I Really Like Your Stapler

“I Really Like Your Stapler”

There really is nothing like
The office thief to start a fight
Over things so pointless and so small
And really worth no trouble at all.

It starts simply with a borrowed pen
But like a cancer it spreads and then
The borrower has graduated to theft 101
And then you notice there’s something wrong.

“I really like your stapler” they one day say
You know it’ll be gone by the end of the day,
“Would like my credit card too?!”
They look down, hurt and dismissive of you.

For the office thief is unaware
Of just what they are, and do not care
That their ways lead others to scream
Over petty objects missing and a simple dream…

…”I REALLY like your stapler” they’ll say,
And the victim stands and stares and they
Grab the stapler and thrust it through the eyes
Of this annoying fool who’s brought down to size.

Staples in eyeballs and paper-clips on gonads,
No longer does the thief feel one of the lads.
And as he retreats in shame and disgust
He knows they know and he knows he’s bust!

You can hear “I Really Like Your Stapler” read by the actor Kerry Shale by clicking on the audio file in the Poetry Audio box on the top right of this page.

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Let’s Speak Lots of Words

“Let’s Speak Lots of Words”

I really feel like it is about time that we
Spoke to one another in words and then see
If doing such will bring us closer together as friends
Or be like literary divers and suffer from word-formed bends.

So let’s start with some simple basic words
One’s that won’t tax us, then move onwards.
I’ll begin with a very basic sentence structure
Here goes…”My bike’s tyre has a puncture”.

Now, for this to be a serious and recognized conversation
You are required to reply to my starting oration.
Give it a go and see what you can string together
But be quick, I won’t wait for you forever!

You’ve asked just how my bike’s tyre got the puncture
A question, basic and true about the past, not the future.
So I’ll say that my bike’s poorly condition
Was caused by a sudden rash case of sedition.

Now you look confused, have my words so perplexed
And caused consternation or maybe you have guessed
That maybe I’m talking a load of old toot
And feel like kicking me hard with your hob-nailed boot.

I’ll confirm my statement with a follow up missive
And tell a tale about a man with a gift to give
Whose shoulders expand to engulf the globe
And ends up living inside his own frontal lobe.

You smile and smirk and back off and I know
I’ve lost the plot now and started to show
Too much of my love of the surreal and the strange
Our conversation’s over, you think I’m deranged!

A Cautionary Tale Concerning Geography

Youve Been Warned!

You've Been Warned!

“A Cautionary Tale Concerning Geography”

It seems to me that it’s about due time
That someone took charge of the matter,
And took a step forwards and drew a firm line
And spewed forth a discourse and caused chatter.

The issue at hand is a misuse of geography
And a rampant misnomer regarding hills,
Some quite shocking mistakes in the life of the valley
And then lunch featuring pickles called Dills.

I hate to admit but once I was mistaken
In my recognition of the lay of the land,
I stand here before you corrected and shaken
By a lifelong National Trust ban.

But I sally forth so to inform this here crowd
Of mistakes that have led to much pain,
I’ll begin where I start and will enunciate loud
And it’s free, I’ll receive no financial gain.

Avoid walking too near to a mountainous drop
Or too close to the edge of the sea,
And never set fire to a farmer’s prize stock
Of organically re-fried green beans.

Go near the wooden glen at you own peril
And run swiftly past copses or else,
You could be waylaid by some vicious squirrel
Or tripped by the overgrown sea kelp.

Fences and walls and sty’s and barriers
Will all try to block your safe passage,
Beware stately homes with their tourist-attack harriers
And any sweet smelling choclatey cottage.

The land all around us is full of such dangers
They lurk hidden all in plain view,
Best stay in your 4 by 4 rover type rangers
And then get home, hire a lawyer and sue!

Micky McDuff’s Mad Mancunian Machine

Beware the robot!

Beware the robot!

