Looking for George

Bingo’s in a Beatles band,
In fact he plays the drums,
He’s always got a pair of sticks,
Resting on his thumbs.

Lennox plays the Lennon role,
He likes to play the fool,
But also plays harmonica,
On songs like “Love me Do”

Lizzie plays the base guitar,
She sings like Paul McCartney,
And even though she’s not a bloke,
She knows just how to party.

They haven’t got a George right now,
The last one ran away,
So if you play guitar yourself,
You could save the day.

The Sweet Spot

Here’s a boy who lost his legs,
Whilst crossing on the street.
He’s now a web designer,
So he doesn’t need his feet.

Hannah, though she cannot see,
Wow, what about that voice?
She wants to be an opera star,
Her life, her chance, her choice.

Brain lost his own right arm,
When falling from a tower,
But when he runs, he almost flies
At 60 miles an hour.

Sally may be slow to learn,
But she can colour in,
She paints just like some famous guy,
Vincent Van Something.

Talents hide in every brain,
So work with what you’ve got,
For when your talent starts to shine
You’ll find the sweetest spot.


Like Me

‘Like me’, go on ‘like me’ now,
I need to have those thumbs,
I log on 50 times a day,
Talking to my chums.

Befriend me, go on click me now,
Or send a social wave,
I won’t be pushy, or intrude,
I promise to behave.

I need to up engagement,
To show I’m centre stage,
So go on, be a sport my friend,
Please just like my page.

What if we run out of likes?
No more to be found,
We’ll have to switch the smart phone off,
And ask some mates around.




There’s snow on the beach, on the Isle of Wight,
It will be very cold tonight,
The pirates and smugglers are out and about,
All dressed in white to blot themselves out.

The Priest on the shore, with cart and horse,
Taking the brandy over his course,
Up through the chine, and down to the church,
Into the cellars, where no one will search.

Many’s the penny he’ll make in the town,
As he heads up the valley, over then down,
Back to the church, now hidden away,
The best night’s work he’s done all day.

But then in the vestry, scuffles, a scream,
And excise men rush onto the scene.
They capture the Priest, red handed at last,
Off now to prison, his smuggling days past.

The Priest asked his captors, how did they know?
“We followed your footprints, here in the snow”.
They say out of sight is all out of mind,
But not if you leave a trail behind.



Pussykins & GoldenPaws

Pussykins the Spy Cat,
Just in case you missed her,
Is a sneaky peaky pussy cat,
Who works for the Prime Minister.

She once was on a dreadful case,
With nervous Shaun the Prawn,
Hunting down old GoldenPaws,
All through the night, till dawn.

They made it to his hideaway,
A snowy mountain side,
And got him in a cable car
All paws were quickly tied.

Some say she likes her morning milk,
Shaken but not stirred,
And keeps her claws especially sharp,
Her motto, “be prepared”.

Pussykins was nearly toast,
In a Chip Shop fryer
When she captured Catgut Karl,
Escaping through the fire.

She keeps a little microphone,
Strapped behind her ear,
And bugged the halls of Washington,
So the Queen could hear.

You’ll find her often sitting,
On the top of some old fence,
Looking like she’s half asleep
But that is just pretence.

She’s watching mouse manoeuvres,
Or signalling her base,
Getting new instructions,
For her next exciting case.

She’s had some great adventures,
And there are lots to tell,
So If I start to write them down,
I’ll let you know as well.

The Miser’s Guest House

“Come and rough it, before you snuff it”
Said the sign above the door,
“Don’t run off without paying the bill,
Said another, on the floor.

“Breakfast starts at 9 am,
And finishes, 9.15.
Don’t stay out past 10 at night
And keep your bedrooms clean.

Dinner will be served at 5,
Just then, and on the dot,
And don’t forget it’s bingo night,
In case you all forgot.

Yes we’re really near the sea,
It only takes a bus,
And then a fifty minute walk,
But why have all that fuss?

