jungleigloo

An Army of Jam-Jars

2011-02-06T11:01:00.000-08:00

An army of jam-jars,
Marching to war.
The birds in the trees
Ask them: “What for?”

“For Victory! What else?”
The jam-jars reply:
“Our battle cry is:
‘To win or to die!’”

On they all marched,
And it soon came to pass
They were all smashed to pieces,
Being made just of glass.

They should have stayed home,
Of that much I’m sure,
For jars were created
For jam, and not war.

2011-01-11T07:55:00.000-08:00

Bankers

Why are bankers paid so much?
Are they all so out of touch
That what to us is purest greed
To them is merely what they 'need'?
Their bonuses, their massive wage
Are things that fill us up with rage.
We bail them out and then they whinge
If they can’t have their spending binge!
The world wide banking system’s ailing
And they want extra dosh for failing!
Are they all so out of touch
To think they should be paid so much?
Nurses, doctors, firemen, too
Do useful things for me and you.
Binmen, teachers, others cry:
‘Why is bankers’ pay so high?’
They’re parasites on honest folk
I hope their millions make them choke!
Are we all so soft a touch,
To let those bankers ‘earn’ so much?

2010-12-13T09:13:00.000-08:00

HORSES

Horses don't use toilets
I'm quite relieved to say:
A horse stuck in my lavatory
Would probably ruin my day.

They dump their loads
On fields and roads,
And that is quite OK;
But if started copying them
I'd soon be locked away!

2010-12-13T09:11:00.000-08:00

Shake, Rattle and Custard!

A jolly book is now on sale!
As a Christmas gift it cannot fail!
Crammed with poems, small and light,
It’ll make you chuckle on a winter’s night!
‘Shake, Rattle, and Custard!’ is what it’s called;
By the poems inside, you’ll be enthralled!
Check out copies, have a look!
On Amazon or Monster Books!
And who is the author of this splendid tome?
Modesty forbids me to make this known.

2010-12-13T09:09:00.000-08:00

My Snowman

Hello? Is that the police?
I have a vile crime to report!
Someone has stolen my snowman!
It was safe in my garden, I thought.

Who on earth could have done such a thing?
My mind is all of a muddle!
My snowman was there when in the morning,
Now all that remains is a puddle!

I left him enjoying the sunshine
While I went off out for the day.
But when I came back, there was only his hat –
My snowman’s been taken away!

The same thing happened last year –
These truly are perilous times!
When innocent snowmen and women
Fall victim to such heinous crimes.

2010-12-13T09:06:00.000-08:00

Santa

When Santa was a little boy,
No presents came his way.
He never had a gift or toy,
Not one, on Christmas Day.

Christmas time was still such fun,
With halls festooned with holly.
A Christmas feast with Christmas pud,
And everyone was jolly.

People loved the singing,
Such a festive noise!
But no-one thought of giving
Children little toys.

As Santa grew, he changed all this:
He built a busy shed,
Made toys for all the girls and boys
Delivered on a sled.

Soon children were expecting him,
And so were mum and dad,
Who saw how lots of presents
Made their children glad.

Then everyone demanded gifts -
Grown-ups, rich and poor.
The shops all think its brilliant -
But Santa’s not so sure.

2010-11-23T08:44:00.001-08:00

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.

2010-11-23T08:39:00.001-08:00

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.

2010-11-23T08:37:00.000-08:00

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?

Red Sky at Night...

2010-09-17T13:35:00.000-07:00

Red sky at night –
shepherds’ delight!
Marvel at the joyous sight
of shepherds prancing in the fields
dancing round their flocks,
jigging in the evening grass
minus shoes and socks.
Singing with their arms upraised,
inhibitions fled,
gleeful in their shepherding,
because the sky is red.

How good to be a shepherd
uplifted in delight,
daily woes forgotten when
the sky is red at night.

