Thursday 15 December 2011

Plenty More Fish

Plenty More Fish

‘Plenty more fish in the sea’ mother said
Well there’s something wrong with my line
I’ve been fishing for several years now
And I get it wrong every time.

My cosmic clock is ticking away
And I can’t seem to net me a prize
Perhaps I should alter the bait I use
Because nothing, it seems, gets a rise.

I’ve signed up to so many dating sites
My creel-limit’s right on the line
I’ve used Night Crawlers for some time now
And Red Wigglers seem to do fine.

But I need something much more exotic
To attract me an Apache Trout
They are listed as ‘endangered species’
So time could be running out.

The Buffalo-fish from Wigan
Was definitely a catch-and-release
I mistakenly foul-hooked his Anal-fin
Whilst attempting to stroke his cod-piece.

I’ve blind-casted for far too long now
Catching bottom-feeder, straggler and gnat
And Bucket-mouth Bass from Burnley
Let me tell you ‘You’re not all that!’

My honey hole’s almost dried up now
Can’t think when I was last in post-spawn
I’ve tried lipping and jigging and dipping
(and bumping, from dusk until dawn.)

The time has now come for a culling
No more Crappies, or Crayfish or Pike
Who are only concerned with my pectoral fin
You tail-spinners can all take a hike.

From now on I shall cast in clear waters
No more fishing with a slack line.
My Apache Trout?  He’s a keeper
And when I catch him, he’s MINE!


(Inspired by a friend of mine who shall remain nameless! This poem was chosen for inclusion in the Forward Press Regionals 2011 Collection.  The words in italics are fishing terms - just in case you thought I was being rude ;)


Monday 12 December 2011

Ice Cream

I SCREAM

I scream if I’m dipped in sprinkles,
I scream if I’m shoved in a cone,
I scream if I’m left on the worktop
or in a cold freezer, alone.

I scream if I’m squashed between wafers,
or left to melt in a dish.
I scream if they call me ‘cookie dough’
or describe me as food for ‘phish’

I scream if I’m covered in raspberry sauce,
or smothered with horrid, crushed nuts.
I scream if I’m dropped on the pavement,
and swept up with the cigarette butts.

I scream if I’m cooked in the oven,
and announced as a ‘Baked Alaska.’
I scream very loudly when gulped down by kids,
who have been told ‘You must eat that faster!’

I scream when they call me a ‘Choc -Ice’
or   ‘Cornetto ‘ (I am not from Italy!)
I scream if I’m plonked on fruit crumble,
and feel that I must complain bitterly.

I scream for the fun of it really
my life can be so short you see,
and if I didn’t scream as much as I do,
then no-one would notice me!


Thursday 8 December 2011

Middle-Aged in Mexico

Middle-Aged in Mexico

I’m sat on a beach in Mexico
Feeling not half bad
For a  middle-aged woman of fifty four.
Maybe you think ‘that’s sad.’

The built in support in my swimsuit
Gives me a figure to which I aspire,
As long as I’m lying flat on a bed
And I’m sucking in my spare tyre.

I’m flanked by ladies of all shapes and sizes
But my eyes only focus on those
Whose fat doesn’t wobble, those skinny brown girls
Who cavort and pretend not to pose.

My husband says ‘Why not compare your-self
With women who are more your own age?
You’ve had your day; now they’re having theirs.’
I hold back the tears of outrage.

I wave at a passing beach waiter
‘A vodka and diet Sprite’
I can tell by the look on my husband’s face
That he knows, there’ll be no sex tonight!


Thursday 1 December 2011

NOT A FUNGHI

NOT A FUNGHI


Someone once told me that mushroom
Was a really funghi to know
But after spending time with him
I don't agree this is so.

I first met him at the greengrocers
This curious looking fellow,
He gave me his mobile number
And said he lived in Portobello.

I decided to call round at his house
But I can't say I was impressed,
He just sat there all night in the dark
And he kept things close to his chest.

I think he'd been eating garlic
Because his breath was very smelly,
He undid all the buttons on his shirt
And vegged out in front of the telly.

I said 'You need to get out more
Maybe run in the fields or the woods'
He replied 'I'd like to try that
But I don't think that I could.

