A brief coffee

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A brief coffee

An enterprising chorister
was keen to be a barrister
but lack of true cognition
swiftly stifled her ambition,
so, after talks with sister,
she became a top barista.

Wet play

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Wet play

A General Practitioner, fresh qualified,
Took his girl for a trip to the riverside.
Doing things they didn't oughta,
Both fell in the water,
The Doc, on a duck, most undignified.

The rest

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The rest

For the rest of my life, I shall...rest.
The clue's in the phrase, I suspect.
I am done with the worry and stress.
This old body deserves some respect.

Choosing a poetry book

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Choosing a poetry book

This even sounds pretentious
but, I've heard her name before.
She uses lots of long words,
yes, I thought so, Radio Four.

I like the look of this, though
inside the profane language
is enough to put me off
my cheese and pickle sandwich.

There's stunning imagery in this,
his book's in with a shout,
let's be really honest though,
what the heck's he on about?

This looks mmm, promising,
full of simile and metaphor,
worth a little browse,
removal of my sweater for.

This girl, with plain cover
is all about the birds
and bees in graphic detail,
and pictures too, my words!

With reference to the classics,
this chap is very clever
and would make a good impression
if I wanted to, however

here's one, been misplaced
hiding in the section, Various,
a snip at twice this price
and the poetry is hilarious,

The Tussle

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The Tussle

It's Yorksher curries v Lancashire pies,
A steely fought fight for an annual prize.
A modern day version of War of the Roses
In which winner stands tall and proudly proposes
Undisputedly, claims to their bragging rights
And the chance to sleep sound in their beds at night,
Whilst the losers sob into their beer
And dream of successes next year.
What then, is this mysterious sport
With winners delighted and losers distraught?
A hard combination of skill and sheer force,
Why, rugby league, women's version, of course.

I can!

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I can!

Decades ago,
a casual friend
and his beautiful wife
had an explosive argument.

In a heady mixture
of lager fueled passion
and crass stupidity
he threw himself
through his bedroom window,
landing fifteen feet below
in a shower of broken glass.

Luckily for him,
he learned to live
with his disability
and settled
fairly contentedly
into life in a wheelchair.
I could not.

In my darkest moments
I still replay that loop,
a continuous 8-track of horror
as he jumps
through the fragile glass barrier.

Can you imagine my pain
if he had been a loved one
and not a casual friend?
If he had not been
confined to a wheelchair
but had died.
Can you really
imagine it?
I can!

I look at my partner
sleeping innocently beside me,
and bend down to kiss her.
Slipping quietly out of bed,
I sneak a few tears
in the shower.

Girl talk

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Girl talk

My girl talks baloney,
which is okay, if only
she'd pause now and then for a breath.
She has me in stitches,
like one of the witches,
the bad tempered one in Macbeth.

King Cnut

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King Cnut

Old King Cnut
was a well handsome brute,
his dyslexia seemed such a shame.
His royal entourage
lost their decolletage,
whenever the man signed his name.

Collecting

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Collecting

She collected lovers
in a similar way that others
gathered ornamental cats,
Lalique glassware, table mats,
snuff boxes, candelabra,
oil paintings of french harbours,
thimbles, needles, pins,
old tools for making things.

Long-dead silver watches,
samplers and swatches,
diamonds, set in rings,
in fact, any little thing.
No requirement to walk
or even merely talk,
prepared for undercover,
then you could be her lover.

Singing bug

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Singing bug

A fat creepy-crawly,
with a voice that was surely
the world's most beguiling descant,
when her nephew poured praise
with unfitting phrase,
said,"Your uncle's extant, I'm your aunt."
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