2010-08-14T02:51:00.001-07:00

Climbing Molehills

If only I were small enough,
Or moles made molehills tall enough,
I’d climb them every year;
Be known as Molehill Martin,
The fearless mountaineer!

With crampons, ropes, and climbing boots,
I’d conquer every one,
Tick my molehill mountain book
‘til every page was done.

But, as they’re small,
And I’m quite tall,
I’ll leave them well alone;
And just get out my climbing gear,
To climb the stairs at home.

2010-07-19T12:35:00.000-07:00

Spick and Span

Spick and Span were twins, they were,
Always well-presented.
Well-behaved and well brought up,
Their parents were contented.

With polished shoes, and neat, clean shirts
The twins walked smartly by.
Shiny bright, immaculate;
The apples of their mother’s eye.

Until one day, they had a scrap,
Spick had called Span names.
Span hit Spick, Spick hit him back;
Their anger rose like flames.

They fought like cat and dog, or worse,
Rolled in muck and mud
Their clothes got ripped and dirty,
Smeared with filth and blood.

Pulled apart by passers-by,
Home they quickly ran.
Barely recognisable;
No longer Spick and Span.

2010-07-19T12:34:00.001-07:00

The Spy

This poem is not a poem,
Or a harmless little ode.
It’s a secret communication -
A message sent in code.

For I’ve been in deep cover,
Controlled and in the pay
Of a certain foreign power
In a country far away.

Each week I transmit secrets
In poems that I write,
Which other agents then decode,
Working day and night.

This espionage I’ve carried on,
In poems, one after another.
Undetected now, for years –
Damn! I’ve blown my cover!

2010-06-25T01:38:00.000-07:00

Old Jim

I know of many decent folk,
In fact, they’re ten a penny.
Then there’s Jim, a jolly bloke,
And he’s as good as any.

A proper gent, he’ll never spit,
With a lady on his arm;
Unless, of course, she’s used to it,
Why, then he sees no harm.

He’ll offer you his final fag -
It’s kept behind his ear.
It’s getting rather manky now,
It’s been there for a year.

He’s a strict regime for keeping clean
In a bath that’s steaming hot.
He has one every New Year’s Day,
If he feels the need, or not.

And every month he’ll change his socks,
And usually change his shirt.
(He’ll wear his pants for longer,
For they don’t show the dirt.)

He never touches alcohol:
Before his morning cuppa,
To which he likes to add some gin
Left over from his supper.

Old Jims are now in short supply;
In fact, they’re getting fewer.
But decent folk need some around,
Like roses need manure.

2010-06-25T01:37:00.000-07:00

The bandwagon

I hurriedly jumped on the bandwagon,
It seemed to be going my way.
But when I peered in, it was full to the brim
With people who’d climbed on that day.

I scrambled inside, keen for the ride,
But there wasn’t a place to relax.
With so many people crammed in there
It’s a wonder it didn’t collapse.

“Where are we going?” asked one,
“What are we going to do?”
Some there made out they had answers,
But no-one, in truth, had a clue.

“But at least we’re aboard!” said another,
“Although it’s a bit of a crush!”
Then it dawned, we were all in a wagon,
Going nowhere at all, in a rush.

For the wagon just went round in circles
Until, finally, the driver said “Stop!”
We all looked around, quite embarrassed,
And, sheepishly, slowly got off.

2010-06-25T01:35:00.000-07:00

HUMPTY DUMPTY

Humpty Dumpty had a big fall
Humpty Dumpty made a quick call
straight to his lawyers, who put in a claim
naming the Council and placing the blame
squarely on them, for building the wall,
from which Humpty Dumpty had such a fall.

The Council paid up, for they'd failed to install
a big warning sign, on top of the wall.
Humpty's in bits, but he doesn't care,
now Humpty Dumpty's a millionaire.

My Sausage Tree

2010-05-26T03:15:00.000-07:00

My Sausage Tree

Our house went vegetarian,
now every meal’s meat-free.
So it’s handy my allotment has
a full-grown sausage tree.

