A Poem about Toast.

I’ve never written a poem about toast,
And I probably never will.
It’s only bread, cut from a loaf
And put in a toaster, or under a grill.

It’s a favourite for breakfast,
With butter or spread,
A popular remedy
For slightly stale bread.

It’s the base of a meal,
(especially for teens),
Served on a plate,
and smothered with beans.

If you eat lots of toast,
You’ll doubtless feel full.
As a subject for poetry,
It’s remarkably dull.

It’s only a slice, cut from a loaf,
And put in a toaster, or under a grill.
I’ve never written a poem about toast, I’m afraid,
And I probably never will.

A Bucket of Glue

A child who was bored, for something to do,
Dipped his head in a bucket of glue.
Another piped up: “I’ll copy you!”
And dipped his head too, in the bucket of glue.
A third came along, and without further ado,
Like them, dipped his head in the bucket of glue.
Each wondered then, what on earth they should do,
With their heads all messy and sticky with glue.
Home, in a panic, all three of them flew:
What happened next, I wish that I knew.

YESTERDAY'S MEN

Give youngsters the name 'Tony Blair'
And you'll most likely get a blank stare.
Say 'Gordon Brown'
And they'll probably frown:
They know him from somewhere, but where?