This took place in gentler times
As one of my age knows
When folks actually smoked at work
Before our Nanny State arose
That bird in the short, short skirt
Leans over the copying machine
As I try to tear my Eyes Away
From sights not normally seen
There's a hush in the office
A normally cheerful place
Cos the boss has a cob on
You can see it in his face
And he has a cutting way
Can make anyone feel absurd
By just a twitch of one brow
And an aptly sarcastic word
Heavens she's back at that machine
I'm sure her skirt has risen higher
I forget my ciggie as I watch her
And I've set an ashtray on fire
The boss has cleared his throat
Heaven's I may be winning
Cos he's looking at me and the bird
And he's actually broadly grinning
I empty ash tray in my desk bin
Thinking life's really quite all right
Then I feel the boss's glance on me
I've gone and set my bin alight
And the bird in the short, short skirt
Is with such undisguised glee
Still standing by that machine
And she's openly laughing at me
As I rush from the office
Carrying my smoking bin
Before it triggers any alarm
That calls the firemen in
I pass the short, short skirted bird
Making a decision to change my life
I ask her out on my way out
And that's how I met my wife
We've been married forty years
Where did all that time go?
And how I pulled such a bird
I suppose I'll never ever know
Hello Death, I've got no fears,
As you look, I'm in tears.
Slimy green bones
Attempting to scare;
There's no wonder mortals stare.
I will snigger, as you swing your scythe, Read more...
Poetry - Bloodlines By Terry Ireland
Sixty five years ago
And very few lessons learned
From that Victory in Europe
So painfully earned;
No swords into ploughshares,
Few signs of any will,
To learn to live in peace
Rather than war and kill. Read more...
Poetry - Election Fever By Terry Ireland
They all want your vote, folks
Teflon Dave, millionaire by birth,
Hobnobbing with the hoi polloi and
Promising everyone the Earth.
Slick Nick, like Teflon Dave, but
Just a different Public School,
Threatens not to play
If they don't change the rules.
Poetry - Campfire Thoughts By David Delaney
Sitting by the campfire glow
do you drift in silent thought
think of diggers young and brave
and countries where they fought
Resting in their compound safe
did they stare at lucent flame
then imagine if they could
Poetry - Last Sunday Morning By Patrick Henry
Saturday night went. We'd worked all day at factory, farm or store.
Next, a quick bath; tea of stew or kippers; then off
To the pictures where Bogart guns down rich bad guys;
Or dance at The Palais. Cool girls taunting. Hot bands swing.
Church bells toll the doom of Sunday morning.
Pubs will shut at two. Back home, roast beef hits the plate. Read more...
Poetry - Poetry Workshop By Terry Ireland
Nah, that's not for me,
But Cilla E-mailed
Just come and see.
Joe and Mike at the front
And one of them said
Poetry is better spoken
Than being read
Where does it come from?
Poetry - A Fervent Prayer to Gordon Brown By Brian Cotton
Hello and good Morning to the Hotel Splendid
I'd love to stay but my sentence has ended,
Truth be known I could do with some more time
Should have committed a serious crime,
Hey Mr. Brown can you hear what I say
It's not too bad in here through the day,
We got tellies, computers even some pool, Read more...
Poetry - I'm Handing In My Notice By Catherine Scott
I'm handing in my notice
I'm on my way - I quit
I'm leaving, I'm resigning
I've had enough of it
The sad thing is you've just no idea
That you've created this atmosphere
Respect has gone there's only fear
Poetry - Cameron By Jim Higo
Dave, I hope you don't mind me calling you Dave,
I'm sure you won't because you're a man of the people.
Dave, you've got perfect hair, and you clearly care, about politics and stuff. But that's not enough (because let's be honest, if it was, Tony Benn would have been Prime Minister years ago; he had lovely hair)
Dave, I know you went to Eton so you've probably had gay sex and that,
Poetry - Larkin 25 - Fishy Business By Mark Walmsley
Scallywags in filthy clothes worn and ragged
Doorstep fishwives foul mouthed, old and haggard
Scabby grey gulls hover over the trawler fleet load
As they pull alongside, a mile from Hessle Road
The stench of the fish that will become food and glue
The prize of the haul is shared twix skipper and crew Read more...
Poetry - Larkin 25 - Ada The Braider By Brian Hodgins
Ada the braider from Hessle Road way
Braided and braided, by night and by day.
Nets hung from hooks, at terrace end wide
Beneath Ada's pinny a child tries to hide
From hooks on the wall Ada braided away
The kids in the terrace, each one at their play.
Hop scotch and skipping, and block made their day
Poetry - Larkin 25 - After a Larkin Day By Julie Corbett
Where did that day
go to? I left it ticked
in blue. One firm
stroke. And now I
suddenly find another
in its place. Read more...
Poetry - Larkin 25 - The Town Council By David Thompson
Twice monthly do the meetings fall,
Held in the towns' historic hall,
Where mayors of yesterday, look down
Upon the dealings of the town.
The twelve good men and women who
Give free their time, good deeds to do,
With minutes taken by the clerk
Poetry - Larkin 25 - How Lovely By Helen Burke
How lovely for you to write - it must -
give you something to do at bus-stops -
be something you can do that guarantees you'll annoy people,
be one way of looking inside your own head but from the wrong end
Poetry - Ye Shall Be Judged By Jody McKenna
Don't judge me on the gift I have.
Don't judge me on the waste.
Don't judge me on the life I lead
Or the promises I break.
Don't judge me for the Cannabis.
Don't judge me for the past.
Don't judge me just to make yourself
Feel better. It won't last.
Poetry - I Went to the Hairdressers Today By Patricia Gray
I went to the hairdressers today,
I'd booked a day in advance.
When the stylist checked the condition,
She looked at me askance.
What was the date you were here last?
I told her I couldn't remember.
It could have been last August,
Or it might have been September.
Poetry - Memories of Yester Year By David Bannister
Gone are the days of skipping ropes,
Sliding down slopes.
Those days now seem to be gone,
Money, well, we had none.
Have the kids lost the art of having fun,
Why do some of them now, carry a gun?