Every time I go there
(past the butcher’s shop),
I pick from off its branches
the latest sausage crop.

The kids say they’re delicious,
better than beef or pork.
They ask me how I grow them, but
my mouth’s too full to talk.

Now, sausages can get boring,
which makes me want to rush
off to my allotment
to plant a bacon bush.

Holy Roads

2010-03-01T12:09:00.000-08:00

Here's one for all who are struggling to drive or cycle on pot-holed roads caused by the bad winter and years of neglect...

Holy Roads

I met a band of pilgrims
In town the other day.
They told me they had travelled
From very far away.

“What brings you our city?”
I asked of them, in wonder,
When they gave their reason
I realised their blunder.

“We came because we heard about
Your many holy roads!
We gathered from the news reports
That you have loads and loads!”

I smiled as I enlightened
These poor deluded souls,
Our City’s roads aren’t holy –
They’re simply full of holes!

2010-02-17T09:05:00.000-08:00

Pets

I've never had a parrot
A spider or gnu.
I've never owned a terrapin,
Or ever wanted to.

I've never kept a wallaby,
A goldfish or a bee.
For every living thing there is
Is better being free.

I did though have a flu bug once,
But that was not much fun.
I kept it for a week or two,
Then gave it to my mum.

2010-02-12T07:37:00.001-08:00

The wheelie bins are waiting…

The wheelie bins are waiting
On every street in town,
Waiting for the bin men
To tip them upside down
And empty out, into the truck,
A fortnight’s trash, or more,
Stuff that’s overflowing,
And falling to the floor.
They stand there, constipated-
Could things get much worse?
Three weeks now, they’ve waited,
Each one fit to burst.
Standing in the ice and snow
It wheelie is no fun,
The wheelie bins are waiting,
But the bin men still don’t come…

2010-02-12T07:31:00.000-08:00

The Queen

The Queen’s popping round for a visit,
She’s not been to see us for years.
She used to nip over with Philip,
Put her feet up, and have a few beers.

Their kids would all play in the bedroom,
We’d let them get out some old toys,
Then yell up the stairs at those young royal heirs
To stop making QUITE so much noise.

But Her Highness, of late, has been busy,
And she’s had a tough time with the press.
She’s had a few royal engagements,
And we’ve been at fault, I confess,

For, as our neighbours have told us,
She’s called and we haven’t been home,
Or I’d not heard the door (I’d been hoovering the floor)
- You’d think she’d alert us by phone.

But this time arrangements are sorted,
There’s loads of good stuff on TV,
We’ve got in some pork pie and pickle,
And said she can stop here for tea.

2010-01-22T14:53:00.000-08:00

Dogs and cats and poems

My dog would write a poem, for sure,
if only he could hold a pen or pencil in his paw,
or learn to read and write.
But I feel he lacks the intellect, being a dog that’s none too bright.
And so he’s content to bark, and wag his tail,
chase balls and sticks, and tear the morning mail.
Though, sometimes, when he looks at me in a certain dogged way,
not hoping just for food or a simple canine game to play,
I feel he might enjoy a creative writing session,
just for the thrill of a more cerebral form of self-expression.

My cat, though, I’m convinced,
would never feel the need
to ever write a poem
- unless a suitable fee was agreed.

2010-01-19T06:18:00.000-08:00

Clerihews

(clerihews, invented and made popular by EC Bentley, are, to my mind, a much underrated and underused form of light verse. They comprise four lines, the first being a famous (or infamous) name, the second line rhyming with the name, and the third and fourth rhyming with each other. Meter rarely enters into it, and the content should preferably contain a grain of truth, and a big dollop of absurdity.) Here's a trio of my more recent efforts:

Michelangelo
Never mastered the banjo.
The demands of the Renaissance
Left him neither the time nor the patience.

DH Lawrence
Had no abhorrence
Of the sexual act.
He quite enjoyed it, in fact.

