Can We Party Today?

Bacon in the fridge,

eggs on a tray,

my dogs walk in

‘Can we party today?’

to which I respond:

‘I’m putting the shopping away

and I got stuff to do

so bugger off and play.’

The dogs go in the garden

find a mushroom to eat,

It’s like nibbling on acid,

one of natures little treats.

They wobble to the kitchen

and stand before me,

three crazy dogs

that are out of their tree.

I look out the back door,

see a mushroom there lays,

the dogs eye me up and ask:

‘Can we party today?’



I Am a Woodlouse

I am a woodlouse.

Sometimes people ask me:

‘Got wood?’

or if I am feeling lousy.

I find neither question

particularly amusing,

but then we woodlouse

are not known

for our wonderful sense of humour.

We are actually known

for our ability to roll into a ball

but only the genus armadillidium

of our species can in fact do that…

so there.


I am a Parrot

I am a parrot.

(I am a parrot! I am a parrot!)

This is apparent.

(This is apparent! This is apparent!)

I like repetition in poems.

(Repetition in poems! Repetition in poems!)

Did you know sick as a parrot,

(Sick as a parrot! Sick as a parrot!)

is an irrelevant saying,

(An irrelevant saying! Irrelevant saying!)

because I am fit as a fiddle.

(Fit as a fiddle! Fit as a fiddle!)

Now get lost

(Get lost! Get lost!)

And get parrot a cracker.

(Parrot want a cracker! Parrot want a cracker!)



(Get me a cracker, Jack! Get me a cracker Jack!)

and I’ll get you the gold.

(Get you the gold! Get you the gold!)

We parrots can read maps,

(We can read maps! We can read maps!)

didn’t you know?

(Didn’t you know? Didn’t you know?)


You didn’t know

(You didn’t know! Didn’t know!)

but it is fact.

(It is fact! It is fact!)

Parrot want a cracker.

Parrot want a cracker, Jack.


O Girl Get Under My Umbrella (the Acid Rain is Gonna Come)

O girl,

get under my umbrella,

the acid rain is gonna come;

it’s made of tin and nickel bits

and will save you ’til the sun.

O girl,

get under my umbrella,

the acid rain is gonna come,

you can sit with me

upon the beach

as fish mutate like salted slugs.

O girl,

its just regression

as the acid rain swiftly, softly comes;

it eats the cloth and skin and leaves the bones,

showing we are all one.

O girl,

get under my umbrella,

the acid rain is gonna come.

I’ll put my arm around you

as the world becomes undone

and we can laugh and joke

as that beefy bloke

shrivels and shrinks to none.

O girl,

get under my umbrella,

the acid rain is gonna come.

I can kiss you in the sharpness

as the pin pricks shoot like guns.

We’ll be safe beneath the umbrella

o, girl,

lets have some fun.

Why you shakin’ your head girl,

why you gotta run?

O girl,

I wanna romance you

I wanna kiss you in the rain.

O girl,

I wanna romance you

in a shitty shower that stains.

O girl,

you’re drivin’ me crazy,

O girl,

I’m so in pain.

My umbrellas dissolved to nothing

and this drizzle’s melting my brain.

O girl,

I just wanna hold you,

but my arms have turned to bone;

O girl,

do you think I deserve you

as I stand before you, the rubble of rome?

O girl,

you ran from love that hid under an umbrella

and left me here alone.

O girl,

you shoulda got under the umbrella

why did you have to run?

O girl,

we coulda had something special,

we coulda had some fun.

Blinded by Science

She blinded me with science.

I expected razzle dazzle, pomp, panache;

a bass line hook

and a crescendo crash.

Perhaps little birds and love hearts afloat,

holding warm hands

in Autumn coats

but no, nuh uh, not meant to be

for my fair maiden had a chemical science degree.

She made a potion highly potent

– created with a fine mass of math –

until she concluded the correct quotient

to throw in my eyes in a parks path.

‘My eyes, my eyes!’ my voice did bellow

as a hideous goo

poured out, brown and yellow.

The woman claimed to be a nurse –

a simple lie and my life’s curse.

She took me home

and cared for me well,

I fell in love,

fell for her spell.

I got down one day on bended knee

and she said “Over here!”

(because I couldn’t see)

I tried again

and she accepted

but I know her trickery

and now regret it.

We married in a church of glamour

with a funky priest

and black soul jammers.

When we returned from that church

she told me straight

about my curse.

The bitch, she knew my wallet was bulging

and she felt like a bit

of selfish indulging.

“I’m going on honeymoon”

she said with a smirk,

“With a guy called Stavros,

not you, you berk.”

She left me here

and took a plane

for sun, sea and sex

with a Turk in Spain.

Blinded by love?

No, just a fool reliant

on the devious bitch who blinded with science.

Turkey in a Stew

Turkey in a stew

heard it all before.

The tramps are coming in

wanting more and more.

What they don’t realise

is that it aint turkey stew –

it’s a stew boy, that’s assured boy,

but it’s made from me and you.

Turkey in a stew,

aint nothin’ going on

you better gobble down your food

and then you better run.

The last one in

is the first one served,

but this aint tennis though Guv;

aint no love in these words.

The shelter saves the hungry

by serving up this turkey stew.

Just make sure you get there early

or they might be serving you.

What Gets My Goat.

A list of things that piss me off:

people in cinema’s that cough.

Things that really get my goat:

Faux Del Boy charm and fur coats,

A 60p Kinder Surprise

and people who call quaint chips “fries”,

or the people that call death a “demise”

and cheaply filled cut fine steak pies.

But what really gets my goat

more than fake Del Boy charm or fur coats

is the celebs in glossy magazines

who haven’t had fame since the 90’s.

Peter Andre, Kerry Katona,

silly, petty, whiny moaners.

Katie Price and Alex Reid,

sell their soul for glossy greed.

Other things that wind me up

are England in the World Cup.

These spoilt and fattened little sows

trot about then whine and pout

when the game just doesn’t go there way

they’re ungrateful shits with too much pay.

People who laugh at their own jokes

and zero sugar diet coke.

Pubs that charge above the rates

are another thing I really hate.

Seven quid for a vodka and coke?

Now that’s what really gets my goat.

Little kids with guns and knives

choosing a life of crime over houses and wives.

Little kids playing games

on their computers, not getting grass stains.

Sitting indoors and putting on weight

and chatting online to their chubby mates.

The jokes that pause for laughs on Friends

and trying to write when you can’t find a pen.

Getting a line from a song in your head all day

or the three lots of tax we’re expected to pay.

The fact nothing is free when we’re in a “free” world,

Tim Henman at Wimbledon, he plays worse than a girl.

All of these things really drive me nuts

as does the idea that all gays are sluts.

Black jokes from the 70’s on movies modern

and C.G.I fests like Werewolves and Gollum.

The Twilight movies, God, I just can’t bare to look.

The movie is terrible “But you must read the book!”

A film should be good in it’s bloody own right

without me reading the book for a week every night!

And Twilight, O, Twilight, thanks, thanks a lot

for putting on my T.V more vampiric rot.

This is a list of things that piss me off

so I won’t go to the cinema if you have a cough

or pay a whole 60p for a Kinder Surprise

or ever call the humblest of humble chips “fries”;

I won’t be at the Twilight film premiere

or reading glossy magazines pretending to care.

I won’t laugh at Americanised O.T.T Friends Jokes

or be drinking zero sugar cokes.

These things really get my goat,

faux Del Boy charm and fake fur coats.

Edward Cullen, lean and mean

on the cover of a magazine…