Relations are
coming
Relations are coming to visit
I’m dusting a picture frame
Cleaning the widgets and gadgets
In our family deception game
Relations are coming to visit
Our bathrooms will reek of hygiene
Fresh laundered towels, no whiff of bowels
The house will be sparkling clean.
We can’t let on just how lazy
We are when there's no one to see
TV and yapping, surfing and napping
Slothful and messy are we.
We don't keep up with the
Jones’s
We’re losing the battle with dust
Just give us a year before you appear
We’ll be spruced up and shiny – or bust.
Round the
Campfire
I sit on a log with three
friends.
The setting sun glows in the west.
Our fire smokes as damp wood dries
Later to crackle and burst into flames
Creating the hot red glow that draws
People in like a magnet. Similar logs
Were brought here by other campers
Recently and many years ago.
Our bodies touch in the
silence,
Broken only when an owl hoots.
I shiver, and a friend shares a blanket.
This is my tribe. It's the place I belong.
The fire is growing and its flames flicker.
The sky darkens and more campers come.
Respecting the quiet spell of evening
And not intruding on our tranquility.
This moment was worth waiting
for.
The faces surrounding the fire shine
Dancing flames are primal attractants.
We sing songs we have sung before.
A poem is recited and a story told.
Everyday worries are feeling lighter.
We are bonding like tribes long ago,
Ancient at core with modern veneers.
If You Were
the Only Girl in the World
If you were the only girl in
the world
And I was the only boy
Who would cook the meals because you don't know how?
No more coffee clutches with the girls like now
No sports or other TV to watch,
No movie shows to enjoy
I would hunt or farm to provide for you,
You'd have dirty jobs in the home to do
If you were the only girl in the world
And I was the only boy.
Christmas
Spirit
In shopping malls both far and
near
The Christmas spirit is now here
We're hunting for our money’s worth
Of stuff to honor Jesus’ birth.
Our front yard has a Santa Claus
(Though smaller than the one next door’s).
Our new CD of Christmas songs
Is great for party sing-a-longs.
We’re stocked with liquor and rich food
And if our guests are in the mood
We’ll celebrate with booze and mirth
The day that He was born on Earth.
Our pious friends spend Christmas Day in
Singing hymns in church and prayin’
We bond with friends and our relations
And toast the day with our libations.
Same Old
Christmas
Same old story every year
Same old lights and Christmas tree
Same old Scrooge and Tiny Tim
Christmas is a "same old" fest
Another Beer
Another beer! Another beer!
And we'll sing to beat the band
Another beer! Another beer!
Any song that you demand
We can hit the lowest note,
A composer ever wrote
All we request is to lubricate a throat
With just a quart of beer
Or two, my honey lamb.
Another jug! Another jug!
And before the night has gone,
You're the man! You're the man!
You're the maestro with baton
With a choir right here a-waitin'
to sing "Swanee River"
Come on and hear, come on and hear
Cheer Up a
Volunteer
In the hours when work is done,
Some folk loaf or watch TV
Exercise or play card games,
These were not such fun for me.
Acting was my spare time craze,
Showing off upon a stage
Plays at school were my best thing,
Strutting at an early age
Now I'm grown I still enjoy
Acting as an amateur,
Working for my bread all day,
Evenings acting I prefer
Burning candles at both ends,
Fame is fleeting, people say
We enjoy the loud applause,
When our patrons like a play
Well built sets deserve
applause,
A clever dance, a well sung song
Our only pay is praise from you,
So accolades are never wrong.
My Gal Done
Left Me Dry
My gal done left me dry, with
no good reason why
At breakfast on Monday she said she loved me
Tuesday we argued and couldn’t agree
Wednesday she dished up burnt toast and cold tea
Thursday she cried cos' I took LSD
Friday the guys and me went on a spree
Saturday she upped and walked out on me
My gal done left me dry, with no good reason why.
Village Cricket
The willow bat hits a ball
With an angry smack
Scaring flocks of starlings
And waking me from a dream.
The scent of new mown grass
Gives sweetness to the air
As I lounge in a deck chair with
A good view of the pitch.
Tiny clouds dot the sky
And bees buzz in the clover.
