Month: February 2015

The Pedents’ Re-volt

Its not eazy being a pedent
correcting others’ mis-takes all daylong
My freinds and me are totally sic
of observing gramma witch has gone wrong.

“Whom are these language offenders”?,
“could it be that I maybe one, to”
Their ignorant; stupid, and careless:
off gramma they have’nt a clue.

They’re speling is sutch an embarrasment
its’ amature, wired, and, abserd,
comprized of neither thought or intelligance,
to a dictionary they should of refered.

Writing down there awkwardly formed sentences,
the participle clauses are left dangling.
just made one less mistake each would have the affect
to dramatically reduce this language mangling.

BAFTA Acceptance Speech

I’m stunned and I’m staggered
to find myself up here,
clutching onto this BAFTA
I should have won last year.

Bear with me while I speak
through teeth white and flossable,
whilst I say thank you to those
who made all of this possible.

To the director’s wise words,
the support of the producer,
and my lovely leading lady
who let me seduce her.

To the rest of the cast
and the hard-working crew,
I can’t remember their names
but hope that will do.

To the film fans who came
to see me on the screen
and the critics who loved me
(but not those who were mean).

To my family, of course,
especially Mother and Father,
who sold their spare yacht
to put me through RADA.

To my friends who were there
each step along the way
and to my life coach Leona
who taught me feng shui.

To the people of Britain,
who took me to their heart,
it’s nice to know that
you recognise great art.

To the poor starving people
who might simply not cope
without me in their dreams,
a shining beacon of hope.

To the animals, birds and insects,
all of God’s assembled creatures,
for the wonder of their beauty
(though they lack my classic features).

And finally, there is one more
without which this couldn’t be.
Hardworking, handsome and humble,
I’d just like to thank me.

The Great Famine

The day the driver from Ocado
was late with her escargot,
Margot exhibited great bravado.

She had an insight into the plight
of the starving of Africa
as she waited patiently
for her celeriac and paprika.

She could see how
civilizations might fail
through focaccia gone stale
and for want of some kale.

And she thought to herself sadly
of those who sat drably
sipping on the dregs
of last night’s Chablis.

With some charity or other,
she set up a small direct debit
and then stoically rustled up
a smoked haddock rarebit.

When Les Linked In

Les linked in with himself
on Linked In.

It made him feel reconnected
with who he really was.

He went on to add in new skills,
such as ‘good at linking in’,
‘well connected’,
and “brilliant networking abilities”,
all of which he then
promptly endorsed.

Two weeks later he was congratulating himself
on his new job.

I Let the Dogs Out

Yes, it was I who let the dogs out.

At first it was hard to hear their howls
over the hubbub of gathered guests.
By the time, their panicked yelps pierced
the pandemonium, the party was bumping
and everybody was having a ball.

Except the dogs that is.

Perhaps it was the noise that upset them
or maybe it was simply the fact
that they didn’t have a bone.

For what is a dog without a bone?
He is nothing.
A mere mongrel without meaning.
A pooch without purport.

The dogs disappeared. And so did I,
for canine emancipation came with a cost.

The manhunt goes on.
Even now I hear their cries
and I cling doggedly to the dark,
hounded into the shadows.

Valentine’s Day is Over

They’re taking down love in the supermarkets.
It was best before by February 15th anyhow
and love is something that can’t be left on the shelf.

They need the space for other public displays
of confection, for the thanking of the best mum
in the world ever, and the laying out of chocolate eggs.

Romance may have had it’s day but there’s always
something to celebrate; Washington’s birthday,
some saint, All Saints’, All Souls’, April Fool’s, armistices,

rare diseases, women, men, children, animals,
pirates, poverty, pancakes, independence, not to mention
Diwali, Christmas, Rosh Hashanah, Ramadan.

It’s a wonder we find time for love at all.
This poem has been especially commissioned for
International Poetry About The End of Valentine’s Day Day.




Friday the Thirteenth

For Keith,
Friday the Thirteenth
held no fear.
He wasn’t superstitious
(or even a little bit stitious),
and didn’t view the day
as particularly suspicious
or with the promise
of the unpropitious.

It was then a black cat
crossed his path,
causing him to step on a crack
which made him stagger
under a ladder,
and shatter a mirror
being carried
by a passing albatross,
who suffered fatal blood loss
from a shard
which flew hard
into its heart.

Keith didn’t think anything of it
until later that day,
at a wine reception,
he found himself trapped
in a conversation
about Jeremy Clarkson.