Poetry to make you smile and maybe laugh

EVERYONE makes mistakes sometimes.

Jesus up in heaven was going on his tour
when he noticed a sad looking grey haired gent
he'd never seen before.
not the way you'd expect someone to look
who'd been by heaven accepted
Instead he looked bereft and lost
and thoroughly dejected.

Much later, still sad and still forlorn Jesus saw him again.

This time went up to him and asked
"what's causing you such pain?
You are in heaven's arms
have you not got everything you need
music, friends and wondrous charms?
Why does your heart still bleed?"

"Sir, I lost my beloved son
taken from me much too soon
I have searched for him and always will
though it take me many moons."
"You poor old man" said Jesus
"I can see now how that broke you
but your search is over father dear."
The old man cried out "Pinocchio!"

Written last night after reading this as a 'joke' on my blog friend Bushka's blog.

~:*~Poetry and no mistake!!!1 <3~*:~

I righted this pome for a comp
cos my best frend sed I shud
bcoz she luvz my texts
bcoz they R so gud xD

Its abowt a bewtifool lake
orl shiny like and bloo :]
wiv swans on it an stuff
and a moon abuv it two x.

I donot espect Ill win
bcoz this is my 1st
but even if its not the best
i bet its not the worst (:

Fawlty Reasoning

He saw the couple cuddling
and was appalled.
She was young enough
to be the daughter of
the married man in whose arms
she seemed so at home
his wife downstairs
talking on the phone.

In his hotel, his struggled for domain
not a castle but named for towers
as a nod to ancient chivalry
he had never known
yet for which he yearned.

Righteous anger burned
within his tortured heart
button eyes gleamed with
the light of rectitude.
He would make a stand
for all the values he held dear
would personally grit
the slippery slope of decadence.

"All right! Enough's enough!
I want you out!"
The consternation on their faces
balm to his
burning soul.
"Polly I want to see you
in reception in your hat and coat!"

Downstairs his own wife
in her lair dragonish smile
the scales would fall
once he informed her
of the goings on upstairs.

"She's his daughter, Basil"
and horror dawns
"they're all one family.
Polly was at school with her."

Yet again the two white vases disappear
leaving a blackened candlestick of shame
to hold the flame of his embarrassment.
Why can he never see the truth?
Why does the world lie to him?

Polly is standing in hat and coat
a look of puzzlement on her face
"Yes, yes very nice" he says
"now get back to work"
and so she does.

Racing up the stairs to the family's rooms
"I'm sorry I made a mistake"
"I'm sorry I made a mistake"
There they are and time to say
"I'm sorry my wife made a dreadful mistake."

"Yes" says the guest
"Yes I think she probably did."

Written in response to the writers Digest prompt write a poem about a mistake and its effect. This episode of Fawlty Towers always seemed very painful to me, more than any of the others. I always feel so much sympathy for Basil in this one, he is so innocent and well meaning and gets it so wrong so often. I have been thinking about John Cleese a lot lately too. He has had such bad 'luck' with his marital life and I wonder how much Basil Fawlty is in him and whether these lines of dialogue were somehow a self fulfilling prophecy of sorts.

Laure the Lion and the Poet's sad fate.

Laure was a lion poem writers filled with hate.
Laure met a poem writer.
That's the poet Laureate.

I thought of that this morning

Just in case any more poem purloiners are about - this is like all the others on my blog, written by me and I have copyright etc over it.
If you want to reproduce it anywhere - contact me first to ask via this blog's comments section.

My love is like a cabbage, green.

My love is like a cabbage
wholesome and pure
it will nourish and sustain you
of that you can be sure.

Like a gorgeous Savoy cabbage
richly textured and green
releasing its mysteries
with the proper cuisine.

Sometimes young and playful
like a sweet brussel sprout
subtle flavours on the inside
youthful firmness on the out.

Don't talk to me of roses
they have thorns by the score
and hide by blowsy petals
their vulgar hips and haws.

If you gaze at a cabbage
freshly cut dropped with dew
and see it with clear eyes
you'll see how I love you.

Just been reading (rereading) Mort by Terry Pratchett. Was struck by a paragraph where the author mused on the many cabbage fields that Mort has to ride past in order to get to the ill fated Princess Kelli. The overall conclusion being reached that cabbages would never inspire the muse of poets in the way that flowers often do.

Being of a contrary nature and also rather fond of cabbages, especially the Savoy cabbage which I have been known to buy just because I love the wonderful crinkly perfection of some specimens and want to have one in my kitchen as a decoration before I eventually give in and chop it up to make chinese crispy seaweed, I had a think and the above poem emerged.

My son I think it is time to say
I'm terribly sorry for Elephant Day.
It was a very tiny white lie
I told to help the time go by.

You were so keen to visit shops
I couldn't think how to bring to a stop
you running around in MFI
without a tantrum and hearty cry.

Until the idea came my way
to tell you the story of Elephant Day.
How when elephants need to buy
they have to close up MFI,
Or little folks like you and me
could get squashed flat.
I knew you'd see
the logic in that simple tale
and the meaning behind the sign
Jumbo Sale!

Caitlin Moran tweeted thus "Middle class accident: I have just dropped a fascinator down the toilet" 2 hours ago.

I spent a bit of time mulling over this and chatting on Twitter.

I came up with this in 1 hour from starting the lyric to uploading to my blog. So apologies for it being a bit rough. I wanted to re record the vocals but son said first take would do.

Soaked Fascinator.

Wedding feast buffet style
I chat and slink and have a drink
and wear a smile
Looking good looking hot
it's nice to get out now and then
show what I've got.

People to meet and people to schmooze
you have to socialise or looose
but nature calls
at times you don't choose.

No please don't ask
its a soaked fascinator
soaked fascinator
soaked fascinator

I leaned over to flush as I always do
big mistake
My fascinator came off and fell down the loo
For goodness sake.

Fish it out rinse it too
hope against hope
that it won't smell of poo.
A minute or so beneath the drier
not too long it might get too hot
and then catch fire.

These things occur one mustn't get bitter
my fascinator's still a glitter
nobody knows
but my friends on Twitter

No please don't ask
its a soaked fascinator
soaked fascinator
soaked fascinator

A fascinator is a small hat type thingy attached to the hair by a comb, hairpin or other method.

This is a parody of Sade's Smooth Operator.

I love the way the backing tracks 'fit' with the new lyrics. Completely unintentional but I'm glad it worked.

Sharper than a serpent's tooth...

The night is over at long last.
Sun comes up as darkness fades
I'm not refreshed from sleep alas
for I've been peeing razor blades.

Every hour on the hour
the call has come to pass
water I've been swigging down
which turned to shards of glass.

Despite taking medication
I'm sick and tired and sadder
from avoiding dessiccation
by flushing out my bladder.

There would be a prize indeed
for whoever would delight us
by finding how to rid the world
of horrible cystitis!

I hope you don't know what this really feels like. But if you do you'll share my pain

Dedicated to Rebecca my friend on Twitter

Yellow

"Stay inside! Lock your door! Don't do that!"
I shout at the stupid girl
wandering down the stairs at dead of night.

No power, the phone lines are down
but she heard a noise outside
so is determined to investigate.

Can't she tell from the music she's doomed?
"She is such an idiot."
I mutter from behind my cushion.