Boris's decree
Because the little so and so
Has put me in tier three.
Photo by Romu00e9o on
A tale of two princes
Prince Charles
Is isolating
At Balmoral
Covid 19.

Prince Andrew
Is isolating
At Windsor
Jennifer, 14.

(origin unknown)
Photo by Brett Sayles on
Grave vandalised
Surprise, surprise
Of Cilla OBE
Though not a saint
Why spray with paint
It seems bizarre to me.

Doddy too
What Diddy do
He brought us happiness
Both rest in peace
It's just caprice
Some folk are bad, I guess.

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on
In Covid hit Wales
They have limited sales
To items considered essential
A wife was refused
An item that's used
By ladies in ways confidential
Until a chappy spoke out
And cleared up the doubt
In a voice that was quite presidential.

A woman in Wales was refused sanitary products in her local Tesco's. The welsh government later claimed that this was a misinterpretation of their new Covid rules.
Photo by Dominika Roseclay on
I read in the papers that Burnley
Are getting a striker, that's cool
They only paid twenty five million
He probably still goes to school.
Photo by EYAD Tariq on
First encounter
I spied her in the cafe
Dipping brioche, chocolate chipped
She said she was Parisian
"Why, that's capital," I quipped.
Photo by Element5 Digital on
The election
The language is incomprehensible
His rhetoric largely dispensable
Some of his views indefensible
Why can't this man say something sensible?
Photo by Pixabay on
Old Friends
There are holes in my sock
And a hole in my shoe
They have been round the block
And my toes all peek through.

I could buy some more
But I've got quite attached
They were worn to the funeral
When my wife was dispatched.

Only joking darling...
Photo by mali maeder on
Funny Habits
In Burnley they pour gravy
On their cheese and onion pie
I only have one question
Why, oh why, oh why?
Photo by Stas Knop on
My clocks went back this morning
It's daylight saving time
It took two hours to alter them
A blooming pantomime.

A slight exaggeration, but you get the drift...
Photo by Brett Sayles on
Children talk of
Monsters and Santa
Adults engage in
Cruel banter.

Kids believe
In the Easter bunny
Grown ups worship
The power of money.

Children want
Sweets, hugs and toys
Adults seek
Refuge from noise.

Anything naughty
An adult forbids
What adults want mostly
They want to be kids.

Photo by Adrian Boustead on
I've thought about one
But I'm scared of the pain
Will it fade with the sun
Or wash off with the rain?

A small one to start
Nothing too flash
Perhaps a love-heart
Do I have to pay cash?

The tattooist's gun
Starts up with a whine
My idea of fun?
Nope, I've changed my mind.
Photo by Pixabay on
There's a girl at my school
Who's called Lizzy Gorenje
Which I think is cool
Cos her name rhymes with orange.

There is no rhyme for orange
But don't tell Lizzie G.
Photo by Sharefaith on
Tell me then, on what basis
When you listen his views
Is Trump not a racist
Or is that his fake news?
Photo by Git Stephen Gitau on
Dearest darling Lynne
You're the tonic in my gin
But when you eat, you gobble
And when you laugh, you wobble.

My one and only Sam
I love the way I am
But you're an ugly git
I've had enough, I quit.
Photo by Porapak Apichodilok on
For You
Here's a poem for you
I wrote it by myself
If I hadn't made it up
It would still be on the shelf.
Photo by Pixabay on
The world is using less paper
Most of my books are on Kindle
This must be a good thing, right
As all of our rain-forests dwindle.

I don't even use any cash now
I pay everything credit card
But how do I wipe my bum though
This laptop's too rigid, too hard.
Photo by Paula Schmidt on
If wheels were square
Instead of round
Cars would be useless
For getting around

If schools were round
instead of square
There'd be no naughty corner
And no naughty chair.
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on

The Poet
I have realised, when I cark it
What will become of my blog
Who can I trust with my laptop
My buddy, my missus, my dog?

So, I'm now looking for an apprentice
To train 'ere I finally go
Otherwise you will wake up one morning
To no more little poems from Hobbo.
Photo by Pixabay on
Poet Don
There's a poet, Don, who lives in Oz
Who writes a little blog
Which often stars his cat
And occasionally his dog.

His poetry is funny
His wit it bewitches
And some of his comments
Will leave you in stitches.

He should have more follows
But he's been overlooked
So give Don a try
And I bet you'll be hooked.