“Micky McDuff’s Mad Mancunian Machine”

Micky McDuff was a wee lad of ten
Although his mum swore that he was thirty-seven
Micky McDuff sat alone in his den
His own personal technological heaven
Micky McDuff was as daft as a brush
But his Dad said it was all down to his hormones
Micky McDuff was in no real rush
So he cranked up his favourites, the Ramones!
Micky McDuff was a robotics whiz
But his gal said he was just a sad anorak
Micky McDuff got all in a tiz
When his gal left him for chap who flipped Big Macs
Micky McDuff swore vengeance that day
But his mates said he was simply a weirdo
Micky McDuff started building from clay
Coz he’d used all his metal on a robotic yo-yo
Micky McDuff toiled hour after hour
His Gran said he’d soon need the bathroom
Micky McDuff had a true secret power
Supreme bladder control that would spell the world’s doom
Micky McDuff eventually came forth
But his family were all down the park
Micky McDuff screamed aloud like a Norse
And for a moment the sky went all dark
Micky McDuff pressed down on the control
But no-one was there to see the great sight
Micky McDuff stepped behind a grassy knoll
As from out of the den shone an ominous light
Micky McDuff gasped in awe at his creation
As the neighbours stepped out and screamed
Micky McDuff laughed loud like a good ‘un
As his monster flew off in the direction he leaned
Micky McDuff stood there and waited
His folks finally back from the park
Micky McDuff grinned the grin they all hated
The one that reminded them of the old Cutty Sark
Micky McDuff eye-spied his new creature
As descending from above it did drop
Micky McDuff bellowed forth, a bit like Nietzsche
“Tell us your name and then stop”
Micky McDuff was then taken aback some
As from the creature’s mouth came a sound
Micky McDuff, an Orthodox Brumm
Couldn’t understand what he heard coming down
Micky McDuff cried tears of shame
As the crowd that had gathered then left
Micky McDuff trudged off down the lane
His creature, all alone, slightly miffed
Micky McDuff never spoke of it again
But every year a card or two he’d be sent
Micky McDuff had brought his family great shame
With his mad machine with a Mancunian accent!

Happy Words

This poem is dedicated to the memory of Nanny Gardner, my fabulouos grandmother, who died this morning.  She had such a love of life and always loved to laugh and be merry.  She brought such fun and liveliness to my childhood, and I am forever grateful to her for her love.  This is for her, and for my Grandpa and Dad and the rest of the family who are in such pain right now.  I have chosen a silly poem that I think Nanny would have enjoyed the ridiculousness of.

The wondrous Pinky!

The wondrous Pinky!

“Happy Words”

Boing is a super word,
As are Biscuit and Bird.
Apple’s not a bad one,
Or Comic, Candy or Crumb.
I like to hear Ruler,
Rubber, Randy, Rampant and Super.
Sometimes Drum is one I love,
And Spanner, Titmarsh, Gander and Glove.
But happy words come big and small,
And sometimes double barrelled like Swimming Pool.

Duck
Plum
Yonkers
Trifle
Pomegranate
Plinth
Sargasso

All these make me smile and laugh,
But the best by far is Pinky’s “NARF!”

Sparky’s Favourite Mouse

Bertie Bertie!

Bertie Bertie!

“Sparky’s Favourite Mouse”

Even though he had almost a thousand
There was one he loved much more than
The other nine hundred and ninety-nine mice
So much so that Sparky named it twice

Bertie Bertie was the honoured soul
Resplendent in glass ball he’d roll
From Sparky’s lap to the kitchen wall
Then round the cushions and down the hall

Sparky’s love for this treasured mouse
Was something he’d never renounce
Even when his mother laid down the law
And shoved the whole lot out the door

Bertie Bertie was safe in Sparky’s bag
Away from the machinations of the evil hag
Sparky raced away to the schoolhouse room
Away from the domestic mouse-killing doom

But that first night while at the school
Sparky forgot the first cardinal rule
He left Bertie Bertie’s cage open and
His favourite mouse rolled out of hand

The following morn they all did behold
The chaos left wherever Bertie Bertie had rolled
A cat dispatched to hunt down Sparky’s chum
Within half an hour the job was well done

Now Sparky sits sad and all alone, no mouse
In his bedroom on the first floor of his house
But every now and again he can hear
A scratch and a squeak, he knows Bertie Bertie’s still near!