I lazily check the figures
Of girls in summer dresses
Seeking the perfect image
To insert in my reverie.
The players wear white shirts,
Open, with rolled up sleeves
Their cream-colored trousers
Have crisp leg creases.
I watch other spectators.
They are not like football fans
Ladies are setting up picnics
With sandwiches and cakes,
Fruit and wine in glasses,
Their men doze on the grass,
Wearing
knotted handkerchiefs
To shield them from the sun.
Keen cricketers sit together
In front of their pavilion.
And perfect 'overs' bowled
Or a batsman hitting a ball
Is followed by hand clapping
From the pavilion crowd.
“Well done, sir!” and “Bravo”
Are even greater praise
Reserved for 'Fours or Sixes'
That scare the picnic folk.
Cricket evokes nostalgia
For a slower village life
With less to do each day
And time to smell the flowers.
Ready for
Winter
The hay is set up in the barn
The corn is all stored in the crib
We salted the hams and put up the jams
We’ve flour and potatoes, canned fruit and jellies
We should survive winter with food in our bellies
So break out the whiskey, the guitar and fiddle
We’ll have a big party, sing hey, diddle, diddle.
If You Were
the Only Girl in the World
If you were the only girl in
the world
And I was the only boy
Who would cook the meals because you don't know how?
No more coffee clutches with the girls like now
No sports or other TV to watch,
No movie shows to enjoy
I would hunt or farm to provide for you,
You'd have dirty jobs in the home to do
If you were the only girl in the world
And I was the only boy.
Shakes Pier
Shakes
pier dint rite grate hiss Tories
Buy tall king and lay zing a weigh
He rotor bout pea pull and stuffy herd
Four tunes and bat tolls
Wear pea pull parse a way.
He was Fat,
Uncouth and Ugly
He was fat, uncouth and ugly
And his brother was the same
And they both had halitosis
Wasn't it a bloody shame.
Cute and skinny get the pleasure
Fat and ugly get the blame
It's the same the whole world over
Isn't it a bloody shame.
Changing to
Summer Time
When we change to summer time,
Add an hour for summer time,
Mornings when we wake it's dark
But evening dark declines.
In fall when we turn back the clocks
In times of harvest and wines
The cows all get confused again
And we're back on standard time.
Obit
Last decision, what be writ
When I compose my own obit?
Obits are dull, I’ll keep it short
My trip was long. I’m now in port.
From tiny bits of passing fame
Time will soon erase my name.
I railed at superstitious lore
Heaven is here, don't look for more.
My mantra is 'love, work and play,
With just one life, don’t waste a day'.
I’m dusting a picture frame
Cleaning the widgets and gadgets
In our family deception game
Our bathrooms will reek of hygiene
Fresh laundered towels, no whiff of bowels
The house will be sparkling clean.
We are when there's no one to see
TV and yapping, surfing and napping
Slothful and messy are we.
We’re losing the battle with dust
Just give us a year before you appear
We’ll be spruced up and shiny – or bust.
The setting sun glows in the west.
Our fire smokes as damp wood dries
Later to crackle and burst into flames
Creating the hot red glow that draws
People in like a magnet. Similar logs
Were brought here by other campers
Recently and many years ago.
Broken only when an owl hoots.
I shiver, and a friend shares a blanket.
This is my tribe. It's the place I belong.
The fire is growing and its flames flicker.
The sky darkens and more campers come.
Respecting the quiet spell of evening
And not intruding on our tranquility.
The faces surrounding the fire shine
Dancing flames are primal attractants.
We sing songs we have sung before.
A poem is recited and a story told.
Everyday worries are feeling lighter.
We are bonding like tribes long ago,
Ancient at core with modern veneers.
And I was the only boy
Who would cook the meals because you don't know how?
No more coffee clutches with the girls like now
No sports or other TV to watch,
No movie shows to enjoy
I would hunt or farm to provide for you,
You'd have dirty jobs in the home to do
If you were the only girl in the world
And I was the only boy.
The Christmas spirit is now here
We're hunting for our money’s worth
Of stuff to honor Jesus’ birth.
Our front yard has a Santa Claus
(Though smaller than the one next door’s).
Our new CD of Christmas songs
Is great for party sing-a-longs.
