I'm telling you this amazing story
because I know you'll love it my friend
it is full of excitement and glory
you'll be on pins 'til I get to the end.
Everyone else I've told it to
has been so moved they cried
"and then and then what did you do?"
So I told em the truth "then I died!"

Written for NovPad20 - one of my pet hates are books that are written in the 1st person that end with the person telling the story describing their own death. It is stupid and annoying - how can they be telling us the story if they are dead?

It doesn't even work as a diary unless the person is writing a note.

But when they get to the point where they say nonsense like "and then it all went black." I get furious, because if they are unconcscious how can they tell us this?
*SPOILER ALERT FOR FILM THE BUCKET LIST*
The film the Bucket List was annoying in this way- all along the narrator is Morgan Freeman and then it ends with Jack Nicholson at his grave and Morgan Freeman is still yammering on in the background

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"Clouds are nothing to be afraid of,"
I said looking you in the eye,
"carrying rain to water plants;
they can't hurt you, they're too high."

"Some molecules of H2O
amassed in gaseous form;
though admittedly they coalesce
and rarely start a storm."

"But even thunder as it roars
is nature at her rowdy best.
Lightning bursts, a visual feast
to stir excitement in your breast."

"So when you see those fluffy shapes
just think the circus has come to town."

"But that's the problem," you said;
getting a word in at last,
"I didn't say I was afraid of clouds;
I said I was afraid of clowns!"

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If vampires were of a lyrical bent
and scribbled verse in tomes;
Would the rhymes that they penned
be literally bloody poems?

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For Robert Graves

Money shiny
money clinky
money pretty
money dinky.

Money makes my heart beat faster
Money slave while I be master.

Money silver
Money goldy
Money metal
Money foldy

Money isn't everything
Money frees up time to sing.

Kerching!!!

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You!
No you!
No You!
You!

OK...
Both together;
Three!
Two!
One!

You didn't!
Neither did you!

Well someone has to.
Yes - or we'll be here forever.

You!
No you!
No you!
You!

We might be here for quite a -
Oh - you hung up!
You!

Phone calls between young lovers have always been thus

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I was taken to be brought up by wolves;
carrying me carefully with sharp teeth,
teaching me to hunt and find wolfish food
never knowing about burgers and chips.

Now I'm older they have grown more cunning.
They look and act like any mum and dad.
But I know I'm a Princess and they're wolves
even though they work hard not to show it.

But now and again when the moon is full
They must creep out into the silver night
lift their heads up to its light and

AHOOOOOOOOOOW!

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Dogged Disguise

I'm a fat little white poodle with a permanently dribbly chin
that's the true me if you could zoom much closer in;
Luckily no-one's managed it - least of all my lover,
my inner me's well hidden and it's staying under cover.

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The secret of writing comedy
is known by every clown;
first you think up comedy
then you write it down.

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The witch cackled
her crackling voice
snapping the cold twigged silence
leaving it forever sullied.

Ghosts willowed past
smoky wraiths pale
despondent dreaming of the days
when feelings were warm and tactile.

A cat sung low
its mating call
ignoring the ghosts and the witch
only wanting to find a wife.

Dark night, bright stars
spirits present
cats call:
Halloween,
Halloween,
Halloween.

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Paula Nancy Millhouse Jennings eat your heart out!

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Crash!
Out of the night the huge tree wanders
its bleeding wounds dripping while roots
dragging from it leave trails that slugs
envy in their silvery slime.

Bang!
The lightning bolt sunders the lamb from the shepherd
the sheep dog whimpers and licks its paws
remembering the meaty chunks
it ate for tea.

Wallop!
The thunder rolls across the mountains ironing
the wrinkles from the aged landscape
as if Botox was a freebie from the Gods.

What a Picture!
I watch and wait and listen as the shoots become
saplings and the tree groans still wandering
searching for the ditch it calls mother.

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A bird flies so high up in the sky
your lips are red as a red red rose
My heart will break if you die
I will cry and cry and get a red nose.

I saw in your eyes a look of surprise
it seemed as if your heart was true
but you broke my heart when you said we had to part
and now I'm left alone and blue.

Darkness overcomes me like a thief in the night
because you did me wrong and that wasn't right
So I'll do my crying in the rain
so nobody can see that I'm in pain.

I'll trust my guardian angel to bring me light
wrap her wings around me when I have a fright
her silver goodness shines on me and keeps away the dark
like a dog with a bone that is trying to bark.

You did me favour when you done me wrong
my heart is singing like a song
One day I will learn to love again
and trust my heart to a man among men.

Written in response to the Writers Digest prompt - write a really horrible, bad poem.