Stay here and watch TV instead,
Just 50 pence a minute,
You’ll find a slot behind the door,
Please pop your money in it.

You said you wanted wifi?
That’s just twenty pounds a day,
But if you want the faster one,
Stand outside in the Bay.

We change the towels every week,
But only if they smell,
We wash the bed sheets once a year,
And do the loo as well.

We used to be much bigger,
But a wall fell down last week,
It’s just the sort of risk you take
When living by the creek.

Your children, they look lively,
Please keep them in the rooms,
They’re not here to enjoy themselves,
Or break our posh heirlooms.

A shame that you’re on holiday,
When it isn’t very sunny,
But put your feet up, just relax
Whilst we take more money.

I hear you want the heating on,
Have you got a chill?
Here’s an extra blanket now,
I’ll put it on the bill.

I know you’re leaving us today,
So take a nice packed lunch,
How about some grapes as well?
Ten pounds for a bunch

We hope that you enjoyed your stay,
Sorry, we must dash
Come back soon, we’ll be here,
Just waiting for your cash”.

The Ballad of Sycamore Row


I grew up living in Sycamore Row,
Where the sun shines bright and the tall trees grow,
And the farmers reap just what they sow,
The pace of life, well it’s rather slow.

So I packed my bags and ran for the hills
With my old guitar and some dollar bills
And checked into some old motel,
On the highway by the Wishing Well.

When the money ran out I hitched a ride
In a beat up Chevy with a guy called Clyde
He said he’d take me to the other side, but
His truck broke down and his engine fried.

So I set off walking down the railroad track,
Until I reached the station, then I jumped on the back
Of the late night mail train bound for the coast,
And slept beneath the mail bag post.

The train kept going through the night,
As it traveled east towards the light,
I could almost smell the sea, when I
Realised someone sleeping next to me.

She told me that her name was Brie,
And she’d run away to find someone like me,
So she held my hand as the sun came up,
And I let her share my coffee cup.

Then she said “do you know where I really wanna go?
To a small town east of Colorado
Where the sun shines bright and the tall trees grow,
There’s a cute place there called Sycamore Row”.

So I’m back now living where the farmers sow
Where the sun still shines, if you wanna know,
And I love my life and my new wife,
I even quite like Sycamore Row.

Painting Pictures in the Sky

If we all turn off the lights,
What then will we see?
Is there just a load of darkness
Staring back at me?

No! A million, zillion stars,
Are shining in the sky,
You can pick out shapes between them,
Using your mind’s eye.

Can you see Orion’s belt?
Well why not make your own?
A bear, a chair, some underwear,
Perhaps a wishing bone?

First you focus on the stars,
And then the space between,
So in the corner of your eye,
The pictures can be seen.

Your mind will then fill in the blanks
And try to recognise,
A hidden shape, or path, or word
And send it to your eyes.

Paint your pictures in the sky
And you will always be
A person who has big ideas,
And draws them carefully.

The King of Knotty Ash

The Man who said “How Tickled I am”
Has shed his mortal coil,
But downcast faces, sad old friends,
Would make his red blood boil.

I think he’d want to see us laugh,
And use our chuckle bones,
We’ll watch those clips of his old shows
Then share them on our phones.

His singing, an acquired taste,
His clothes were sometimes brash,
But he will be remembered
As the King of Knotty Ash.

The Royal Seat

Warning, Hot Stuff!

Queen Victoria, later in life,
Ate curry when she lunched,
Did she use a knife and fork
Or fingers when she munched?

I bet she had a silver plate,
Perhaps a larger spoon,
To scoop up all the runny bits,
In the afternoon.

Did she order takeaway?
King prawn vindaloo?
I bet she spent a lot of time,
Sitting on the loo.

My Superhero Mum

I know a magic Mummy,
Who has super human skills,
She’s a real Wonder Woman,
Or a Batman, but with frills.

She flies about the place all day,
and never rests at night,
No one else can beat her,
When she’s breaking up a fight.