I've eaten lots of stilton cheese
And I'm absolutely stuffed
If I were to have a Shitake attack
My doctor wouldn't be too chuffed.

Besides it's always raining
And I'd have to wear my cap
I think I'd be better off staying in
And having a quiet nap.'

So I made my excuses and left
This so-called funghi friend,
All hopes of having a wild time
Had reached their inevitable end.


Wednesday 30 November 2011

Bah Humbug!

Bah Humbug!

 I’m the ghost of Christmas present,
 I come to haunt you each year.
 I’ve noticed  the lead up to Christmas
 doesn’t seem to fill you with cheer,
 when faced with the task of buying
 ideal gifts, for your loved ones, dear.

 Let’s start by drawing up a list
 of things we think they’d adore.
 This task you’ll find is much easier
 and becomes far less of a bore
 if, before you start writing, you swig
 a bottle of Le Piat Dor!

 So it’s off to the shops next day
 armed with your plastic card stash.
 Paying for Christmas seems painless
 if you don’t have to part with hard cash.
 Hours later the list is abandoned
 and you’re buying any old trash!

Back home you’re surrounded with labels
and paper in all different hues.
There are so many presents all over
you can’t think whose is whose,
and the Bing Crosby tape in the background
is beginning to give you the blues.

The bottle of Baileys is empty
The wrapping was actually a farce,
No-one made you a cup of tea
And offers of help were sparse,
You’re beginning to sound like Jim Royle,
with mumbles of  ‘Christmas my arse!’

The presents are wrapped and under the tree
the countdown to the big day’s begun.
Although I don’t think you’d agree with me
 our time together was fun.
I’ll be back to haunt you again next year,
but for now, my work here is done.

Tuesday 29 November 2011

Missing The Point

Missing The Point

She’s ‘gone off salmon’ she said                                                                                                                              
‘Not eaten it since your father died
And that was in seventy three.’
‘Well, it’s news to me.’

‘I went to the market, Friday.’
‘But you can’t stand  markets’ I protest.
‘I go every week  with Trevor.’
‘Well  - I never!’

‘I’ve got a really bad chest infection
but I’m allergic to that penicillin
and Benylin doesn’t relieve it.’
Allergic? You? I can’t believe it.’

‘Those M & S pants I bought are too long
I thought the ‘L’ on the ticket meant large,
They’ll need altering in length.’
                                ‘God, give me strength.’

‘Marjorie’s daughter sends her flowers,
Every week without fail.  Fancy,
 they come all that way from Australia.’
                                                ‘I’m such a failure!’

 ‘Peggy next door’s going away tomorrow,
Lucky thing - nice to have company on holiday.
Her son’s got a villa in Spain.
                                ‘Emotional blackmail again.’

‘When you’re shopping at Tesco tomorrow
Can you fetch my prescription from the chemist?
Teatime will do – there’s no rush.’
                                ‘ I think I’m having a hot flush.’

Our Norman came and fixed my gate,
He’d fell out with Joan, so he stayed for his tea,
He’s such a thoughtful lad.’
                                Now, I’m getting really mad!

‘Anyway, I’d best be on my way, I’ve things to do,
I can’t sit here talking all day, much as you’d like
me to.  I’ll see you on Sunday at ten.
                                                ‘Forever, and ever,  A–bloody-men!’
Inspired by my mother-in-law and her mother Phyllis, God bless her :)

Monday 28 November 2011

The Lonely Meatball

The lonely Meatball


Why does no-one like me?
I so wish I could be
A tasty Big Mac burger
Or a delicious K.F.C.

There’s no drive-in MacMeatballs
I just don’t go with fries
“Oh Yuck it’s minging meatballs”
I hear their spiteful cries.

I’ve rolled myself in H.P. sauce
I still don’t look quite right
It’s no wonder kids don’t like me,
I’m such an awful sight.

I’d love to hear those magic words
“A double MacMeatball please
No, make it two with gherkins on
And cover them with cheese!”

But no, I’m plain old Meatball
The one kids love to hate,
I’ll end up binned with my mate sprout
I guess that’s just our fate.