Friday, 20 December 2013

Merry Christmas!

Christmas is coming,
I'm feeling very fat.
Wobbling through Sainsbury's,
In my Christmas hat.

Turkey, ham and bacon,
Trifle, cake and beer.
I'm filling up my trolley,
With lots of Christmas cheer.

Tuesday, 29 October 2013

Christmas is coming (whether you like it or not)

It's only October,
But all through the stores,
There are shelves full of baubles,
And fake snow on the floors.
It's not really Christmas,
But the shops disagree.
In every bright window,
Is a huge Christmas tree.
So break out the tinsel,
And dig out the cheer.
Sing out those carols,

[EDIT: This poem was accepted and published by Your Daily Poem on 25th Oct 2015. Sorry if the link doesn't work - the site sometimes gets overloaded!]

Monday, 7 October 2013

The Cat and the Shat(-ner)

This poem ended up on facebook a while ago in reply to one of George Takei's posts which in turn was inspired by this picture:

The first three verses (in italics) are by George and the rest are by me. Be warned, there's a bit of naughty language!

[EDIT: The poem makes much more sense if you're familiar with the relevant items of pop culture, namely: Tard, Nyan CatThe Cat in the Hat, William Shatner and the original series of Star Trek]


The Cat and the Shat

The stars did not shine. I was horny all day.
There were no boobs to play with the whole Milky Way.
I sat there with Spock. We sat there we two.
And I said, “How I wish we had gals like Uhuru here, too.”

Too wet for torpedoes or phasers or shields.
So we sat in the bridge, stared at nebula fields.
So all we could do was to Sit! Sit! Sit! Sit!
Or maybe we shat. Hell, I don’t give a sh*t.

And then something went GRUMP!
How that grump made us jump!
He transported in past our shields just like that!
The Internet Meme, the ol’ Grumpy Cat...

... Tard gave a growl. Tard gave a roar.
Tard rolled right over and crapped on the floor.
Spock gave a yell and leapt in the air.
And I dived for cover under my chair.

The cat - she did glare. The cat - she did pout.
Then the cat took the conn and turned us about.
The ship - it did rattle. The ship - it did roll.
But Tard didn't care. She just wanted control.

So now Tard was steering. Tard knew how to drive!
She cranked our warp core up to Warp Factor Five.
We cried out in terror - she flew us so fast.
We knew this Tard-driven mission must be our last.

But look! What is that? What's happening now?
Can you see through the window? Near the port bow?
Is that a cat? Or a Pop-Tart? No - look at its face!
It's a cat sh*tting rainbows, flying through space.

It's Nyan Cat of course. He's come to our aid.
He's brave and he's brazen and he's quite unafraid.
Poor Tard wasn't happy - she looked most annoyed.
Then she leapt out through our shields and into the void.

The two cats - they wrestled. The two cats - they fought.
I've never seen two cats look quite so distraught.
Spock and I hid. We were well out of sight.
We didn't dare try to join in this fight.

Our ship was still flying at a rather fast pace.
Spock turned us around and we fled back to base.
What became of those cats, I don't want to know.
If they ask me to fly again, I boldly won't go.

Friday, 14 June 2013

In the Company of Alexander McCall Smith

A few years ago I had a try at writing in the style of The No. 1 Ladies' Detective Agency series, and so I couldn't resist entering a competition on Alexander McCall Smith's Facebook page to write a piece of a Mma Ramotswe story.

It turned out to be quite challenging because the word count was very low (300 words max) and I needed to somehow wrap up the story told by the previous weeks' winners.

Here's my entry. It's the sixth part of a six-part story so if you wish you can read the other entries to understand the story (mine's the one attributed to "Mumbletoes Hornswoggle").


The little white van was soon travelling along the Lobatse Road once more. Mr J.L.B. Matekoni frowned disapprovingly at the speedometer but he did not say anything to Mma Ramotswe. He knew speed was important sometimes, and perhaps on occasions it was good to push an engine a little faster than the engine would like.

“Clovis Andersen says this is the best stage of a case, Rra,” Mma Ramotswe said. “It is the denouement.”

Mr J.L.B. Matekoni did not know what a denouement was. He decided it was best not to ask Mma Ramotswe for a definition while she was driving her little white van at such speeds.

“And here we are,” said Mma Ramotswe as she parked the little white van outside the Gaborone City Council building. It took them an hour to arrange a meeting with the deputy mayor, but when at last they were able to present their findings to him, he was delighted.

“This Violet Sephotho is a bad woman,” he said. “She has done many bad things but this is the first time we have some proof. Now she will not be able to stand in the election and this is a good thing for Gaborone.”

It was strange, thought Mr J.L.B. Matekoni as Mma Ramotswe drove him back to Speedy Motors. He had thought Mma Ramotswe would be happy that the case was solved but she was sad and quiet. Perhaps it was because she was such a kind person that she felt sorry for someone as bad as Violet Sephotho. She was a complex woman and he – well – he found his mind wondering if Mma Potokwani would provide them with fruit cake in celebration of another solved case.

The heart may feel sadness, he said to himself, but there will always be cake.

Monday, 11 March 2013

The Lawrences and Lambs

My mum and Pat, her best friend, have known each other all their lives. Even when they were babies they were pushed around together in their respective prams. This is the poem my mum asked me to write for Pat's 70th birthday card, based on various memories they have of their lives together. I guess the references in the poem won't make much sense to anyone else, but it was fun to write so here it is anyway!


Here they come!
The Lawrences and Lambs!
Doreen and Margery
Are pushing the prams.

Eleven years later,
Jean and Pat were cool.
Biking up the Brampton Road,
To the Grammar School.

Lovely, dark-green uniforms,
With knickers for P.E.
Pat enjoyed her country run
While Jeanie stopped for tea.

Perfect Pat the Prefect
Managed all the tuck.
Jeanie got free chocolate
And didn't believe her luck.

Down the Nickel Coin they went
At the end of every day.
Pat had all the money
So Jeanie let her pay.

Coins went in the jukebox.
The egg and chips were hot.
Pat and Jean went jiving,
While revision went to pot.

Through happiness and laughter,
Through life and love and tears,
Jean and Pat together,
Friends for 70 years.