MISTER SMILLIE

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I once had a teacher named Smillie, 
Yet smiley he was not,
He ruled the class with an iron fist,
Wielded the cane with a very strong wrist.

Now Smillie was from the land of Burns, 
‘Scootland’ he would attest,
Yet to him love was not a ‘red, red rose’, 
But a scared class of boys that always froze.

We were all supposed to be good at maths,
This was class 2A no less,
But Smillie always read the daily news,
Giving us the chance to dream and cruise.

‘Eah Doofty where’s your maths homework?’	
It was enough to make me choke,
And when I couldn’t recite that theorem, 
Even the class down the building could hear him.

The smartest in the class was Robert Smart,
Yes ‘Smart’, I do not lie,
And Smillie gave Smart his full attention,	
As he was the only one with good retention.

And so it came to the Judgement Day,
The end-of-term exams,
Now Smart excelled with ninety four,
And Dufty slightly less with twenty four.

So off I strode to the class next door,
Much to my parents’ chagrin,
But how I struggled to withhold my glee,
For I was in 2B and I was free!

Ice, Ice Baby

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Ice is not nice
It makes be mad
It makes me bad
It makes me sad

Ice is so nice
I score the high
Fly in the sky
Never to die

Ice is not nice
The times I lied
My brain is fried
I will be tried

Ice is so nice
I’m in this jail
I’ll soon get bail
It’s in the mail

Ice, Nice Baby?

The Lobbyist

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 Have you sat in a lobby
 watching them come and then go?
 In and out, to and fro,
 wondering where in fact they go.
  
 They say Life is like a lobby
 with a revolving door; 
 In and out, to and fro,
 where in fact do we really go?
  
 See, watching in a lobby 
 is becoming my hobby. 

Butterfly

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 A butterfly flew on by
 Flittered, fluttered
 Caught the eye
  
 It flew into the sky
 Blue, azure
 Flew so high
  
 Higher than I could spy
 Gutted, I muttered
 ‘I hope it will not die’. 

Turning 60

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When I turn Sixty –
I’ll hike the Kokoda Trail
(No way my body will fail),
I’ll bound up the highest mountain,
Frolic naked in a city fountain.
 
And when I turn Sixty -
I’ll photograph like a kid,
No lines, wrinkles, nothing hid,
My skin pristine, cheeks a flush,
OK they might use the odd air brush.
 
And when I turn Sixty -
There’ll be no stopping me,
Watch me climb the tallest tree,
Hey, I will be the living proof
Of the meaning of Eternal Youth.
 
And when I turn Sixty -
I’ll prove that being Sixty
Is the new Fifty, Forty, Thirty,
On the wrong side of middle age?
No, Sixty’s got to be all the rage.
 
But now that I’ve turned Sixty -
I’ve started to feel a bit ditsy,
Memories start to make me misty,
And the old back is playing up,
May be no longer the young pup.
 
And now that I’ve turned Sixty -
I think I’ll take Sixty lying down,
Curl on the couch like a sleepy hound,
Snooze, then pop open a can of VB,
And watch adrenaline sports on TV,

The Pigeon (a sonnet)

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What is the point of a pigeon?

Have you ever pondered this thought?

I’ve scanned the books, all religions,

And believe this bird to be a rort.

 

There you waddle, pecking at refuse;

Fat head bobbles, you coo and scratch;

And you can home (that’s no excuse);

Those other birds you cannot match.

 

But God must’ve something in His mind:

A niche, a role for you my friend;

In pity I wink, reason sure to find;

Stop this poem reaching a sad end.

 

But now white goo splatters my eye;

Then a wink from pigeon up on high!

 

Runny nose poem

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RED, RED NOSE

O my Love’s like my red, red nose,
That’s newly sprung in June;
O my Love’s like an allergy,
That helps us snore in tune.

Now you’re so cool, my bony lass,
But so deep in snot am I;
And I will love you still, my dear,
Till all my sinuses go dry.

Till all my sinuses go dry, my dear,
And we can have some fun;
But I will love you still, my dear,
When again my nose does run.

So see you soon my only Love,
And see you, for a while!
And I will come again, my Love,
With one big snotty smile!

(Author’s note: Apologies to Robert Burns for the take on his poem ‘Red, Red Rose’)

 

 

Book lovers poem

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AT A BARNES AND NOBLE

I met her at a Barnes and Noble

She was young, I was much older

Coo-coo-ca-choo, she behind a folder

Our eyes then met, and I told her

I’m looking for a book

At a Barnes and Noble

 

We made love in a Barnes and Noble

It happened in the non-fiction section

Between Religion or History on reflection

No one noticed, no detection

Only the books saw the action

At a Barnes and Noble

 

We were married at a Barnes and Noble

It was literally a fine celebration

Filled with friends and the odd relation

Books and us – the ultimate creation

Books hailed our matrimony

At a Barnes and Noble

 

Our children live in a Barnes and Noble

Reading books is our only pastime

Other kids play Xbox, games of that kind

But this line I’m struggling to rhyme

I will get the answer

At a Barnes and Noble

 

This poem is brought to you

By Barnes and Noble

‘Book a Life’

At a Barnes and Noble.

A light at the end of the tunnel

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When the darkness is so overwhelming,

Look to the stars above for some hope,

The glow in the eyes of a child playing,

Helping the mind restore and to cope.

 

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel,

A hope to help lift us from despair,

A hole for water to escape a funnel,

Letting us out when the world’s unfair.

 

You will enter a place of still solitude,

Peace and quiet, solace from all the din,

To get there you’ll need to show fortitude,

As this nirvana you will find is within.