A SELECTION OF SOME OF MY POETRY:

My view of humour


The difference between a goldfish and the government

 

 A goldfish spends his life in a transparent glass bowl

Going round in circles,

You can see what heís doing!

 

A Government isnít orange,

Itís not a colour theyíd entertain,

And, in this case, no shade approaching red at all!

 

A goldfish cannot attend cabinet meetings

His fins arenít equipped for holding pens

And heíd get important papers very soggy!

 

A government is not composed entirely

Of those that can swim

Quite a lot end up floating upside down!

 

A goldfish does not introduce law after law

The only law it has

Is which way to swim round the tank

 

A Government is in charge of financial matters

Unlike a goldfish

Who wouldnít really care if he had a penny or ten million pounds

 

A goldfish swims under a stone bridge

Going round and round and round and round and round Ė

A Government doesnít have a stone bridge!

 

A Government has responsibilities

Towards all of its people, (YES, ALL!!!)

Whereas a goldfish is relatively carefree

 

A goldfish can be BOUGHT QUITE CHEAPLY!

At a pet shop, or won at a fair,

Which you canít, of course, do with a Government!

 

A Government can decide to drop bombs

And send men to kill people

Which a goldfish, not even a very belligerent one,

Would ever do!


The Lord High Executioner

Iím the Lord High Executioner

And I have always been

For all time omnipresent

Though I canít be heard or seen

 

Iím the Lord High Executioner

The whole of Earth my realm

The ship I sail is rudderless

No one can take the helm

 

Iím the Lord High Executioner

And I can never rest

I must take each and every soul

The cursed and the blessed

 

Iím the Lord High Executioner

I pay no dues or tax

No Earthly debt attributed

No one escapes my axe

 

Iím the Lord High Executioner

No confidante or friend

And though I spend my time alone

I meet all in the end

 

Iím the Lord High Executioner

Just once shall we unite

Respecter not of passing time

One morning or one night

 

Iím the Lord High Executioner

When comes the final breath

Though stranger I before this time

Youíll know me Ė my nameís Death!

 


The Rose.

The rose, it grows
so pretty and so pink,
some call its perfume heavenly while others say it stinks!
but still, it will
produce a prickly thorn,
protecting Mother Rose until the tiny bud is born.


Pan

A god, or not?
Do you see any pipes?
If not, this pan must be the mucky thing the washer wipes!
For greens, or beans,
or even sticky custard>
If a God was drowning in your sink, you'd likely get quite flustered!


A Pig

Quite big, a Pig,
(At least, when fully grown),
But rather sweet, with dainty feet, and an odour all of his own,
Beware, despair,
He's not the farmers pet!
He'll end up cut in rashers down the bacon factory yet!


The difference between a dog and a table.


you canít eat your dinner off a dog -
their undulating surface and mobile nature
prevent this.

you canít stroke a table -
unless you have a particularly strong
wood fetish.

you canít polish and wax a dog -
not even one with a very
friendly nature.

you canít teach an old table -
not even a nineteenth century oak barley twist -
new tricks.

you canít show your friends how nice
your new Dalmatian looks with its eight matching chairs
and lace tablecloth.

you canít expect an extending mahogany six-seater
to strain for release from trap 5
and round the bends at 40 m.p.h.

you canít throw out your old dog
when its scratched and one leg is broken
for the binmen to collect

you canít  take your table out for a walk,
youíd look bloody stupid with a six by four gateleg
on a lead.

finally, if still confused,
never give  pedigree chum to your table,
and never lay a dog.


The Haggis

Who can divine a taste like thine?
Blest odour of the reddest wine,
Thou liest within a silken skin;thou art so fair, mine heart you win.

Sounds heavenly thou singest me,
My journeyer from oíer the sea,
And, when youíre gone, Iíll be heart-sorry,
Oh! Haggis mine, from Tobermorry.


The clock.

A clock goes tock
Unless its hands have stopped Ė
Perhaps itís stood at half-past-three because it has been dropped

If so, then go
Horologist hunting Ė quick!
And ask the bloke to mend your clock and youíll soon be hearing it tick!


Next page: Some poems about our environment

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