The day after the kangaroos came, Graham the mad gerbil started hopping around like a mad gerbil.
What's up with you? said his wife Guinevere.
It's the kangaroos, said Graham. I want to be a kangaroo.
I'm no expert, said Guinevere, but I don't think gerbils can be kangaroos.
Life is so unfair, sighed Graham, and he sat down to write a letter to his MP.
The next day he went out to try to purchase a tiny pouch.
They did their best, my mom and dad.
It's not their fault I turned out mad.
So shut up, Larkin. Hold your tongue.
This be my verse. This be my song.
It was a very simple plan. I would persuade the octopus to go home with me, and then we would learn each other's language. With hindsight, I see that the very simple plan had a very simple flaw. The learning part should have come first. No amount of my incoherent persuasion could cross that language barrier. The octopus seemed quite patient with me, although I began to think it was smiling. I went back the next day to try mime. This time the octopus definitely wasn't smiling.
They were not long, my octopus days.
This is the way we write a poem
write a poem
write a poem
This is the way we write a poem
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we press delete
press delete
press delete
This is the way we press delete
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we start again
start again
start again
This is the way we start again
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we eat some crisps
eat some crisps
eat some crisps
This is the way we eat some crisps
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we watch tv
watch tv
watch tv
This is the way we watch tv
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we write a poem
no we don't
no we don't
This is the way we write a poem
On a cold and frosty morning.
How long until
our computers
want us to prove
we ARE a robot?
Perhaps when next the sadness comes,
I might pretend I'm out.
The sadness knocks distinctively,
I'll recognise its clout.
I'll hide inside a panda suit,
And wait with bated breath.
Perhaps I'll try the same approach
When visited by death.
The snow bear sang his song of snow
From far away, and long ago.
With every note, from last to first,
He sang as if his heart would burst.
He sang his loss, his grief, his pain,
His snow that would not come again.
His song was done, his vigil kept;
And afterwards the silence wept.
This poem is presently on display at the headquarters of the World Wildlife Fund UK.
I'm back in therapy again.
That's where I try
to find out why
I'm back in therapy again.
Phew!
Joan of Arc
Found nowhere to park
When touring Montmartre
By horse and cartre
Winnie the Pooh
Smelled as sweet as the dew
But wherever King Kong went
A terrible pong went
Sir Isaac Newton
Had a tooth filled in Luton
It was only a small cavity
But he viewed it with gravity
Noah's Ark had set sail
In the teeth of a gale
Unicorns were bereft
To find they'd been left
Some people write "grizzly"
When the context needs "grisly"
I don't think it's Freudian
And it makes me annoyedian
Blood
Is good
Generally speaking
Unless it's leaking
We sat around the living room
I think he said a prayer
Or did he do a magic trick
I really couldn't care
We sat around the living room
Our futures having fled
The vicar came to see us
But my mother
Stayed
Dead