Cosa Nostrils

Deep Breath!

Deep Breath!

“Cosa Nostrils”

They came from a far off island place
Though many now claim they were from outer space
They came across the ocean deep
Though many now say it was their “one big leap”

Into our homes and castles they arrived
And many of our men they knifed
Into our beds and bunks they slipped
While we slept, while we kipped

Before we knew it, they were gone
They hadn’t been here very long
But they remained, in a hidden place
As plain as the nose under our face

For three hundred years they’ve ruled our land
A secret society with a hidden hand
In every decision, we’ve no freedom of will
You see, we’re subjects of The Cosa Nostril!

Light & Life

Whos Inside?

Who's Inside?

“Light & Life”

I see flatblocks of lights
And imagine the fights
Husbands and wives
Leading interesting lives
Places of work
Where dark denizens lurk
And places of play
Where safe children stay

I see through the windows
And see what is on show
Into kitchens and bathrooms
With cleaners and fast brooms
I stare at the couples
Entwined with their cupfuls
Of cocoa or horlicks
Curled up on the carpet

Or snuggled together
Sofa cushions of feather
And now I see more
As I race by I’m sure
Tenements and tenements
Divided by means of fence
Their appearance so familiar
Their contents so very near

These people together
Couples living forever
Safe in their universe
Of loneliness a banished curse
But now my train speeds me on
Past happy couples by the million
Very soon I’ll be back at home
And unlike them, once more alone.

N.B. You can hear actress Claire Skinner reading “Light & Life” by clicking on the Poetry Audio widget on the right side of the page.

Ruff Justice

“Ruff Justice”

“On all charges you have been found guilty”
The words rang forth with doom and dread
“And may I just say that you’ve been terribly naughty
And so you’ll be hanged until dead!”

The crowd gasped, the hacks shouted
But the judge had already gone
The defendant removed and escorted
To the holding cell below, but not for long!

Thinking back, he remembered the crime
Of which his life had now been forfeit
Recalling a happier place and time
Running free, chasing  Frisbee while on all four feet.

He considered the mud and the dark water
The mess he’d made in the new kitchen
But then what about the ball he’d brought her
The daughter of the sister from Hitchin?

So the muddy prints went up the new stairs
And yes, he’d peed on the new duvet
So the baby was covered in his wet hairs
And he’d left a present inside the chrome bidet!

And yes, he had bitten the old aunt
And yes, he had humped someone’s leg
And yes, he had howled like a footie chant
And yes, he had insisted they call him Greg!

All these thoughts raced through his mind
As his final dawn sunlight streamed in
The Chaplain came in and tickled his hind
Quarters, as he licked his last sin.

And the rope noose is swinging limp now
And the witnesses’ jobs at an end
And the empty collar looks sad somehow
And we still called him man’s best friend!

Froggo & The Corpse

Nee-naw nee-naw nee-naw

Nee-naw nee-naw nee-naw

“Froggo & The Corpse”

Such a pair the world has never seen
As Froggo and The Corpse.
A crime fighting duo, fit and lean
One’s a frog, the other’s a corpse.

Fighting crime on London’s mean streets
Here come Froggo and The Corpse.
In squad car or walking the beat
The short one’s the frog, the other’s a corpse.

Cracking drug rings and organized crime
“Look out! It’s Froggo and The Corpse!”
Natural’s at meter, rhythm and rhyme
One’s amphibian, the other’s a corpse.

A couple o’good’uns, the DCI’s boys
Known locally as Froggo and The Corpse.
Flying squad rozzers making plenty of noise
The green one’s Froggo, the dead one’s The Corpse!