She has a way of seeing you,
with her X ray eyes,
And knowing when you tell the truth,
and when you’re telling lies.

She’s always there to win with love,
Defender of your pride,
She’s totally invincible,
And always by your side.

But most of all, when things get tough,
She‘ll rebuild half the World,
And never run away from you,
As life around you swirls.

I’m thankful for the magic,
For everything she’s done,
And every time she’s saved my skin,
My Superhero Mum!

The Musing Spell (good magic)

Backwards forwards,
Up and Down,
Inside out
In a warlocks gown,

Crafted by wizards,
with rhyming and song,
In ivory towers
where dragons belong.

Higher lower,
Spinning round,
Magic musing
Must be found.

Poetry potions,
For falling in love,
Or sailing on words
Seen floating above.

In out,
In cooling air,
One last jump,
and then we’re there.

For moments when everything
falls from the sky,
A muse will amuse,
And the world will get by.

And here he is!
That loveable muse
What does he look like?
You can now choose.

How will you dress him?
What does he wear?
Has he an overcoat
or underwear?

Should you dye his hair orange?
Or paint his hands blue?
You can decide now,
Is all up to you! 

A February Morning by the Sea

We must go to the beach today,
Let’s walk along the prom,
In coats and gloves, and bobble hats,
To see what’s going on.

The kiosks are still boarded up,
The season’s not begun,
Eastern winds swirl round the bay,
No warmth yet in the sun.

And yet, it’s busy on the front,
Easter, weeks away,
Painters, builders, salesmen, cleaners,
“Lots to do” they say

Deliveries are coming in,
To fill the sea front stores,
The deckchair man is painting stripes,
On twenty beach hut doors.

Café Owners buy their stock,
Of giant coffee tins,
Whilst Council workers on the path,
Are cleaning litter bins.

The theatre puts a poster up,
To sell the summer shows,
The Pier erects a brand new sign
“Open soon” it glows.

Everyone’s excited here,
The season is approaching,
“This year”, they say, “will be our best”,
At least that’s what they’re hoping.

We sit and watch these busy folk,
We’re lucky living here,
To see the seaside waking up
and start another year.

Pussykins the Spy Cat

Pussykins the spy cat,
Was not like any other,
She spent her time, fighting crime,
And often undercover.

She sometime wore false whiskers,
Or changed her coat to white,
But mostly she had snowy paws
With fur as black as night.

Her missions sent her round the world,
She was a travelling cat,
Who snook on planes, boats and trains,
But never paid for that.

Pussykins the spy cat
Often worked for the prime minister,
On foreign shores, and on all paws,
Anything that was sinister.

It was said she had at least nine lives,
But eight had been and gone,
Yet Pussykins was sharp as knives,
She knew just when to run.

Where she is now, I cannot say,
And you must never learn,
But if the country needs her back,
Pussykins will return.

Climbing Trees

Scruffed up trousers, dirty knees,
Today we’re outside climbing trees.
Ancient oaks on the village green
And Sycamores by the old mill stream.

Tall and strong, these sky-stairs stand
Proud old watchers on the land,
Nodding slightly in the breeze
“come and climb up if you please”.

The hardest part is getting going,
Finding footholds, slipping, slowing
Faces press against the bark,
Hugging tree trunks in the park.

And then we reach the lower boughs
With dripping sweat upon our brows,
Here we rest, take in the view,
And climb on up, refreshed anew.

Higher, higher, don’t look down!
But straight ahead, to the distant town
Or out to sea and the fishing boats,
With sailors in their overcoats.

This hallowed place, here in the tree
Just me, the air, the land, the sea.

So after sitting still for hours,
It’s time to climb down these watchtowers,
Slow at first, then in a rush,
We slide, then skid, our faces blush.

The world above is in retreat
And then we’re back upon on our feet.
The world around looks different now,
My viewpoint has been changed somehow,

You’re never quite the same you see,
Once you climb down from a tree.

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