Queen Victoria
Disliked euphoria.
Though the Empire enthused
She was not amused.

2010-01-18T13:25:00.001-08:00

LIMITS

We live in four dimensions;
what fun to have a fifth!
But the Great Dimension Maker
is infamous for thrift

and claims there are no more to have
(or none He can allow).
So length and width and depth and time
must do us all, for now.

2010-01-17T13:38:00.000-08:00

The Sputum Tree.

The sputum tree
Does not exist.
I somehow think
It’ll not be missed.

2010-01-16T13:40:00.001-08:00

The wheelie bins are waiting…

The wheelie bins are waiting
On every street in town,
Waiting for the bin men
To tip them upside down
And empty out, into the truck,
A fortnight’s trash, or more,
Stuff that’s overflowing,
And falling to the floor.
They stand there, constipated-
Could things get much worse?
Three weeks now, they’ve waited,
Each one fit to burst.
Standing in the ice and snow
It wheelie is no fun.
The wheelie bins are waiting,
But the bin men still don’t come…

2010-01-16T13:37:00.000-08:00

Scrappage

I wish I’d looked after my teeth –
And the rest, from my head to my feet.
My body’s a state,
I feel overweight,
I’m no longer shiny and neat.

My muscles are stiffening,
My arteries are thickening,
My joints are beginning to rust.
My back’s starting aching,
My skin’s started flaking,
My hair’s falling out in disgust.

My teeth have got longer,
My new specs are stronger,
I find myself wanting to nap.
To my family I said:
After I’m dead,
Just sell off my body for scrap!

They looked at me so,
Said: No! You can’t go!
We want you to live, can’t you see?
Alive, you’ve a job,
So you’re worth a few bob,
Dead, you’d fetch less than ten pee!

2010-01-14T03:52:00.000-08:00

My Rubbish Poem

I wrote this rubbish poem
Just the other day.
Chucked it in my wheelie bin
For the council to take away.
But they refused to have it,
Said it was too heavy.
For removing rubbish poems,
They’d charge an extra levy.
So I’ve put it on my blog,
Hoping that one day
Someone will find a use for it,
And take the thing away.

2010-01-13T00:54:00.000-08:00

The Jolly Banker

(with acknowledgements to Charles Causley)

I saw a jolly banker,
With a jolly smile.
He looked extremely jolly,
Because he’d made a pile.

Jolly great big bonuses
Were his, he said, to keep.
All in all, they added up
To quite a jolly heap.

He told me that his jolly bank
Had all the jolly luck.
For we all jolly bailed it out
When things had come unstuck.

He said it was a jolly shame
That we weren’t rich, like him,
Then went off to his jolly yacht
And gave a jolly grin.

On his jolly sailing boat,
He jolly celebrated.
With lots of jolly bolly,
He got inebriated.

He jolly well fell overboard
And by the tide was caught,
Weighed down by his cash, he drowned:
Jolly good, I thought.

2010-01-06T09:50:00.001-08:00

Baldies

God saw men had ugly heads:
To save them from despair,
He raised an arm and kindly said:
“To all men, I’ll give hair!”

“But some men’s heads are beautiful,”
He suddenly recalled:
“They don’t need to cover up-
I’ll let those ones be bald!”

2010-01-06T09:46:00.000-08:00

Keeping the City Going

A large open lorry inches down the dark icy hill,
slipping between snowed over parked cars.
A man in a grimy hi vis jacket stands, and sounds
uneasy on the back, flinging out shovelfuls of sand
and grit from a sprawling, diminished heap.
Occasionally, he yells “Stop!” to the driver, and looks
unsteady, too near the open tail gate. He seems
pissed off, unsafe, but probably glad of the overtime.
What might Laurel and Hardy have made of this?
But this is serious: our roads must be fit for purpose,
those centimetres of snow have to be shown who’s boss.
As the vehicle passes, yellow light whirling, I see the livery
on the door: blue and white, Godiva and horse, and the words
Rapid Response Vehicle. City Vision – Quality Services.

ice and snow

2010-01-06T09:45:00.000-08:00

The young ones slip and slide and skate
for them the ice and snow is great.

