poetry

I want to be like Kim Kardashian

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Kim

I want to be like Kim Kardashian:

Low on talent but o so flashy and

I want to be like Johnny Depp:

Captain Jack Sparrow and o so hip

And I want to be like Donald Trump:

Mega-rich, so ready to give the dump

And I want to be like Queen Elizabeth:

Pomp and splendour, with plenty of breath

And I want to be like Justin Bieber:

So many fans and big on social media

And I want to be like that doll called Barbie:

Perfect body, perfect hair, perfect in every way

And I want to be like that man, The Pope:

Followers everywhere, giving plenty of hope…

So many to choose from, confusing it can be,

On reflection, I think I might end up being me.

© Neil Dufty

Tatoo

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Tatoo

TATOO

I think I will get a tattoo, or two,

Of you

Or a sleave with some serious ink,

In pink

May be something in words so felt,

Not misspelt

I’ll get them all over, even near the ear,

No fear

Looking like Joseph’s cloak, I’ll be the bloke,

No joke

But then I think of the pain, the pain, the pain,

Refrain

And when I’m ageing, skin dried and wrinkling,

An inkling

That I should have covered in kid’s transfers.

© Neil Dufty

O, Jasper: A Cat Poem

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Jasper

O, Jasper I’m so sorry for what I have done:

I surrendered you up to the local cattery,

I was selfish, thinking only of number one,

An act tantamount to assault and battery.

O, Jasper there is a void left in my heart,

I miss your licks, smooches, plaintive miaow,

That pat-the-ball game, it was so smart!

Our fun went on for hour after hour.

Jasper you ripped our lounge with no thought,

Spewed on our carpet, cried to break our sleep,

As arrogant as a model strutting the catwalk,

There is no way you could stay in our keep.

O, Jasper, who’s that in the cattery window

Smiling at me with a young lady cat in tow?

© Neil Dufty

Fly

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Black-shouldered Kite (3)

Don’t you wish you could fly?

Leave the ground and touch the sky?

Don’t you want to break the mould?

Be strong? Be brave? Be tough? Be bold?

There you lie, thinking of what can be,

Banal life preventing you to be free,

Weighted down by routine, daily pain,

A prisoner coupled to ball and chain.

So look for the wings within your reach,

Fix them on, so the sage would teach,

Be Pegasus, take flight towards the sun,

Don’t give up till you’re number one.

© Neil Dufty

Ode to my Smartphone

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Capture 4

Dearest,

Our connection is so close

We talk all day, gossip

You organise me, tell me where to go

Remind me of events – birthdays, meetings

You sing to me, over 1,000 tunes

Do my banking, run my business

Tell me about the weather, sport, news

Play games with me, humour me

Take photos of me, come on my trips

Our attachment is so strong

You are My Wife

I mean, My Life.

© Neil Dufty

Men’s Shed: a poem

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Capture 2

MEN’S SHED

Testosterone

Ron on the phone

 

Fading farts

Tinkering with parts

 

Bawdy jokes

One for the blokes!

 

Sporting tales

Hammering in nails

 

Sweat-stained shirt

Dust, shavings, and dirt

 

Protective gear

Pass another beer

 

Basket weaving

Old Bill’s wife leaving

 

Closing up time

Hope you’ll be fine.

© Neil Dufty

Man Bun: A Poem

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MAN BUN

I think I will grow a man bun,

A man bun, yes that will be fun,

Tie it high so it can fly,

I’ll be a modern kinda guy.

 

Pull it back like ole Ma Kettle,

That will really test my mettle,

Some may think it’s really girlish,

I think they’re only being churlish.

 

And in days of yore it was the go,

A perfumed wig to steal the show,

History shows there’s nothing to hide,

Be in touch with your feminine side.

 

And I’ve been told they can’t resist

The juxtaposition of brawn and twist:

Six-pack abs and rippling pectoral,

And a bun: the ultimate metrosexual.

 

So I hope there’ll be no strong derision,

I might even get a gig on Eurovision,

The bun instant fame it will render,

To get as many hits as Kendall Jenner.

© Neil Dufty

Paradise Lost

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Alone, at last, away from all care,

Gone bush to lose the daily stress,

Around blades of grass like spindly hair

Shimmer under the wind’s duress.

 

Close, a trickle from a lonely creek,

Somnolent music sounding so sweet,

This rustic mood for long I did seek,

Soil crumbles beneath my bare feet.

 

And in the distance a laconic herd,

Flapping tails fend off droning flies,

Early moon rises, the night’s first word

As the fading light of the sun replies.

 

Golden cascades stream across the earth,

Gone my aches, pains, the nervous cough,

This bucolic spa, it has the upmost worth,

Oh no, that’s my mobile phone going off.

© Neil Dufty