Contented Regardless of Size

Measuring Up!

Measuring Up!

“Contented…Regardless of Size”

“It’s not very big,” she said with a sigh
As she lay back in bed after the first try.
“It’s bigger than yours,” he said in reply
As he sat up and zipped up his fly.

Which was true…lady-boys, huh!

The Crab & Sock

Magpie & Corwn, Brentford...lovely pub starring the almighty Bungle behind the pumps!

Magpie & Crown, Brentford...lovely pub starring the almighty Bungle behind the pumps!

“The Crab & Sock”

Every evening, I’d go and sit,
By the roadside tar and grit.
Desiring a pint of something large and golden,
But still the traffic passed and rolled-on.

So I left my place by the road,
Packed my lunch and grabbed my load.
And went a-searching for a place,
Where chaps and lasses drank at a more leisurely pace.

The “Rambling Monk” appeared first,
A lost lonely place that failed to quench my thirst.
The barman and owner, a man named Seth.
I made a real faux-pas with his daughter Beth.

A fast run then to “The King’s Buttercup” ensued,
Funny looks my lack of breath and sorry state accrued.
Before my eyes a sight appeared,
But a second look confirmed…the barmaid had a beard!

Strolling on to “The Cumbersome Bluetit”,
I came across some navvies in a pit.
The wit and views soon became clear,
But it was sight of their butt-cracks that really put me off my beer.

I began to despair, where oh where could I satiate my need,
For the dark black pint of Irish creed?
Or look longingly at the perfect glass,
Of the golden liquid of the brewer’s arts?

And then a corner I came a-turnin’,
My eyes a-poppin’, my tongue a-burnin’.
My mid a-spinnin’, my taste-buds a-cravin’
My faith in pubs was in need of a-savin!

I’d found my dream pub, “The Crab & Sock”,
There it nestled, down by the old grey lock.
I saw my future flash before me,
A million pints, and no need to pee!

And so I remained, my pennies on the bartop,
Amusing the ladies and telling the barman “Don’t stop!”
The day grew short, I sank to my knees,
Then the nightmare again…”All right you lot…drink up…TIME PLEASE!”

A Fruity Moment

Eat your 5 a day kids!

Eat your 5 a day kids!

“Ha ha!” said the apple as it eye-spied the pear
Coming over yonder hill with no time to spare.

“Say what?” cried the lemon at the yodelling yam
As they sat atop a hillock in an old rusty pram.

“It’s finished!” shouted the strawberry and Satsuma
Rising forth from a cave like an old tabloid rumour.

“Oh boy,” lisped the cherry and with it the melon
Both tied up and dressed like Sir Ian McKellen.

“That’s that!” yelled the blackcurrent atop the cumquat
And they all went home to their communal yoghurt pot!

The Habit Forming Nun

Nuns have lives too!

Nuns have lives too!

“The Habit Forming Nun”

Aged 16 she made a vow
To give herself to God

Aged 18 she’d bought a cow
A crotchety old sod

Aged 20 she became a nun
Her life in service to others

Aged 25 she became addicted to buns
So was birched by her sisters and brothers

Aged 30 she claimed to know Mary
Had mothered six daughters and sons

Aged 40 she recanted and rarely
Spoke again and just sat eating buns

Aged 50 the sister became Mother
Superior in all ways bar none

Aged 60 she took her first lover
But fell asleep before the deed was done

Aged 70 she lost her left arm
In an accident involving the Pope

Aged 75 she caused great alarm
When the police caught her peddling dope

Aged 80 she was released back to the convent
Withered and tired and worn out

Aged 90 she said she was finally content
Then she died with n’er a worry nor a doubt

Tonsils By Night

Strange Things Come Out At Night!

Strange Things Come Out At Night!

“Tonsils By Night”

“Up and about at this time of night
What ever would your father think
Now sleep or you’ll get an awful big fright
When you see what’s climbing out of the sink!”

