Although I enjoy writing novels my first love is still comic verse. Here are a few of my favourites.
I drove Gran into town one day,
To see the Farmers’ Market,
I dropped her at the nearest stall,
Then took the car to park it.
As I walked back, I saw a bus,
A number one-two-four,
And there was Gran, right at the front,
The seat beside the door.
She spotted me and mouthed
The words, “Where have you been?”
Then smiled at me and waved her hand
Just like the royal Queen!
I watched in horror as the bus,
With Grandma, sped away,
I couldn’t read where it was bound,
But thought, “How will she pay?”
On board, Gran sat and watched the view
As fields and farms flashed passed,
And wondered as she held on tight,
“Why does he drive so fast?”
Eventually the driver stopped
And came to sort the fare,
Poor Gran just sat and smiled at him,
Her pockets were quite bare.
“I’m sorry dear,” he said to her,
With tone apologetic,
“I ought to put you off the bus,”
His voice was sympathetic.
“But stay right there, enjoy the ride,
We’ll soon be on our way,
Don’t tell the other passengers
You didn’t have to pay”.
The bus, with Grannie, travelled on,
Enjoying the adventure,
Meanwhile I could only wait,
In state of mild dementia.
Would Grandma ever come back safe,
It made me wonder whether
I’d ever see her face again,
Or was she gone forever?
Just then a bus hove into view,
A number one-two-four
And sure enough I spotted Gran,
Still sitting near the door.
As she got up she waved at me
And then, as she alighted,
Said, “Hello, I had a lovely ride“,
She really was delighted.
I grabbed her hand and as we walked
I glanced back at the bus,
There, painted on the side, it read,‘Leave the car, try us.’
The next time Gran and I went out,
We didn’t take the car,
But travelled on a big, red bus,
Much easier by far.
I slip between soft, dimpled blankets,
Feeling their warmth stroking my bare flesh.
The smell of lavender and bergamot permeates the air,
The gentle sound of pan pipes caresses my eardrums.
I feel smooth, sensuous fingers, probing, massaging,
Working on my liver, kidneys, bladder,
All the time relaxing me, the better to receive the healing of his art.
He is young, handsome and sexy, and as I lie here,
Feeling his fingers searching my inner being,
…….why do I have to undress for reflexology on my feet?
Here’s a little story
About a PC mouse
Attached to the computer
In the bedroom of my house.
I made a list of groceries,
Of bread and cake and wine,
I searched the web and registered
Then settled down on-line.
The mouse is very friendly -
And each time that you click
He’ll show you what’s on offer,
If wanted, you just tick.
But here’s a little warning -
Don’t get him too aroused,
You’ll have him all excited
And find he’s over-browsed.
That’s why I’m now surrounded
With fat-free yoghurt pots,
I only wanted two packs,
Instead I got EIGHT lots.
And as for walnut slices,
I ordered some for tea,
I only needed one box,
But finished up with THREE.
So take heed to my warning,
Have patience when you click,
Just wait till Mickey sorts it out
He’s sometimes not too quick.
And if you’d like some yoghurt,
While it’s a special price,
I have a large selection,
The mango’s very nice.
I’ve heard tell of an artist chap,
A man with appetites,
Who visited a lap dance club,
With poles and flashing lights.
They showed him to a private room,
Quite small but very neat,
He ordered lager, looked around
And found himself a seat.
In walked a blond with perfect skin,
Figure neat and trim,
Naked as when she was born,
She stood in front of him.
Tall, slim and well-endowed,
Nipples proud and pink,
‘I must have died and gone to heaven’,
Our hero began to think.
She tried to make him feel at home,
To put him at his ease,
She stroked his leg and teased him,
Then got down on her knees.
A notice hanging on the wall,
Proclaimed the only rule -
‘Look, don’t touch’, he read the words,
Then sat still, like a fool.
She put her head upon his knee,
Edged nearer just a fraction,
He turned to stone- he dare not move,
For fear of a reaction.
Then just as things were hotting up,
And he could stand no more,
He reached for her, and as he did,
His wife walked through the door.
‘I don’t know what you’re dreaming of’,
She looked at him and said,
‘It must have been a good one
You just fell out of bed’.
At weekend when the weather’s fine
You’re off to play a round,
Preferring sunshine on your back
To water on the ground.
But when black clouds are overhead
And rain is in the air,
You stay at home, put up your feet
Sleep soundly in your chair.
Dreaming of games you’ve read about,
With low, unbeaten scores,
Of pars and birdies, eagles too,
If only they were yours!
But when, because the course is closed,
You can’t get on the tee,
I’m sure instead of playing golf,
You’d rather be with me.
We could go on a shopping spree,
Or just stay home and talk,
I bet you would enjoy it more
Than spoiling a good walk.