XV
In olden days a few holy men
Would mortify their flesh in various ways
In modern, sinful England everybody does it -
It's called The Easter Holidays.
The penitents are up before the sunrise
Some don't even stop to break their fast,
Then spend hours immobile on the motorway,
It's a form of penance unsurpassed.
When finally they reach their destination,
Tired and hungry - full of woe,
Every parking place has been taken,
There really is nowhere they can go.
After the flesh has been tormented
With chilly winds and frequent freezing rain,
The homeward journey still awaits the sinner -
The modern version of the whip and chain.
The Almighty must have a sense of humour,
For, after weeks of warmth and sun
He switches back to winter over Easter,
To give the masochists some extra fun.
Those who have been really sinful
Have to take their holidays abroad.
Hours of painful suffering await them,
But they know it is their just reward.
Sometimes an airport is fog-bound
Or foreign air controllers are on strike,
Exhausted children whine and fret and grizzle
As boring day turns into boring night.
At last the nation's sins are fully purged
And everyone is back at work again,
By the time Easter comes round once more
We'll have forgotton all this stress and strain.
Written 15.4.1990
(One of my favourites)
Thursday 10 March 2011
MIRROR, MIRROR ON THE WALL
XIV
One thing you must get rid of
As you get more mature
Is that full length mirror
Inside your bathroom door.
We are now dependent on
The girdle maker's skill,
For once you get past fifty
Everything that can droop - will.
If you must have a bathroom mirror
Don't look at yourself in the nude.
Avert your gaze - look elsewhere
It doesn't mean you're a prude.
Your body still looks youthful
When viewed from the top,
But when it's seen in profile
You notice signs of drop.
I'm talking about average women
Not those who are bone and skin.
In the war between muscle and gravity
You know that the latter will win.
If you are a masochist
And a quick look you cannot resist,
Be patient - try to wait until
Your mirror's steamed over with mist.
If the mirror still draws your eye
Take this advice from me:
Raise your arms above your head
And a much slimmer view you will see!
Written December 1987
One thing you must get rid of
As you get more mature
Is that full length mirror
Inside your bathroom door.
We are now dependent on
The girdle maker's skill,
For once you get past fifty
Everything that can droop - will.
If you must have a bathroom mirror
Don't look at yourself in the nude.
Avert your gaze - look elsewhere
It doesn't mean you're a prude.
Your body still looks youthful
When viewed from the top,
But when it's seen in profile
You notice signs of drop.
I'm talking about average women
Not those who are bone and skin.
In the war between muscle and gravity
You know that the latter will win.
If you are a masochist
And a quick look you cannot resist,
Be patient - try to wait until
Your mirror's steamed over with mist.
If the mirror still draws your eye
Take this advice from me:
Raise your arms above your head
And a much slimmer view you will see!
Written December 1987
I FEEL SO SORRY FOR MEN
XIII
You can't help feeling sorry for men
In these female liberated days,
Their lives have changed considerably
In so many different ways.
Their children disagree with them
And what is more
No longer are they patriarchs
Whose every word is law.
Victorian men believed a woman
Was a simple little soul -
A well looked after husband
Was her major goal.
How men must long for the Good Old days
When women knew their place
As suppliers of domestic comfort -
A lower serving race.
Written in October 1990
You can't help feeling sorry for men
In these female liberated days,
Their lives have changed considerably
In so many different ways.
Their children disagree with them
And what is more
No longer are they patriarchs
Whose every word is law.
Victorian men believed a woman
Was a simple little soul -
A well looked after husband
Was her major goal.
How men must long for the Good Old days
When women knew their place
As suppliers of domestic comfort -
A lower serving race.
Written in October 1990
NATURE RULES OUR PLANET
XII
We humans like to think that we
Control our destiny,
We dam our mighty rivers -
And reclaim land from the sea.
We tamper with genetics
And change the DNA
We think that mankind benefits
So that is quite o.k.
Our scientists are brilliant -
By manipulating genes
We've plants that poison insects
And brightly glowing greens.
Nature views our efforts
With a smile upon her face
And when she thinks we've gone too far
She puts us in her place.
When she wants to let us know
Just what she can do
She flicks her little finger
And violent quakes ensue.
A gentle sigh from her
And gales and cyclones blow -
And when she weeps at Mankind's ways
Foaming torrents flow.
So though we like to think that we
Control our destiny,
Our planet's rulers really are
The rivers, the sky and the sea.
Written July 1990
We humans like to think that we
Control our destiny,
We dam our mighty rivers -
And reclaim land from the sea.
We tamper with genetics
And change the DNA
We think that mankind benefits
So that is quite o.k.
Our scientists are brilliant -
By manipulating genes
We've plants that poison insects
And brightly glowing greens.
Nature views our efforts
With a smile upon her face
And when she thinks we've gone too far
She puts us in her place.
When she wants to let us know
Just what she can do
She flicks her little finger
And violent quakes ensue.
A gentle sigh from her
And gales and cyclones blow -
And when she weeps at Mankind's ways
Foaming torrents flow.
So though we like to think that we
Control our destiny,
Our planet's rulers really are
The rivers, the sky and the sea.