So imagine my doubt as my mum walked away
Leaving these thoughts in my head
Whatever could be the thing that she’d say
Would scare me back into my bed?

So after the lights had been switched off
And my parents had finally gone to sleep
I creeped from my room with barely a cough
And explored to the bathroom not making a peep.

I opened the door and to my surprise
A glow was alive in the sink
I leaned forward and adjusted my eyes
And averted my nose from the stink!

A baker’s dozen tonsils alive in the bowl
Swimming and chirping and so on
Another 15 were asleep on the towel
And some ninja one’s rode on the curtain.

I ran back to my room and hid under sheets
I feared the tonsils would follow me and
I shivered and shook and listened for creaks
And eventually slipped into sleep land.

Next morning I ran to the bathroom
And searched high and low for the ‘sils
No sign that the errant nodules did loom
They’d left and headed out to the hills!

Capers By The Fireside

Thats one GIANT cock!

That's one GIANT cock!

“Capers By The Fireside”

It was interesting when
My old Uncle Ben
Decided then
To create an atomic super-giant crossbow hen.

He started out to begin
With some old skin
From a bin
And by 5 o’clock he was already onto the chin.

And by Tuesday next week
Aided by a Greek
The hen did speak
And what it said was “Oh, boy I really need a leak!”

We sold the crossbow hen to
An army man who
Paid us two
Million pounds and promised the hen would be painted blue.

We saw the hen on the TV news
Wearing seven league shoes
Jumping bus queues
And ending its life at the end of a lynch-mobs’ noose.

How sad!

The Masked Curator (Of The Invisible Museum)

Everyone Enjoys A Mask!

Everyone Enjoys A Mask!

“The Masked Curator (Of The Invisible Museum)”

Ha ha! Here he comes now
The mysterious mask, cape and scowl
Through the night’s cold damp air
Flying fast from his ominous lair

Don’t dally too long by one exhibit
Linger or lounge, he’s sure to sense it
Move on down the halls & corridors
And don’t ever run on the well polished floors

He hunts his prey as lights dim
Lost visitors believe and trust him
Twilight gloom his happy time
The perfect place for his heinous crime

The pounce & stare, the scream & scare
His masked face, you’ve no prayer
The following day, police investigated
The verdict quick – you’ve been curated

Robot Love

Some Robots In Love!

Some Robots In Love!

DEDICATED TO LEE HARRIS & ALL AT THE NEWLY LAUNCHED ANGRY ROBOT BOOKS..GO GET ‘EM GUYS!

“Robot Love”

They came to our beautiful land
Destruction was what they had planned
They stomped and crashed our city fair
Our people died, they did not care
Each one a giant of 100 feet
They burned and wrecked our old high street
This robot pair from outer space
Destruction reigned in our peaceful place
Then as one the pair gazed down
Upon a couple of lovers found
Embraced together not caring or
Noticing the carnage or battle roar
So in love and so in desire
This couple kissed hard within the fire
So in lust and so found together
Their love embrace went on forever
The robots took pause and looked around
At the damage they’d done, the beauty they’d found
And one noticed the other was a robot girl
Her antennae had the cutest curl
The 100 foot high robots embraced at once
And kissed with circuits, and began to dance
Lost in each others microchip-based eyes
Ignoring from below the people’s death cries
For as they danced and jigged and stepped
They crushed and killed and maimed and kept
The reign of terror going on for another long round
And when they stopped they looked and found
The objects of their imitation were sadly no more
Beneath a metal foot they were crushed on the floor
And the robots both wept at their tragic mistake
Switched each other off and died in their lover’s embrace.

Is That A Lightsaber In Your Pocket?

A Yoda Finger Puppet For the Kiddies

A Yoda Finger Puppet For the Kiddies

WARNING – includes some naughty words not suitable for, well, people who don’t like rude words I suppose…oh, and children, because someone HAS to think about the children!!

“Is That A Lightsaber In Your Pocket?”

