Tag Archives: humour

Helicopter lover

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I’ll be your helicopter lover

Closer than twin flame or any other 

I’ll be your rescue party of one

your loving song 

on the radio 

I can’t behave with you

But that was in those golden days 

now I am like a stray 

like dog on heat about to have the snip

I want to take a dip in your seas

Babe please 

I’ll be your helicopter lover 

Closer than twin flame or any other 

I’ll be your rescue party of one

your loving song 

on the radio 

I can’t behave with you

I don’t know what to do I love you

but I am lost

look at what love costs

a day a week or a year

I look back to those golden times

diamond hard like my rhymes 

Look you probably don’t even remember 

me from January to December 

you’ve moved on

but how can I be so wrong

to love you…

Like a football manager

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I look to myself for management

like a football team

who’s fans scream for their cup dream

I am in the depths of relegation instead

fans dreams are dead.

I fight disturbed sleep

waking up from bad dreams

screaming booing my own game

and the shame of losing

I am bruising

going into battle like a worn out team of veteran players

I am in need of better management and encouragement and prayers

not a self talk that swears

schizophrenia and autism a toxic mix

and sometimes I cannot help but feel like a dick

another penalty going against me

I withdraw to the stands

the best laid plans

of a team with high hopes and dreams

but I keep screwing up my own team.

I am too inconsistent

Middle table in the conference is too high an expectation

when I meet my friends like fans they don’t understand

and give me a frosty reception.

Give me back my dreams

of being a winning football team

putting four past the opposition

That’s my metaphor and my disposition.

My poetry never gets read

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My poetry never gets read

it hides in street corners instead

it lurks in the shadows of grey days

and seeps like a Smokey cigar out the window in a haze

It gathers at poetry recitals

where it splutters and mumbles

into action

my poetry is just a distraction

an interaction between a mad man and an audience

an ordinate scream

like pissing in a stream

and wondering what it smelt like

starving poets told to go on hikes

My poetry never gets read

it feeds the angels instead

but they don’t share

or care

enough to tell

what poetry of mine is from heaven and what is from hell.

I just like writing

poetry which is like lyrics without musical interlude

I know it’s rude but never mind you won’t read it anyway

and if you do have nice day…

I have a few questions

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Do vampires get tooth decay?

Do werewolves get fleas?

Do zombies have to use prosthetic knees?

Do fairy tale princesses always say please?

Can witches have white weddings?

What do mummies have for their bedding?

Do Orcs have to shave?

Do angels ever misbehave?

What is a goblin’s average height?

And do ever they get tall?

Do giants ever start off small?

I’d like to ask these questions

If you have some thoughts or suggestions,

Please get in touch

My address is;

1 The Wizards tower

rainbow close

Fairy land.

Ha 2YU

A flipping marvellous Pancake poem

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Pancake pancake why won’t you mix?
Pancake pancake why do you stick?
Pancake pancake why don’t you go to plan?
Pancake pancake why do you get burnt in the pan?

Pancake pancake this should have been fun
pancake pancake why do you run
when you’re stuck to the ceiling it’s no fun

Pancake pancake I would have had you with lemon and syrup
but I am laughing and crying so much I have got the hiccups.

Grumpa (about a Grumpy Grandfather)

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Grumpa

Sitting in your old arm chair,

With a devil may care,

Attitude.

Talking about the ingratitude

Of youth.

Watching TV,

Eating microwaveable meals,

Grumpa,

I still love you,

I remember the times when I was young,

and you helped me,

when I was stung,

by a wasp,

or fell over.

Life is hard,

it makes you,

grumpy and 

lonely,

Please think of the things you’ve shown me,

Rather than talking about the things that make you despair

I know behind the passive aggression you still care,

I know I sometimes take the Mick,

But really Grumpa,

I can see all your tricks,

There is still, to my surprise,

magic behind those eyes,

And bedtime stories waiting to be read.

Grumpa, 

Don’t lose the thread 

We all need a grandfather like you,

For you have all the experience,

You will know what to do!