Thursday, 25 June 2009


In the little town of Fuller
In a house on Fuller Street
There lived the Fuller family
Their hair all trimmed and neat

They all had fuller figures
‘cause of course they ate too much
All except their terrier
Whose name was simply Butch

Now Butch was much to skinny
He looked just like a whippet
And every time his coat got thick
A Fuller had to snip it

The mistress of the household
who was by trade a fuller
was always fulling wool
no matter what the colour

and so the story goes
the Fullers bought a cat.
Didn't last the day though
the dog is fuller that.

last verse thanks to Keith Wallis

Wednesday, 13 May 2009

Frontline Flea

I’m just a little flea,
I don’t mean you no harm.
I always snuggle up
where it’s nice and warm.

I like a drop of blood,
every now and then.
Sometimes I drink too much
and go to sleep again.

I’m sorry if it itches
and causes you distress,
but if I don’t drink blood,
I’m really in a mess.

So please, treat me kindly
whatever else you do,
you always make more blood
so what is wrong you’?

Saturday, 11 April 2009

When I'm eighty four

There’s an old bloke in my mirror
Staring back at me.
He mimics everything I do
he’s got me to a ‘T’.

I know I look much younger,
I see this in my head.
But when I pass a mirror,
Well it’s just like what I’ve said.

Of course I’ve tried all sorts of tricks
But he remains nonplussed.
As for breaking every mirror
well I really can’t be fussed,

So I told him quite politely
whilst showing him the door.
‘run along now please old chap
Come back when I’m eighty four.'

Tuesday, 24 March 2009

I think I’ll write a poem
about a little bird
so when it’s read out loud
it’s the best you ever heard.

I think I’ll write it quick
'cos I reckon now't of slow
and by the time it’s finished
on you
it’s sure to grow.

The little bird will fly
yes, flit from bough to bough
the sweetest song
and warbling, yes and how

It will bless the hearts of those
who take the time to stop

to listen to the tune
and maybe, when they shop

They’ll buy some wild bird seed
and give it such a treat
if a `thank you` note
to make the job complete

Thanks to
Hannah Showler for editing suggestions

Monday, 2 February 2009

Odd Shoes

Ah gus daun tut butchers
t buy mi sum meat,
n when a gits theer
ah meets up wi owed Pete.

ah ses ‘ay up owd flower
ars ta gooin on?'
he ses ‘or reet owd luv,
ahm feelin reet strong.’

an ee gis mi a shuv,
a prope un reet.
as if wiart it
his life want complete.

an he started ter laugh
‘n’ guffaw ‘n’ roar,
‘n’ staring down like,
he gestured at floor.

Well ar can tell thi
Ah wha reet tekken aback.
Ah begun weighing up
Wether ter gi im a smack.

‘n’ utter expletives,
ah ornt ter repeat.
hi ses, ‘as thar seen thissen
thars odd shoes on thi feet.’

well ah can tell thi
ah wha proper put ahrt.
ivry one wah lookin,
ter see what it’s abart.

then a stroke of genius,
it ‘it mi in a flash.
'ave odd shoas on mi feet' ah ses,
'so as mi socks doant clash.'

Thursday, 22 January 2009

I haven't seen it for myself
but I'm assured it's there
and every time I think of it
I wonder if I dare
float over in a barrel
I think someone once did
I wonder if perhaps I could
make a world record bid

Monday, 17 November 2008

The Glass Onion

Two Rabbits were talking in their burrow one night,
“Did you see the glass onion”? “I did what a sight,
much worse than that scarecrow of old farmer Jones
I tell you what’s more, it shivered my bones.”

“What’s that”? Came a cry of despair from atop,
“More frightening then me”? “This, I’ll have to stop.”
Then there was silence and a pitiful cough ,
with shouting so loud his nose had dropped off.

“I say” said an Hedgehog, trundling along.
"What a wonderful carrot to sweeten my song”
“No singing here” said a mole with voice deep,
The dormouse said nothing cos she was asleep

Just then dawn broke and a chorus began ,
“Oh no!” wailed the mole as he swiftly ran,
disappearing from view, quick as he could,
the chorus continued and deep in the wood,

the Blacbirds sang in unison sweet,
with gusto, the day to properly greet.
The foxes, who tired from their nightly forage
heard Farmer Jones wife sing,
as she cooked the porridge.

“Tra laa troll trallee, tra laa troll tralloo”,
A song so sweet as the clear morning dew.
The Sun bursting forth with a song of his own
bid good day to the moon, who had started to moan.

“Is it that time already”? “Oh how can it be”?
And Farmer Jones wife poured another cup of tea.
“The cows will need milking,” a pigeon sweetly cood
"Mind your own business” said a frog, “you are rude.”

“What do you know” croaked a voice “well I’ll be blowed,
just you remember you’re a frog not a toad.”
“Do be quiet” said the cart horse with a flick of his head ,
“I’m sure it’s too early to get out of bed”

And so it continued like it does every day ,
with creatures all over having there say.
The Glass Onion? Well of course it’s still there,
people come for miles the phenominum to share .

Farmer Jones allows sightseers onto his land
and can now take a holiday down on the sand .
With bucket and spade he sits in the sun,
all due of course to a glass On-i-on.