They don't care about the cold
unlike all those becoming old
who fret about their fragile bones
and buying food and heating homes.

2009-09-07T14:17:00.000-07:00

Recycling

Plastic and paper,
peelings and tins,
bottles and clippings
in separate bins.

Reheat old quarrels,
conflicts and schemes,
re-use old weapons,
bin peaceful dreams.

Rehash the notion
of a just, noble cause,
and throw away lives
in recycled wars.

Sweet Dreams

2009-08-27T16:36:00.000-07:00

I was lying in a crinkly bag, when, much to my alarm,
a jelly baby peered inside and grabbed me by the arm!

It pulled me up from out the bag, and with a sickly sound,
dipped me in a sugar bowl, and passed me all around
some gaudy, coloured substances of every size and shape;
I screamed - oh, how I shouted out, and struggled to escape!

I sensed my captors laughing at my feeble little squeals,
and shivered as I heard them say “He now knows how it feels
to be handled and selected as a tiny sugared treat,
and kept inside a goodie bag, as something nice to eat!”

I found myself being lifted up and stuffed down deep inside
the gullet of a lemon drop, and felt that I’d just died!
I woke up in a heavy sweat, as one about to scream,
confiding in my loving wife, I told her of my dream.

I was hoping for some sympathy, but she just yawned and said:
“Don’t eat so many sweets, you fool, before you come to bed!”

2009-08-14T19:30:00.000-07:00

MY DOG, THE MUSICIAN

My dog likes to play the piano,
He keeps me awake every night.
He's practiced since he was a puppy,
But still he just can't get it right.

He's soft and he's friendly and harmless,
Since he lost all his teeth in a fight.
Any pain is produced by his playing,
For his Bach is much worse than his bite.

2009-08-12T19:23:00.000-07:00

Umbrella Head

"I come from the planet Lotzarain,"
the peculiar creature said.
"My real name is ‘Putyabroliup’
but my friends call me Umbrella Head."

Then, as the heavens opened,
his head did just the same.
So I huddled close beneath it,
sheltering from the rain.

2009-08-10T21:30:00.000-07:00

Flu

A piglet didn’t feel too well,
He coughed and sneezed all day.
His mother took his temperature,
Called 'Vetline' right away.

A vet arrived, examined him,
And said “Without a doubt –
Another case of human flu;
There’s lots of it about!”

He handed out some tablets:
“Make sure that these are taken.
Take them all, and stay indoors –
Or you’ll end up as bacon!”

The piglet suffered for a week,
Then woke up feeling fine,
But shocked his mother when he said:
“That flu was such a swine!”

2009-08-07T00:32:00.000-07:00

Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door

An MP went to heaven
On account of being dead,
Knocked upon The Pearly Gates,
With confidence, he said:
“Hey! St. Peter! Let me in!
The rules say that you should!
I’ve worked so hard in Parliament –
All for the public good!”
How shocked he was, when,
From inside, St Peter gave a yell:
“This is just your second home!
Your main one’s down in Hell!”

2009-08-06T19:23:00.000-07:00

The Snake Oil Salesman

Demand for snake oil’s plummeted,
The salesman’s lost his job.
He checks the worldwide network
For suckers he can rob.

His eyes light on the British Isles
Where greed and sloth is rife.
He utilises all his wiles
To build a brand new life.

With worthless shares and dodgy loans
He earns a massive bonus.
Never mind inflated homes,
The jobless and the homeless!

Fools go on admiring him,
Until the great big crash.
Then they yell at government
“Oi! You lot! Where’s our cash?”

The Ministers and experts,
Like headless chickens running,
Scurry round in circles -
They didn’t see it coming!

The conman’s made his packet,
Cashed it in and fled,
Laughing as the rest of us
Are calling for his head.