We’re all going on a summer holiday, Down to Devon for a country break; Bags are packed and kids are gaily fighting In the back of our Ford Estate;
It’s just gonna be great.
We’re going down the M5 highway, On roads that are both fast and long We found them on our SatNav
So nothing can go wrong.
Everybody has a summer holiday, If the mortgage and the bills allow; So we’re going on a summer holiday, Using a credit card to pay it now;
Plastic take a bow.
(Guitar break - but only if you’re Pete Townshend)
Halfway there the kids have turned to whining; “Can we stop for lunch?” and “Where’s the loo?” Sadly for us, though, the Highways Agency Now confronts us with a digging crew
For a mile or two.
They’re coning off the first two lanes here; There’s traffic everywhere we see; We’ve just missed our last exit;
I’m busting for a wee!
Twelve hours later and we reach our chalet, and Find that it’s already occupied; Double-booking has just stuffed our holiday, So we get back onto the M5 And just start to drive Back home and cry Oh me, oh my Oh me, oh my Oh me, oh my...
(At its simplest, a haiku is a three-line poem with five syllables in the first and last lines, and seven in the middle line. There’s a lot more to it than that, but it’s a good starting point.)
I wanted to write A short haiku about time But ran out of it
(A triolet is an eight-line poem, the rhyme scheme of which is ABaAabAB. Lines 1, 4 & 7 are identical, as are lines 2 & 8.)
Cup your hands my little darling, Daddy’s football days are over- whelming him with rounds of Carling Cup. Your hands my little darling grasp my leg as if a starling’s and twist it till it’s bent over. Cup your hands my little darling, Daddy’s football days are over!
The Wind Farm Objection Reply
If the committee who want the wind park Get enough protests anti that lark They’ll make a decision For nuclear fission And then we’ll all glow in the dark
Waiter, there’s a...
“I think I’m in the soup now,” Said the waiter to the fly; “But you were there before me, And I really wonder why...”
Travellers, Like Me
(Written in the days when I was commuting to and from work by coach rather than train. It was a hell of a lot cheaper, if a lot more protracted.)
I watched the two young people there Upon the coach one night; They talked together, intimate,
Shadowed by pale moonlight.
And as they talked, their fingers met, Then briefly fell apart; Then shyly crept on back again,
A hand-hold from the heart.
And then her lipstick brushed his cheek; Did she blush at her haste? No matter, for the deed was done;
His hand went round her waist.
Their lips then met most tenderly, And then they met some more; And by the half-time interval
I’d lost track of the score.
One long and passionate exchange Near sent me to the door; Then arms and legs went everywhere
As they rolled round the floor.
I must confess enjoying next The bit with all the moans, As down along the heater box
They intertwined their bones.
And then they both fell fast asleep, Exhausted by their glee. The last one off, I left them there; Two travellers, like me.