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 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?

 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’. 

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,