Category: poetry

A horse of a woman

— Dash it all, Fidelma,
what’s a man to do,
when you’re standing in the paddock
and blocking all the view?

Could you be more circumspect,
a little less pronounced,
when we’re trying to observe
how the jockeys hold their mounts?

“It’s not my fault that I’m big-boned;
I’ve had a lousy life.
Ever since I married you,
I’ve been a slave to strife.”

— Just shift yer butt, Fidelma,
we don’t need your tales of woe,
but the jockeys must be ready
for the race at Neuf Château.

“You care more for your horses
than you ever did for me!
Is it any wonder
that beyond me you can’t see.”

— Now the jockeys are confused
by your equine weight:
if you don’t shift, Fidelma,
you’ll be at the starter’s gate.


 

The modality of digestive angst

Can Cardew’s Creamy Custard
cause a cardiac arrest?
Could Conway’s Crunchy Corn Cobs
cause a cancer to infest?

Do Delmar’s Dinky Donuts
deal a duodenal blow?
May Manning’s Mellow Muffins
melt the intestinal flow?

Must Moran’s Meaty Morsels
mean that measles must ensue?
Might Maxi’s Mega Melons
maim a mindless ingenue?

Should Sheldon’s Sugared Shellfish
shrink the shellfish devotee?
Will Wilma’s Waxy Wafers
wilt your willy when you wee?

Would that I could answer these
and many other questions,
but I’m just a ragged rhymester,
not a doctor of digestion.


Staying put

Just because I often curse you
from the bottom of my heart
doesn’t mean that I don’t love you
as the bullseye loves the dart.

Just because I’d like to slap you
in the belly with a fish
doesn’t mean that loving you
is not my dearest wish.

Just because I’d like to kill you
with a bullet in the head
doesn’t mean that I’m not staying
in your gently scented bed.


Peace & jelly

Jebsen’s Juniper Jelly
is a jelly of renown.
Don’t leave home without it,
or you’ll let your tastebuds down.

Now a disappointed tastebud
might seem trivial to you,
but it has been implicated
in the start of World War Two.

If only we’d had Jebsen’s
at the Palais de Versailles,
we might well have avoided
all that nasty brigantaille.

Each time you witness mayhem
and destruction on the telly,
you may be sure that someone
has forgot the Jebsen’s Jelly.

So don’t leave home without it,
or we’ll know who to blame
when all the world collapses
into Satan’s searing flames.


 

Nothing nouveau

Would you like a cooling sherbet
or a tangy ginger pop?
Just let me know your preference
before we leave the shop.

— I’d like a lemon twemlow
with a pecan glaze on top.
What chance of such a dainty
in this here common shop?

— You won’t find any twemlows here
(the shopman speaking now).
Sherbet and pop is where we stop
— twemlows is too highbrow.

— Oh let’s go elsewhere, Mater,
What an odious little man!
Let’s pootle round to Harrods
in our nouveau riche sedan.

And so la mere et fils depart
leaving shopman in perplexion:
‘Fie upon your twemlows,
and your nouveau riche confections.’


 

Eggs & class

Egg sandwiches are in demand
among the working classes.
I’m a salmon man, myself
— not for me the eggy gases.

Eggs are just so common,
every yokel has a yolk,
but only Scottish salmon
satisfies the arty folk.

Who dares to speak of eggs
when salmon is on offer?
Only feckless working yobs
with nothing in their coffer.