Poet Don lives in Australia, and publishes three or four short posts every day. He's one of the first bloggers I started following on a regular basis because some of his stuff is really funny. I think he should have a lot more followers. Please give him a try and see if you agree.
   The link is;
(This is an unsolicited personal recommendation)
Photo by Pixabay on
My cosy little home
A shelter from the storm
Wood burning on the stove
My tootsies nice and warm.
Photo by Tembela Bohle on
I pondered the meaning of life
Gave it some serious thought
The answer, the edge of a knife
Either beer, or maybe it's, sport.

Photo by Flickr on
Granddad loved his dogs
He'd kept them all his life
So when he popped his clogs
He left one to his wife.

Photo by Pixabay on
Oh, what a caper
A clean sheet of paper
I need inspiration
Shall I try medication?

Something ongoing
Would set juices flowing
Is this writer's curse
Or do I call it blank verse?
Photo by Julia Kuzenkov on
Bill and Ben, the flowerpot men
Talked rubbish, splobalop
When politicians do it then
Is it something they can't stop?
Photo by Pixabay on
Water, water everywhere
And not a drop to drink
I've fallen in the ship canal
And my,it don't half stink.
Photo by Edward Eyer on

Van Halen
When I found out, I cried
The news was so shocking
Van Halen has died
I bet heaven is rocking.
Photo by Pixabay on
Graham Liver
Graham's show
On in the morning
Makes me laugh
And stops me yawning.

His surname's Liver
As in diver
Don't say liver
as in river.

...although he does know his onions.
Photo by Aaron Kittredge on
Was Donald genuinely ill
Or was it just a stunt?
We should accept face value, still
We know the man's a ****.
Photo by Bhupendra Singh on
Owain Evans makes me grin
With lilting, sing-song vowel
His quiffed hairdo, and perfect skin
More camp than Baden Powell.

He's very entertaining though
Attracting interest
Through sun and wind and rain and snow
And those suits are the best.

Photo by fauxels on
Downtown in Burnley the people wear shorts
Perhaps it's a Lancashire thing
Baring knees at the first sign of Summer
And airing them, through until Spring.

Calves that are shapely, knees that are knobbly
Legs that could win the Gold Cup
Braving arctic conditions, blowing a hooley
These things should be kept covered up.

In cold or in rain, folk put on their coats
Whilst waiting for sunnier skies
But even in wellies, they're still wearing shorts
Must be something they put in their pies.

Photo by Emma Bauso on
Happy Anniversary
Married now for fifty year
And I still think you're hot
So, love is in the air, my dear
When you say, "Yes. Why not?
Photo by Anthony Beck on
It's our own fault
We chose to exit
Talks at a halt
A no-deal Brexit?
Photo by Jackson David on
My hair
Thrives everywhere
In my ears
Up my nose
Trim it off
Back it grows
Bushy eyebrows
Very scary
Why am I
So blooming hairy?
Photo by Anna Shvets on
The sight of so much litter
Has left me feeling bitter
Find a bin for that used mask
It's not a lot to ask.
Photo by Elizabeth Tr. Armstrong on
The challenge

A beautiful woman named Claire
Sent her dad down a wire for a dare
Like Castor and Pollux
They trussed up his bollocks
The height of it gave him a scare.

He flew through the air like a plane
From Portugal right into Spain
She was clearly so proud
But he said to the crowd
"You won't get me on it again."

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Crazy Maisie, ticky tocky
Oops a daisy, Jabberwocky
Easy peasy, squishy squashy
Lemon squeezy, wishy washy

Steady Eddie, sweet as honey
Fiery Freddie, funny bunny
Buster Grimes and chilly Willy
Nonsense rhymes are just plain silly.
Photo by Life Matters on
Black lives matter

Black lives matter, our latest refrain
Praying this time, the phrase will remain
Until at last our mindset's been changed
Living in peace, no culture estranged.

Look at the States, so many have died
For trivial stuff, police homicide?
The many campaigns, like 'I can't breathe'
'Sandie speaks' and 'Taking the knee.'

Black lives matter, but if you adjoint
White lives, all lives, you're missing the point
Mikey Holding, the sports commentator
Eruditely explained what the campaign's for.

Hundreds of years racial exclusion
Frustration breeds, blacks need inclusion
No one's born bad, from parents our views
Neighbours and teachers, the six o'clock news.

What we need then, good education
Learn to be friends, no segregation
'Black lives matter,' really, I get it
Let's make changes, let's not forget it.
Photo by ANDRu00c9 FELLIPE on
My Hat Collection

Picking hats for my collection
My choice has been meticulous
I only wear them one at once
Or I would look ridiculous.
I'll start of with my baseball caps
I've collected five of these
Two were from sunny Australia
Where shade can hit forty degrees.