Written July 1990
THE SECRET LIFE OF THE SOCK
XI
Is there some place, somewhere
That old socks go to die -
A celestial hosiery heaven,
Or the sock drawer in the sky?
The widowed partner will now lead
A solitary life
For odd socks seldom find another
Husband or wife.
Sometimes a sock will vanish
And I won't see it for years,
But if I throw its mate away
It promptly re-appears.
If socks won't stay together
Until they're both worn through,
I have thought of something
Else that I can do.
I will buy a dozen pairs
Exactly the same;
A flourishing sock commune
Is my eventual aim.
If my breeding programme
Goes as I have planned,
Every year another clutch
Of socks should come to hand.
And if their life is happy
Beneath the skirts and frocks
I hope I'll never need to buy
Another pair of socks.
June 1990
Is there some place, somewhere
That old socks go to die -
A celestial hosiery heaven,
Or the sock drawer in the sky?
The widowed partner will now lead
A solitary life
For odd socks seldom find another
Husband or wife.
Sometimes a sock will vanish
And I won't see it for years,
But if I throw its mate away
It promptly re-appears.
If socks won't stay together
Until they're both worn through,
I have thought of something
Else that I can do.
I will buy a dozen pairs
Exactly the same;
A flourishing sock commune
Is my eventual aim.
If my breeding programme
Goes as I have planned,
Every year another clutch
Of socks should come to hand.
And if their life is happy
Beneath the skirts and frocks
I hope I'll never need to buy
Another pair of socks.
June 1990
WISH YOU WERE HERE
X
Exotic foreign holidays
Are great to look back on
When your life's returned to normal
And your dysentery has gone.
Getting there is stressful
You just cannot relax
With overbooking problems
And the excess baggage tax.
At journey's end you're faced with
Dirt, disease and flies,
As scenes of abject poverty
Assault your sheltered eyes.
Though you are on holiday
Your problems never end:
How much money should you keep?
How much should you spend?
Your journey home again
Is also very fraught
As you try to fit in
The unwanted gifts you've bought.
But when you view your pictures,
Or your slides upon the screen
You really do appreciate
The places that you've seen.
So instead of going on holiday
How much simpler it would be
To hire some travel videos
And watch them on TV.
March 1990
Exotic foreign holidays
Are great to look back on
When your life's returned to normal
And your dysentery has gone.
Getting there is stressful
You just cannot relax
With overbooking problems
And the excess baggage tax.
At journey's end you're faced with
Dirt, disease and flies,
As scenes of abject poverty
Assault your sheltered eyes.
Though you are on holiday
Your problems never end:
How much money should you keep?
How much should you spend?
Your journey home again
Is also very fraught
As you try to fit in
The unwanted gifts you've bought.
But when you view your pictures,
Or your slides upon the screen
You really do appreciate
The places that you've seen.
So instead of going on holiday
How much simpler it would be
To hire some travel videos
And watch them on TV.
March 1990
PACKAGE PEOPLE
IX
The people for whom they make
The modern aircraft seat
Must be thin, with narrow hips,
Short legs and little feet.
Supple shoulders are a must
So that one can eat
And still avoid the passenger
In the neighbouring seat.
The charming girl suggest that we
"Sit back - enjoy the flight."
But that isn't easy when
Your seat is bolt upright.
Every seat designer
Should be made to fly
Around the world (Economy Class)
To give his seats a try.
Written on a London to Sydney flight
December 1989
The people for whom they make
The modern aircraft seat
Must be thin, with narrow hips,
Short legs and little feet.
Supple shoulders are a must
So that one can eat
And still avoid the passenger
In the neighbouring seat.
The charming girl suggest that we
"Sit back - enjoy the flight."
But that isn't easy when
Your seat is bolt upright.
Every seat designer
Should be made to fly
Around the world (Economy Class)
To give his seats a try.
Written on a London to Sydney flight
December 1989
DAWN
VIII
I love going out at first light
When everything is still
And the roads are lined with sleeping cars
In the early morning chill.
The windows are all frosted
With an icy opaque glaze
As the waking sun struggles through
Veils of misty haze.
Spiders' webs are picked out
With beads of diamond dew
And the eastern sky's a-blush with
An embarrassed rosy hue.
On the lawn are scattered
Glistening rainbow-bright gems;
Now sapphire, now emerald, now ruby
They tremble on slim grassy stems.
As dawn is such a lovely time
I do wish I knew why
I seldom seem to get outside
'Till the sun is fairly high.
April 1988
I love going out at first light
When everything is still
And the roads are lined with sleeping cars
In the early morning chill.
The windows are all frosted
With an icy opaque glaze
As the waking sun struggles through
Veils of misty haze.
Spiders' webs are picked out
With beads of diamond dew
And the eastern sky's a-blush with
An embarrassed rosy hue.
On the lawn are scattered
Glistening rainbow-bright gems;
Now sapphire, now emerald, now ruby
They tremble on slim grassy stems.
As dawn is such a lovely time
I do wish I knew why
I seldom seem to get outside
'Till the sun is fairly high.
April 1988
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)