1468. Jingle all the way

Whenever Clive reheated something in the microwave he would burst out singing at the top of his voice, “JINGLE ALL THE WAY”. Quite frankly, it drove Eustacia crazy. Eustacia was his wife.

There he goes again! The microwave has just beeped finish and off he goes. JINGLE ALL THE WAY.

“Why do you always sing JINGLE ALL THE WAY when the microwave finishes?” asked Eustacia.

“It’s pretty obvious,” said Clive. “It’s easy enough to work out why.” That annoyed Eustacia even more. Not only did he sing something meaningless, but he accused her of stupidity for not knowing why.

And then it struck her. How obvious it was. When the microwave finished it went:

Beep beep beep
Beep beep beep.

That was:

Jingle bells
Jingle bells.

JINGLE ALL THE WAY sang Clive.

Now it really drove Eustacia nuts. She couldn’t use the microwave without hearing Jingle Bells.

Poem 69: Sorry you didn’t. Loser.

(This week’s poetic form is nothing other than nonsense – sort of fugal nonsense!)

I can’t recall the way I wasn’t.
Remember things? I simply doesn’t.
Invent the past? I shouldn’t mustn’t.

O I could kick a ball all day.
O I could read a book in back seat moving car and not feel sick.
O I could eat ice cream. French vanilla with guava topping.

I can’t recall the way I wasn’t.
Remember things? I simply doesn’t.
Invent the past? I shouldn’t mustn’t.

O I had girlfriends coming out my ears.
O I had sunshine coming out my bum
O I had quantum mechanics for breakfast. Yeah. With milk.

I can’t recall the way I wasn’t.
Remember things? I simply doesn’t.
Invent the past? I shouldn’t mustn’t.

O I, did I tell you? once climbed a mountain.
O I, did I tell you? once drove a big articulated truck from Moscow to Paris.
O I, did I tell you? shook hands with nobody. Nobody at the same time. Altogether. Both hands. Beat that.

What mustn’t wasn’t.
What mustn’t doesn’t.
What doesn’t shouldn’t.

Sorry you didn’t. Loser.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

Poem 68: Ah! Song!

There’s so much can be said in a song.
The troubled child sings an inner song.

Fat cats stuff their mouths with food and drink.
Farts and belches are their dinner song.

Remorseful mother, stressed and angry,
blesses her child, sings a sinner song.

Grand Andy stands to sing on tele;
he smugly thinks this is the winner song.

Gale force winds break branches, howling loud,
until a breeze drifts a thinner song.

Some make a long story longer still;
Yet some tell tall tales; some spin a song.

And I, with stilled pen and silent muse,
pour myself a second gin… Ah! Song!!

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

1222. Flora played the piano

Flora loved to play the piano. At any and every party she’d be first on the piano, thumping away at all the old tunes; not old, old tunes like When Johnny Comes Marching Home and On Top of Old Smokey, but popular oldies like Kum Ba Yah My Lord and We All Live in A Yellow Submarine. In theory they were songs everyone could join in singing – even young people. Flora loved to be the life of the party, except…

Flora’s talent was all in her mind. She couldn’t play the piano for nuts. Honest to goodness, a one armed chimpanzee with a paper bag on his hand would be better.

As soon as she started to play, everyone (or those without an ounce of civility) would exclaim, “Oh for shit’s sake! Not again!” But Flora wouldn’t hear. She’d be off on a second verse of the Theme from Doctor Zhivago. She knew how to ruin a good party.

So it was more than a little confusing when Flora had a stroke. People wished to express their sympathy, but the mere thought of Flora and her paralysed arms somehow filled them with a horrid delight.

Poem 55: I cannot love the sky

I cannot love the sky
until I know the scientific names for all the clouds.
Look! how dramatic is Cumulonimbus!

I cannot love the garden
until I know the scientific names for all the flowers.
Oh! such lovely Lobularia maritima!

I cannot love the song
until I know the scientific names for all the birds.
Hark! to the rapture of that Turdus philomelos!

I cannot love reflections in the water
until I’ve checked for giardia,
those anaerobic flagellated protozoan parasites of the phylum Sarcomastigophora.

I cannot love you
until I have dissected your opinions
tested your resolve
verified your good faith
and checked that you don’t have a Daucus carota stuffed up your Sphincter ani externus
like some overcharged know-all who

…cannot love the sky

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

Poem 16: Songs my father taught me

A bird in a tree sings
the music off by heart
taught by its father

Its father before that
on stout and spikey branches
sang songs its father knew

The early morning light
seeping through trees and leaves
is inspiration

The modern bird
with no unplaced feather
introduces a wrong note

The cacophony of the times
echoes through early mornings
and gives no rest

Correct your note silly bird
and sing your father’s melodies
wrought in the time of dinosaurs

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.