We’re stocked with liquor and rich food
And if our guests are in the mood
We’ll celebrate with booze and mirth
The day that He was born on Earth.
Our pious friends spend Christmas Day in
Singing hymns in church and prayin’
We bond with friends and our relations
And toast the day with our libations.
Same old lights and Christmas tree
Same old Scrooge and Tiny Tim
Christmas is a "same old" fest
Another beer! Another beer!
And we'll sing to beat the band
Another beer! Another beer!
Any song that you demand
We can hit the lowest note,
A composer ever wrote
All we request is to lubricate a throat
With just a quart of beer
Or two, my honey lamb.
Another jug! Another jug!
And before the night has gone,
You're the man! You're the man!
You're the maestro with baton
With a choir right here a-waitin'
to sing "Swanee River"
Come on and hear, come on and hear
Some folk loaf or watch TV
Exercise or play card games,
These were not such fun for me.
Showing off upon a stage
Plays at school were my best thing,
Strutting at an early age
Acting as an amateur,
Working for my bread all day,
Evenings acting I prefer
Fame is fleeting, people say
We enjoy the loud applause,
When our patrons like a play
A clever dance, a well sung song
Our only pay is praise from you,
So accolades are never wrong.
At breakfast on Monday she said she loved me
Tuesday we argued and couldn’t agree
Wednesday she dished up burnt toast and cold tea
Thursday she cried cos' I took LSD
Friday the guys and me went on a spree
Saturday she upped and walked out on me
My gal done left me dry, with no good reason why.
With an angry smack
Scaring flocks of starlings
And waking me from a dream.
The scent of new mown grass
Gives sweetness to the air
As I lounge in a deck chair with
A good view of the pitch.
Tiny clouds dot the sky
And bees buzz in the clover.
I lazily check the figures
Of girls in summer dresses
Seeking the perfect image
To insert in my reverie.
Open, with rolled up sleeves
Their cream-colored trousers
Have crisp leg creases.
I watch other spectators.
They are not like football fans
Ladies are setting up picnics
With sandwiches and cakes,
Fruit and wine in glasses,
Their men doze on the grass,
Wearing knotted handkerchiefs
To shield them from the sun.
In front of their pavilion.
And perfect 'overs' bowled
Or a batsman hitting a ball
Is followed by hand clapping
From the pavilion crowd.
“Well done, sir!” and “Bravo”
Are even greater praise
Reserved for 'Fours or Sixes'
That scare the picnic folk.
Cricket evokes nostalgia
For a slower village life
With less to do each day
And time to smell the flowers.
The corn is all stored in the crib
We salted the hams and put up the jams
We’ve flour and potatoes, canned fruit and jellies
We should survive winter with food in our bellies
So break out the whiskey, the guitar and fiddle
We’ll have a big party, sing hey, diddle, diddle.
And I was the only boy
Who would cook the meals because you don't know how?
No more coffee clutches with the girls like now
No sports or other TV to watch,
No movie shows to enjoy
I would hunt or farm to provide for you,
You'd have dirty jobs in the home to do
If you were the only girl in the world
And I was the only boy.
Shakes Pier
This poem passed the Spelling Checker.
Shakes
pier dint rite grate hiss Tories
Buy tall king and lay zing a weigh
He rotor bout pea pull and stuffy herd
Four tunes and bat tolls
Wear pea pull parse a way.
Buy tall king and lay zing a weigh
He rotor bout pea pull and stuffy herd
Four tunes and bat tolls
Wear pea pull parse a way.
And his brother was the same
And they both had halitosis
Wasn't it a bloody shame.
Cute and skinny get the pleasure
Fat and ugly get the blame
It's the same the whole world over
Isn't it a bloody shame.
Add an hour for summer time,
Mornings when we wake it's dark
But evening dark declines.
In fall when we turn back the clocks
In times of harvest and wines
The cows all get confused again
And we're back on standard time.
When I compose my own obit?
Obits are dull, I’ll keep it short
My trip was long. I’m now in port.
From tiny bits of passing fame
Time will soon erase my name.
I railed at superstitious lore
Heaven is here, don't look for more.
My mantra is 'love, work and play,
With just one life, don’t waste a day'.
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