This poem uses cliches, nonsense lines, and just about every wince making poetry fault there is! It was strangely fun to write

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So Vampires are the very latest teenage girly fad
they are attracted to the brooding dark looks of the bad
but am I the only one on earth to think this thought I had -
why don't vampires just ask a menstruating girl
if they can use their pad?

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I thought I'd offer this point of view
though it sounds a little smug;
but this article made me glad at last
to be ugly as a pug.

For if you (like me) have always
been thought of as quite plain
then as you grow older and wiser
your looks can only gain.

Or if they don't improve with age
take heart from my short verse,
if you start out really ugly -
at least things can't get worse!

Inspired by an article in the Daily Mail about a beautiful 38 year old mother who resents her daughter's beauty because it makes her feel old! I shall ask hubby if my teenage son has the same effect on him. I suspect the answer will be a snort of laughter. I regret nothing about my 'lost' youth and neither does he. We didn't 'lose' it we learned through it and to be honest we are both having much more fun in our forties and expect (barring unforeseen and beyond our control health problems or family disasters) to have even more fun in our fifties.

Age is just a number. EQ - not so much

Ooh - I just got smug again LOL

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When I go to heaven
I hope Fluffy'll be there too.
She's my closest friend
we're like Shaggy and Scooby Doo.

Her big brown doggy eyes
make me happy through and through.
But when Fluffy gets to heaven
what will happen to her poo?

For heaven should be lovely
clean and fun and super.
It won't be all those things
if I need a pooper scooper.

And it won't be heaven for Fluffy
if she doesn't get to eat.
It's her top favourite pleasure
after licking people's feet.

We all know that a side effect
of eating must be poo,
so I'm hoping that in heaven
dogs will learn to use the loo.

They'll need their own facilities
with special lowered sinks
to keep their paws hygienic
and give them somewhere clean to drink.

So like all canine owners
I expect heaven to take my dog.
I think that's why they die first
so they can learn to use the bog.

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http://bunnybunbunbun.blog.co.uk/2009/10/21/the-story-of-fred-a-moth-who-was-much-too-clever-for-his-own-good-7214925/comment_ID/11265346/comment_level/1/#c11265346

to bunnybunbunbun's blog to read The Story of Fred a moth who was too clever for his own good.

It is much better funny poetry than anything I could ever come up with.

You will love it! And it's a true story - which makes it even better.

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Yet we shouldn't pick on those who famous
use it lest our ignorance shame us.
Apparently it's ok for those
that everybody loves and knows.

If a poet splices in a poem,
it's also allowed,
though nobody knows 'em.

Otherwise think once, think twice,
before you commit the dreaded splice!

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Whenever I feel my heart begin to sink
I can woosh it right back up - if I only think.

My Dad used to say to me, "You think too much."
He had a point because I used to over-analyse everything and then not do anything.
These days when I get a brain fog - I think fun things to clear it and it works
Sort of a nerdy way of fighting fire with fire I suppose.
Poetry as a mental cleanser works well for me - so I will stick with it.

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Liz Jones is really very nice and has a heart of gold,
She bakes fresh bread goes on long walks
and visits the lonely and old.

She loves all things including you and is immensely kind
and writes so darn inspiringly
when she shares her piece of mind.

She doesn't care about how things look
she values what's inside
Her sunny nature shines for all to see
it's something she can't hide.

Now you may think I've lost the plot
gone bonkers or even worse
But please don't worry the Liz Jones I describe
is from an alternate universe!

Liz Jones is a columnist in the Daily Mail who specialises in being grumpy and unpleasant in order to stimulate response - fair does to her it seems to work a treat

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For all the men who walk in heels
and brave the funny looks
I'd like to say I like your style
you're OK in my book!

Stand tall and proud in frills and curls
spring loaded underwear,
make-up applied with varying skill
as brave as any bear.

Those who jeer have no idea
the strength of will it takes
to be different in a scary world
such strength a hero makes.

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1218957/Meet-Lionheart-Lights-Out-The-cross-dressing-cage-fighters-hit-drunken-thugs.html

Article about two Swansea cage fighters Lionheart and Lights Out who were part inspiration for this poem. I will be including this in my next published Pink edition of Alternative Poetry Books and dedicating it to them - so many thanks for the inspiration to Daniel 'Lionheart' Lerwell and James 'Lights Out' Lilley - makes me proud to be from Swansea

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It was an experiment but something went wrong,
he had intended just to let it run for an hour or two
watch to see what happened and then write up his findings.

But he got caught up in the drama of it all.

He had thought he knew all there was to know about
just about everything - that this experiment would be
another confirmation yet again, of all he knew.

The experiment took on a life of its own.

He couldn't stop watching, interfering now and then
immersed beyond his imaginings in what unfolded below
in the experimental chamber he had created on a whim.

How could he tear himself away now?