There's a cap from Canada's Bamf
Embroidered with proud Maple Leaf
Whilst one from our amis in France
Has the Eiffel Tower motif.
My golfing favourite was purchased
At the British Open event
Where Darren Clarke beat all the others
In sunshine, at Sandwich, in Kent.

So cheap is an old knotted hanky
It's one that I almost forgot
The sun can not get at my head
If it's cloudy, I fill it with snot.
A real Aussie bush hat from Perth
Is just the sartorial ticket
And a foldable one from Tasmania
Perfect for watching the cricket.

My fedora from M and S
I sport with an elegant style
And wearing my chequered flat cap
I look like the Duke of Argyle.
In winter the ear flaps come down
When cold snow and hail starts to fall
But my scary old balaclava
I find it the warmest of all.

Photo by Helena Lopes on
Simon was famous on Facebook
Had hundreds of friends in his life
Yet no one he actually spoke to
No buddies, no girlfriend, no wife.

His success was repeated on Twitter
One million followers plus
But he came to a violent ending
Knocked down by the number nine bus.

The money he made from his adverts
Was left to his favourite quartet
And mum organised a huge funeral
For all of his friends on the net.

Though no one showed up, not a sausage
To see Simon the Superstar off
In reality, he was as popular
As a man with a bad Covid cough.

So, if you are an internet wizard
With a wit that's as sharp as a knife
Don't forget to engage with real people
Get up and get out, get a life.

Photo by Valeria Boltneva on
The dozens of words and expressions
To describe what's a drunken condition
Makes me realise, being out of your tree
Is a time honoured human condition.

Drunk as a soldier, drunk as a sailor
Drunk as a Lord, drunk as a skunk
Drunk as a fiddler, drunk as a fart
Drunk as an owl, just plain drunk.

Intoxicated, inebriated
Bombed, bladdered, pissed
Smashed up, sewed up, tanked up
Flushed, tiddly, Brahms and Liszt.

Crapulous, maudlin
Out of it, befuddled
Raddled, addled, primed, screwed
Happy, merry, muddled.

Boozed, tight, tipsy
Obfuscated, fuzzy
Three sheets to the wind
Gaga, giggly, muzzy.

Search a synonym for sober though
The well is almost dry
A boring state to be in
So, "Cheers. Mud in your eye."

Photo by Karolina Grabowska on
Cross Family Butchers
At Cross family butchers,our food is nutritious
And all of our meat is simply delicious
Burgers or sausages, steaks or a joint
Give us a try, we won't disappoint.
And as for your barbies.what better idea
Than out deal of the day washed down with cold beer.

Photo by P C on
Two right good mates
Meet up in a pub
They have a great time 
And eat lots of grub.

They drink loads of beer
Then, needing a wee
They follow each other
It's normal, you see.

One says to the other
"This trough's a bit high."
"Mines longer," he said
"I'll give it a try."

Then he looks across
A girl's washing her hands
It's a sink, not a trough
Fast, he understands.

They've gone in the ladies
Instead of the gents
The lass does not laugh
Pays no complements.

Both so embarrassed 
The two stop mid-pee
Then zip up their trousers
And giggling, they flee.

Photo by Snapwire on
The Restaurant

"My sirloin is tough."

"This wine's a bit rough."

"It's busy, I know
But service is slow."

"My soup's almost cold."

"This bread's five days old."

"Toilets are dirty."

"That waiter is shirty."

"Has B.O moreover."

"Shush, he's coming over."

"Ladies!  Everything fine?"

"Yes thanks.  Some more wine!"

Photo by Lukas on
I like kids, honestly
I went to school with some
But I couldn't eat a full one
I'd get a poorly tum.
Photo by Pixabay on
Alcohol and me
Now that's a complex one
Makes me do some stupid things
But I've had a lot of fun.

The life and soul of parties
Singing karaoke
Remembering all the gags
That's me, Mr Jokey.

I've woken in some states
Nowhere near my best
I've been sick on the streets
And woken fully dressed.

Things I am ashamed of
Which, sober wouldn't do
But drink gave me the courage
To whisper,"I love you."

And you are everything
So tell me, in the end
Is drink one of my demons
Or a very fickle friend.
Photo by Florent B. on
You'll be a Northern Powerhouse
They promised the North West
We're now the Covid Capital
Does that mean we're the best?

%d bloggers like this: