Christmas Day in the Dog House

Christmas day in the dog house!
His presents missed the spot
(By quite a massive margin),
In fact, he missed the lot.

He’d liked that kitchen bucket,
Green with yellow trim,
But she just stuck it on his head,
And said NO LUNCH to him.

And what about those Marigolds?
With reindeers down one side,
He said that they would save her hands,
But now he’s locked outside.

That leather size 8 mini skirt
Had caused his wife to curse.
When he suggested Slimming World
It seemed to make things worse.

That was all last Christmas,
When everything turned bad,
This year the man was hoping for the
Best Christmas he’d had..

He’d done some careful research,
Even asked her friend’s advice,
Saved up throughout the summer,
And planned for something nice.

Then the big day came at last,
And presents they exchanged,
He held his breath, and fearing death,
He promised that he’d changed.

“I never really thought about
Everything you do,
You keep our lives in order,
And I’m so in love with you

You are my real princess,
And the treasure in my life,
I am so very lucky just to
Have you as my wife”

He looked into her eyes and said,
“You are the gift I’d choose,
But also, Happy Christmas, and I’ve
Booked us on a cruise.

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The Gift

“We cannot use the Sleigh you say?”
Said dumbstruck Santa Clause,
The sleigh was grounded, deemed unsafe
By elf and safety laws.

The snow runners were buckled,
And made an awkward hissing,
Frost had rusted up the rails,
And Rudolf’s nose was missing.

Throughout the summer season,
the work had not been done,
Forgotten, left alone to rust,
Ignored by everyone.

Call the Elf mechanics!
Find that reindeer nose,
Santa needs his sleigh tonight,
To travel through the snows.

Hauled into the garage,
So sleigh repairs could start,
Metal fixed and bolts were tested,
Bits were pulled apart.

“I think I’ve found the problem”,
Claimed an Elf under the Sleigh,
“Some’s turned the Care switch off,
So Hope has gone away”.

Without a Care we’re finished,
Without a Hope we’re lost,
A caring warming heart will always
Melt away the frost.

Well Santa’s sleigh was sorted,
They turned the switch back on,
And all the children got their gifts,
So joy to everyone!

The message in this story,
Is “caring lights our way”,
And isn’t just for Christmas,
But a gift for every day.

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Being Here

Racing blindly round the bend,
Jumping forward to the end,
Skimming over boring text,
Chasing after what comes next.

The fresh allure of pastures new,
Promising a better view,
The greener grass, not far away,
Inviting us to come and stay.

We never look before we leap,
Landing somewhere way too deep,
Fast-forwarding to what comes next,
Missing out on life’s subtext.

Life shouldn’t be a constant race,
Let’s vote today for slower pace,
And take some time to figure out,
What being here is all about.

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Alfred’s Great Adventure

Alfred was a Polar Bear,
Who lived on Arctic ice,
And liked to spend his evenings
Underneath the Northern Lights.

One night whilst he was snoozing,
After quite a day,
The ice sheet he was sleeping on,
Snapped and broke away.

Poor Alfred didn’t know it,
For he was fast asleep,
But on he floated through the night,
Above the oceans deep.

At last Alfred was woken,
By the sunshine in his eyes,
He raised a lazy eyelid,
Then stood up in surprise.

He could see a palm tree,
On a beach of golden sand,
And a group of complete strangers
All with iphones in their hand.

Yes, they made him welcome,
It was nice to feel the sun,
He liked to go out surfing,
And he had a lot of fun.

But soon, he missed his snowy home,
He longed to be back there.
At times he thought, this isn’t me,
I am a Polar Bear.

Next day when Nordic Cruises,
Sailed into the bay,
Alfred took his chance and he 
Became a stow-a-way.

He had to stay well-hidden
For twenty days and nights,
But then he heard the captain say
“Behold, the Northern lights!”

Alfred leapt up full of joy,
He raced off on his own,
It was nice to have adventures,
But much nicer to be home.   

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Stormageddon

Gusty Gertie blew into town,
Knocking all of our houses down,
She smashed the new Town Hall to bits,
Leaving just a pile of sticks.

A hoarding just blew down the street,
It knocked the news crew off their feet,
It’s like some classic movie scene,
Surreal, a dream, not real I mean.

A lorry slides across the road,
The diesel station will explode.
Bits of trees fly through the air,
A washing line, some underwear.

People run for basement safety,
Despite foundations looking shaky,
Some are fleeing in their cars,
Whilst others hide in downtown bars.

Then nothing. Everything goes still,
No one moves, or breathes, until
We know the worst of it has gone
And peace returns,
And life moves on.

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Lighthouse poem

Fair weather friends,
where are you now,
has rain washed you away?
So much for all
those welcome smiles,
is all that I can say.

Life can get
uncomfortable,
and storms can rage around,
but friends, they are
an anchor,
and a fog horn warning sound.

So when your ship
hits stormy seas,
and you need my support,
I’ll still be here,
And have no fear,
I’ll help you in to port.

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9am on the beach

The roar of the waves,
as they break on the beach,
not yet drowned out,
by the clatter and screech,
of girls in bikinis,
in Instagram poses,
and dads rubbing sun cream
on foreheads and noses.
A sunbow of parasols,
will be displayed,
as lots of hot bodies,
set up in the shade.
The sand freshly raked,
and the sun loungers neat,
waiting for tourists
to put up their feet.

Oh the peace on the beach,
at the start of the day,
before all the tourists
get in the way.

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My Bin is NOT a number!

My bin has a new number,
It wasn’t there before,
It’s down to our new neighbours’,
Who moved in right next door.

My bin don’t want no number,
It’s downcast, and depressed,
It doesn’t really want to feel
A bin like all the rest.

They stuck that number on him,
without checking first you see,
It’s like they’re sort of saying
Don’t you mix your bins with me!

My bin is so brow beaten,
labelled number 2,
And all the world now knows it,
‘Cos it’s stuck on there with glue.

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Natural High

We went to find the big outdoors,
A plan we’d had for weeks,
To head off on a great escape,
And climb the highest peaks.

Our rucksacks were so heavy,
With coats piled up on top,
Woolly hats and picnic mats,
And drinks for when we’d stop.

First we crossed the stepping stones,
Squelching in the clay,
Wearing hoods, then through the woods,
We were on our way.

We climbed up through a steep ravine,
Our legs were feeling weak,
Past the mill, then higher still,
We climbed towards the peak.

And as we reached the very top,
Relieved that we were there,
Nothing else above us,
Surrounded by the air.

The city was a distant speck,
A million miles away,
All the World below us,
We were mountain kings that day.

And In that moment, on the peak,
Neither of us had to speak,
For on that mountain in the sky,
We had found our Natural High.

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River Cycle

High up on the mountain top,
the storm clouds all are spent,
rain has fallen to the ground
to start the long descent.
As it reaches tipping point,
the power is unleashed,
racing down the mountain side,
a liquefying beast.
Rocks are tossed aside like leaves.
The silver creature roars:
“I’ll tear your river bank to shreds,
and creep under your doors”.
It slithers into villages,
where others join the pool,
roaring through the countryside
on gravity as fuel.
Flowing through the old canals,
some water slips away,
captured by the reservoirs,
saved for another day.
But then, at last, a coastal view,
the sea not far to reach,
it nips under the promenade,
and heads off down the beach.
Here the river meets the sea,
but no rest for the rain,
the clouds soak up the water drops
and start off once again.

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Boxing Day Blues

I’ve got those Boxing Day Blues,
Whilst my stomach reviews
All the food that I ate yesterday.
Did I really choose,
Such a vast range of booze?
My kidneys are melting away.

That one day of mirth,
Increases my girth,
Oh the food that now sits on my hips,
I’ll hope for rebirth,
and increased self-worth,
With a diet of gym memberships.

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