Saturday, 28 September 2013

The Pink Jacket

The  Pink Jacket

I chose the wool with extra care,
The deepest, softest pink,
Slightly fluffy, nice and soft,
The very best, I think.
It knitted up quite quickly,
The stitches flat and neat,
The back, the fronts, and then the sleeves,
It really did look sweet.
About a fortnight later
The job was all but done
And I sewed the buttons down the front
Sat outside in the sun.
The jacket, wrapped in tissue,
Was stored away that day,
Awaiting your arrival
Towards the end of May.
The big day came, and you were born,
There were such tears of joy!
Alas the jacket wasn't worn -
You were a baby boy!

The Joys f Wild Living

The Joys of Wild Living

The joys of wild living are surely not for me;
I'd rather stay at home and have a cup of tea.
I'd no sooner be reckless than fly through the air,
Or dye my hair purple without a thought or care.
Dare-devil jumping, swimming with whales,
Eating dodgy body bits, testicles and snails;
Going naked in the winter, on a trip down to the shore,
Singing Glory Hallelujah as I surf the Severn Bore.
Riding bareback horses, howling loudly at the moon,
Knitting orange bedsocks whilst reading Lorna Doone;
I could give away my worldly goods, my chickens and my ducks,
Drive the wrong way down the High Street shouting 'I don't give two f***s!'
Packing up my bags and hats to take exotic trips,
With learning how to levitate I could really get to grips!
Turning up at public meetings just to cause a bit of trouble,
And meeting up with witches - all that toil and hubble bubble!
I could shave off all my hair and pierce my nipples and my tongue,
And when people look in horror say I've only just begun......
A belly bar and sari pants I think would be quite nifty
Roller skates and body boards although I'm over fifty.
Eating cold baked beans and ravioli with a spoon out of a tin,
Pouring ketchup on your ice cream, is it really such a sin?
Staying up till dawn and watching rubbish on TV,
Drinking single malt with ice cubes and lots of cups of tea.
Leave your nettles growing, no matter what the neighbours say,
Make your lawn into a meadow and give away the hay.
Leave your washing out for days and days and watch them all complain
Grow your pot in hanging baskets and picnic in the rain.
Shocking maiden aunts with knowledge of the Kama Sutra,
Gonna get myself a toyboy, a helmet and a scooter;
Spend my lunchtimes in the local, drinking Babycham and wine,
Picking up the local young men, shouting 'All come back to mine!'
These things might seem quite tame to some, and definitely not wild,
Some might think them boring, dull, and just a little mild
But to me they represent my thoughts, ideas and ambitions,
I get fed up with doing 'nice' things, being 'good' and old traditions.
Such things that I would do ofcourse, are just designed to shock
At a certain time of life, against the ticking of a clock.
I need to break out, run away and make a damn girt noise,
Lose my head and lose my marbles, my dignity and poise....
It's nice to have a pipedream to sit and muse upon
Just to keep me company when all my friends are gone.
I might have done these things above, it might be all for show,
It might be my  imagination, you'll really never know.
There'll be no mourning for a life misspent or ruing things I've done,
Or worrying that I may have just missed out on all the fun.
For after all, remember this, when all is done and said,
The joys of wild living can be all inside your head..................

Monday, 9 September 2013

What I will be

I'd sooner be quirky than kitsch,
I'd rather be nice than a bitch;
I'll not buy, but make,
Be real not a fake,
And I'd rather be happy than rich.