He felt an affection for his experiments, watched as they
developed, laughed as they tried to be scientists,
just like Him.

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Ode to a tiny hungry hippo

Oh teeny tiny hippo you are so sweet,
smaller than the lettuce leaf you're trying to eat
You are the cutest thing I've seen yet
I wish I could keep you as a pet.

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Soaked Fascinator.
Lyrics:

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

I first blogged this song about a month ago for #music monday on Twitter but I wasn't happy with the result because I had been 'persuaded' to use a headphones and stand alone microphone and then be 'produced' and frankly digitally fiddled about with. Which isn't as much fun as it sounds like it might be.

I got round to just recording this straight onto Garageband by singing along to the backing track in one go and with no post production.

It is so much easier to sing without headphones on and now you can hear me singing this song the way I thought it should have sounded the first time. Here for completeness sake is the first unsatisfactory version only listen to it now if you like listening to slightly out of tune singers - http://poetry4fun.blog.co.uk/2009/08/12/smooth-operator-or-what-6706436/

NB. A fascinator is a little head decoration worn instead of a hat at weddings and formal occasions.

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Might Hitler have been a woman?
Is that really so mad?
It could explain the moodies
reportedly 'he' had?

Perhaps they got it wrong
when calling out 'Heil' daily?
That's why 'he' got so bitter
'cos 'he' wished they'd call out 'Hailey?'

They've done tests on the skull
thought Hitler's for many years
and it turns out it's a woman's
so Hitler lives is now a fear.

And it is a stretch to imagine
Adolf born in female form
but it might explain the lovely taste
'he' had in uniforms!

Fresh doubts over Hitler's death after tests on bullet hole skull reveal it belonged to a woman
Read more: http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/worldnews/article-1216455/Fresh-doubts-Hitlers-death-tests-skull-reveal-womans.html

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I once was touched by a noodly appendage
I don't talk of it much
but it changed my life in many ways
with it's Pastafarian touch.

I learned to say "Argh!" and "Shiver me timbers!"
they seemed to come naturally
and I yearned to have a wooden leg
and sail upon the sea.

I have no cutlass or wooden leg
but the sea is always near
I restrict my desire to "Aargh!" a lot
to just one day a year.

Soon that day will arrive
and I'll do things in piratey ways
September the 19th Me Mateys
International Talk Like a Pirate Day!

AAAAARRRRRGHHHHH!!!

Here's a useful website I check with every day - not having a wonderful memory - I find it helps me keep track of the most fun day of the year: http://isittalklikeapirateday.com/

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You turned up to my wedding
with everything on show,
put people off the wedding feast
and we'd purchased Sturgeon's Roe!

All that wobbling fleshy stuff,
the bride is most dis-cheered,
eclipsed by a vision of nakedness
that left our eyeballs seared!

Frilly satin peep-show clothes,
here's some plain talking folks:
I do not care for what you wear,
it's not a good look on blokes!

Inspired by a comment on the Daily Mail about a story regarding Princess Michael of Kent's rather flamboyant choice of attire as Mother of the Groom and the reported eclipsing of the lovely bride - Sophie Winkleman now Mrs Freddie Windsor.

But what about MEN? Why is it always women being discussed on articles like this? - Sophie, London, UK

Until Sophie's comment I had to admit it hadn't occurred to me that men might turn up at weddings in low-cut frilly dresses or worse - which was extremely sexist of me. But then I did consider it and a poem was born.

Here's the link to the article in the mail:
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/femail/article-1213517/JAN-MOIR-At-age-woman-cover-Its-Princess-Push-Up-thrusting-forward-question-.html

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I don't want to write a book very fast
I want to write it well
I want to write something that's lots of fun
Not crank out something to sell.

I don't want to write something with loads of sex
zombies and vampires and shopping.
I want to write poems that make people laugh
and turn pages without stopping.

I can't face writing articles
to tell you enough's enough.
If that means my profile isn't high
frankly I don't give a stuff.

So I'll just keep on keeping on
doing what I like best
hoping I make some friends on the way
and say *bollocks* to all the rest.

That last verse needs some work - I'll get back to that when I can see 'how to' improve it

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I must go down to the sea again
to the lonely sea & the sky
I kayaked for 5 hours
now be kind and
let me die!

with apologies to John Masefield and Spike Milligan.

I enjoyed myself too much and now to quote Marvin the Paranoid Android:

Ow, ow, ow, ow,ow, ow, ow.

I bless the inventor of paracetemol.

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It's yellow and sweet and full of good cheer
you can stick it in your gob or poke it in your ear
you can mash it for a cake
or slap it 'tween some bread
or if you're really strange you could
cuddle it in bed.

The Spanish love it any time especially Mañana
it is of course that super fruit - the wonderful banana

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