PAAAARRRTTTTYYYY!

“Ey up owd lad, tha does look glum!” Peter said one day, (he’d spent a while up north near Leeds, that’s why he spoke that way.)

“What’s to do?  Tha’s sittin there wi a face like milkman’s hoss. I’ve nivver seed thee look that way, whatever ails thee boss?” 

His boss looked up, all ashen faced, a pallor on his skin, and whispered “Pete, I’ve had enough, It’s time I jack...

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a curse - for the mildly irritating

For those who’ve meddled, ired or slighted,

For those who’ve peeved or pinched or blighted

Or fibbed or fooled or faked - or worse

Upon them ever be this curse:

May your earnest endeavours all end in farce.

May your nostrils migrate to just south of your a**e.

May all your teabags get stuck in the spout.

May your luck and your toilet roll always ru...

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Each Saturday the high street is a canyon of temptation

As the public stare at the proffered wares with awe and approbation.

You can bare your soles at the cobbler’s shop but the chemist’s best for rumours

And dozens queue for a loaf or two when they sniff the baker’s bloomers.

The fishmonger has mussels, the bookshop man’s quite...

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Appointment with fear!

It's that dreaded time of year

Appointment with fear at nine

Receptionist knows I'm worried

she remembers the drama last time! 

I'm dragged kicking and screaming

into the cold clinical dentists den

from that deathly waiting room 

Why the hell am I here again?

I stand there ghostly white

I pause, I think he knows I'm scar...

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It was a dirty old day, just a stop on the way

In the sleet and the fog and the rain,

Jams and diversions and unplanned excursions

And drivers with speed on the brain.

When well before noon in the old greasy spoon

Somewhere just off the M one,

(It had seen better days with a jukebox that plays

old ballads from artists long gone.)

In the corner sat Fred, with his cap...

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Some poets dream of metre and scheme, of sonnets and couplets that scan,

But there’s one little word, though it seems quite absurd, that exposes the flaw in their plan.

There’s an amber skinned fruit that has been at the root of the nation’s poetic malaise,

This everyday citrus can find poets witless as they stare at a blank page for days.

If one pairs clementine with lemon and lime repetition...

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