To The Girl I've Left Behind

 To The Girl I’ve Left Behind

I can barely remember now the girl I’ve left behind

She was of another time.  I wish I could rewind

And see her run and watch her play

And hear her laughter ringing out

And feel her lack of any doubt

That she was loved.

I can barely remember now the girl I’ve left behind

She was of another time.  I wish I could rewind

And see her dance away the night

And hear the band that played till light

And feel the arms that held her tight

When she was loved.

I can barely remember now the girl I’ve left behind

She was of another time.  I wish I could rewind

And see the tears in his eyes

When he first heard their daughter’s cries

And feel the depth of her surprise

At how much she loved.

I can barely remember now the girl I’ve left behind

She was of another time.  I wish I could rewind

And see the smile on his face

And hear the voice that time’s erased

And feel the final warm embrace

That said ‘you were loved.’

I can barely remember now the girl I’ve left behind

She was of another time.  I wish I could rewind

And live the days they lived, the hours,

And sing the songs, and smell the flowers

And feel again the joy that ours

Was ‘forever loved.’



Hobnobs and Haribos

Hobnobs and Haribos have been my downfall

Towards losing the weight that has plagued me

for so many years now, that I’m a lost cause,

But this time I mean it – well maybe!

‘You must avoid carbs’ says all the advice

If you want to shed pounds  in a dash,

My friends this is easier said than done,

When you’re  a fan of white bread and mash.

I’ve tried Weightwatchers and Slimming World,

To try and banish the blubber,

And Rosemary Conley’s low fat cheese

Had the texture and taste of old rubber.

There’s only so many eggs  one can stand

When following the Atkins diet,

And the Cabbage Soup Plan resulted in wind

And the neighbours shouting ‘BE QUIET!’

The Dukan was fine, for a very short time

But I fainted whilst shopping in Asda

Imagine the shame of being driven home

In the Trolley Collector’s old Mazda!

I’ve counted  points and totted up  Syns,

Exercised portion control (of a fashion)

But you’re onto a loser when faced with the fact

That pudding and chips is your passion.

The scales are calling and the weekend looms

And I promise ‘The diet starts Monday’

But  it’s sausage and mash for tea tonight

And Hobnobs and Haribos on Sunday!


(dedicated to all my fellow fat friends out there - you know who you are!  xx)

From A Pea's Point Of View

I’m a little Garden Pea

Sat on a dinner plate,

As the fork comes down towards me

I contemplate my fate.

Phew! The fork’s just missed me

And gone right for my brother,

I roll across the dinner plate

And shuffle up to mother.

I’m drowning in the gravy!

Oh dear, I cannot swim,

An avalanche of mash falls down

My future’s looking dim.

The fork hunts round the dinner plate

I hear its muffled scraping,

My future’s looking very glum,

It seems there’s no escaping.

I have a really good idea

But I don’t know if I’m able;

I swerve around the dishes

And jump straight off the table.

I roll across the floor tiles

In one I find a crack,

And that’s where I shall hide

In my shower-proof green mac.

Negative Reaction

Negative Reaction

I lay the fading photograph before her

Search for a glint of recognition in her eyes

I see her happiness on her wedding day

She sees three strangers, she doesn’t recognise.

Uncle Jim’s on the right, the proudest best man

My father, the groom, stands handsome and tall

My beautiful mother in the midst of them

All locked in a memory; she cannot recall.

The yellowed, lace dress still hangs in the loft

A treasured memento of her special day

A bloom from her flowers, though dried, still survives

But her memory has faded away...

Where Can A Mango?

Where can a Mango?

Where can a Mango that a lady can't?

Is a question that I've often pondered.

Should gentlemen's clubs, in this day be allowed?

This is something that I've always wondered.



Does a Mango to a ladies' hairdressers,

or a dress shop or handbag boutique?

Does he stick to sports shops and barbers?

(in case one should think him a freak.)



Would a Mango hug you and snog you,

Or instead shake you by the hand?

Would he join an all girls’ karaoke?

Or play guitar in a punk rock band?



Do Mangoes play football and rugby?

Do they like rolling round in the mud?

Or do they play hockey and croquet,

as only real ladies would?



Would a Mango eat cucumber sandwiches

and drink tea, or sip pink champagne?

Or does he prefer a chip butty,

washed down with a coke, in the rain?



Does a Mango buy Valentines cards?

Is he willing to lay his soul bare?

Does he text and say he's 'not boverred'

Or go on Facebook and say 'I don't care'?



Does a Mango care where it lives,

maybe in Hackney or Watford or Putney?

Does it want to end its days in a sorbet

or pickled and spiced in a chutney?

The Menopox

The Menopox

‘Twas her fifties and her bloated shape

Did make her look rectangular

All brittle were her hair and nails

And her heartbeat was irregular.

‘Beware the Menopox my girl

The nights that sweat, the moods that swing

Beware the loss of libido

and shun the itch and tingling.’

She took her HRT in hand

Long time this blasted foe she’d fought,

She puffed a fag by the gum-gum tree

And stood for a while in thought.

And as in huffish thought she stood

The Menopox with fires of flame

Came flushing through her chest and head

And drove her half insane!

One Two! One Two! And through and through

She stuck the patches on her belly

She heard it shriek.  Ha! It was weak,

                                                             She’d killed this Machiavelli!

‘And hast thou slain the Menopox?’

Come to my bed, my almost-ex

Oh fabulous day, Wahoo! Hurray!

Does this mean I’ll get sex?’

Runner Beans Are Frauds

Runner beans are not really runners

They just laze around on your plate

I've often watched them relaxing

 Lying there, still and prostrate

Butter beans are not made from butter

Or even from cheap margarine

The way they misrepresent themselves

To me seems almost obscene

Kidney beans don’t possess kidneys

or a heart or lungs or a brain

They don’t have a nervous system

A kidney bean never felt pain

Black-eyed beans do not have eyes

Not black, or green, or bright blue

If I saw a bean with a black eye

I'd think he'd been fighting - would you?

A Broad bean is hardly very broad

In fact, I’d describe them as slim

Broad beans are probably fitness freaks

And spend most of their time at the gym.

I've come to the final conclusion

That all beans are frauds; it transpires

They give themselves names they don't deserve.

Beans are frauds and compulsive little liars!