A wandering warrior I was one day,
On a planet in a universe far far away.
Described by some as a slimey mudball,
It was here I met a chap, somewhat small.

A laughing gnome, or so I thought,
Till the bastard stole the stuff I’d brought.
A wee little green and hairy guy,
With a rascal’s glint to his Muppet-like eye.

My droid and I were chowing down,
When we heard a Frank Oz-like sound.
Two pointed ears, from within our box,
A midget in some dirty Jawa’s frocks.

Walking with stick, I let him the freak pass,
And saw some bloke’s hand shoved up his arse.
Strange, I thought, but said not a word,
For fear the hand’s owner may have heard.

“Wars not make one mighty” quoth the midget,
Smart-alec riddles spawned from it.
“F**k you, green arse!” I retorted with venom,
He looked bitter, no longer a kind shaman.

Out came his mighty sword of light,
“Size not matter when I fight!”
He, his sword and his mysterious hand,
Pushed me back into some hidden quicksand.

“Hmm?  Sinking you are, heh heh heh!” he giggled,
As I struggled, wrenched and wriggled.
It slowly dawned on me…I was stuck,
He said, “Ha!  Serves you right, you arrogant f**k!”

“Oh Jedi Master,” said I, “can you not help?”
He paused, I sank, was bitten, gave a yelp.
“Midget, short-arse, now not your feelings for me?
“Master, I’ll yank you off if you do but save me!”

He thought and pondered long and hard,
And finally I felt myself moving forward.
“You are truly a Jedi Master, I see that now, of course.”
Then the s**t dropped me and I joined the Force!

P.S. I love Star Wars, especially Empire Strikes Back. This is mere loving whimsy. Thanks George, for the original Trilogy 🙂

Lost Little Town

A Small Town

A Small Town

“Lost Little Town”

Oh where are you, lost little town?
What’s going through your mind?
Why did you run away?
I only asked you the time.

Oh where have you gone to, lost little town?
Have I said something upsetting?
Or maybe I accidentally trod on your foot?
Sorry.

Oh come back to us, lost little town.
We miss your witty comments about the footy.
The local gals want to see your party tricks again.
And me and Steve want our cricket bat back.
Thanks.

Oh, lost little town.
Oh, little lost town.
Oh town…so lost and so little.

Don’t be shy…or scared.
Give us a call and we’ll pick you up at the station;
Reverse the charges if you need to.
Come back lost little town.

Just stop eyeing up my sister…
All right?!

The 39 Steps

Some steps!

Some steps!

“The 39 Steps”

Step one, step two
Step several, step few
Step side, side back
Step over the paving crack
Step fast, step slow
Step rain, step snow
Step up, step down
Step firm upon the ground
Step across, step past
Step first, step last
Step now, step later
Step for something greater
Step left, step right
Step daytime, step night
Step forward, step proud
Step once and make it loud
Step together, step alone
Step by text, step by phone
Step where, step when
Step silent now my friend
Step how, step why
Step now, step shy

Insane In The Climbing Frame

Climbing Frame Action!

Climbing Frame In Action!

“Insane In The Climbing Frame”

Wee Jimmy stood at the top of the frame
The King of his own private land
No longer with friends, playing a game
He’d left them behind in the sand.

Wee Jimmy stood proud and steadfast
Surveying his kingdom below
Proudly displaying his autographed cast
Received in a bicycle blow.

Wee Jimmy stood tall and in charge
The Emperor of all he could see
Munching on bread spread with marj
And wanting so badly to pee.

Wee Jimmy stood hunched and concerned
The trip down was further away
Oh God how his wee winky burned
He feared he was stuck there all day.

Wee Jimmy stood bent and embarrassed
With liquid seeping down his leg
The whole class had seen his excess
As it dripped down onto the shed.

Wee Jimmy stood now on the playground
The teacher not happy or glad
Wee Jimmy was nurses office bound
New trousers were now to be had.

Partially Hidden Behind The Potted Plantpoem

Some lovely potted petunias

Some lovely potted petunias

“Partially Hidden Behind The Potted Plant”

“I can see you Mrs Dufflecoat,” the nurse said,
“No you can’t!” shouted Ethel, large of head.
“You’re behind the petunia,” the nurse replied,
“No I’m not!” said Ethel, somewhat shied.

“I can see your ears,” the nurse pushed on,
“They’re not mine!” retorted Ethel with aplomb.
“The right one is,” insisted the nurse placidly,
“No it’s not!” cried Ethel, not quite believingly.

“And I can see your nose,” the nurse continued,
“I haven’t got one!” said Ethel, rather rude.
“Between the petals,” the nurse kindly explained,
“Must be some kind of fruit!” Ethel exclaimed.

“I really can see you,” the nurse said with friction,
“I don’t see how,” replied Ethel walking in from the kitchen.

…so who’s behind the petunia?

I Knew This Incredibly Large Dog

S&M Masks For Kinky Dogs!

S&M Masks For Kinky Dogs!

“I Knew This Incredibly Large Dog!”
His name was Bert, or Dave, or maybe Rover
No that was the car I’m sure that he drove her
In when they came as a couple, over for tea
Just me and her and him and she.
“My, what a large nose,” exclaimed Marjorie one day
As Bert (or was it Dave) licked his bits where he lay
It was true, but nothing to the length of his lick
Or his mighty prodigious gargantuan prick.
Then one eve the invite arrived on the mat
“Bring two chairs, a chicken, some wine and a hat”
So we jumped in our oversized Bulgarian car
And sauntered on over, it wasn’t too far.
There was Dave (or was it Bert) in his smoking cravat
And suspended in wicker his dear lady sat
Trussed up all in leather and dripping with oils
I thanked god that last year she’d surgically removed all the boils.
“What is this malarkey,” I cried with aplomb
Or was it a raspberry, or apple or cum-
quat…Our host rose to all fours and shouted out loud
“We’re swingers, dear chap, and of it we’re proud!”
Well, Marjorie was quite taken shy with the shock
And I, made or stouter stuff, looked fast at the clock
And made our excuses, “Bridge club at ten!”
We raced off and never spoke of the event again.
Except for that one time when home from work came I
To a Marjorie all trussed up in leather not shy
Of the fact that her mendips were touching the floor
And for days after the fact that her cloots would be sore.
I still see old Bert, no I’m sure he’s called Ron
Down at the station, our friendship is gone
But I have to admit to the world and pen in my log
That he is quite the most incredibly large S&M dog!

Daily Poetry – #1

Kick Ass Puppy - Trained At The Ninja Dojo

Kick Ass Puppy - Trained At The Ninja Dojo

I’ve been writing silly & surreal poetry for about 15 years now, and have had a collection of them published in the US.  In advance of the release of a new collection later this year (“The Man Who Mistook His Life For An Act”), I thought I would share some of them with you here on the blog.  Hope you like it, I am gonna post a new poem here every day, so do pop back for more!So here’s #1:

“Kick Ass Puppy”

Trained to fight in a hundred styles
Trained to hunt using only his wiles
Trained to make love to beautiful foes
Trained to tell fortunes using only his toes
Trained to speak in a thousand tongues
Trained to yell at the top of his lungs
Trained to run as fast as a cheetah
Trained to know his quarts from his litres
Trained in the art of espionage
Trained not to laugh at Little and Large
Trained to add up, subtract and divide
Trained to eat calamari, fresh or fried
Trained to be everywhere and nowhere at once
Trained to be intelligent but appear like the dunce
Trained to use crayons as deadly weapons
Trained to endure sixteen fresh lemons
Trained to use ancient mind techniques
Trained to mend pipes and repair leaks
Trained to be stealthy, cunning and sly
Trained to know when it’s OK to cry
Trained to use his fur as distraction
Trained to be cute to get a little action
Trained to bark once for yes and twice for no
Trained at the Ninja Kick Ass Puppy dojo

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