Tag Archives: poetry

Terry, Jeff, Colin and Bob

Terry, Jeff, Colin and Bob went to sea in a rancid boat.
They took some jerky and plenty of Bud,
all wrapped in a t-shirt (covered in mud.)

Colin looked over to Bob on his left,
as they nodded then bellowed an ode to Terry ‘n’ Jeff.

“O’ Terry and Jeff, Teff and Jerry, what wonderful friends you are,
you are, you are, you are.”

Then Terry looked at Jeff and Jeff looked at Terry,
before both of them sicked-up on Bob’s shoes.
Yes both of them sicked-up on Bob’s shoes, his shoes.
Yes both of them sicked-up on Bob’s shoes.

Another week another slice of Friday Flash Fiction over at Rochelle’s blog. This week I bring you this piece of randomness based purely on the fact that the Owl and the Pussycat jumped straight into my brain-box when I saw the photo.

I can but apologise to what I have done to that wonderful nonsense poem.


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Balsa Wood

Balsa wood doesn’t rot

Does it not?

Apparently not.

How much have you got?

How much of what?

Balsa wood (that doesn’t rot).

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The Carpet Cleaner

As the millionaire Chairman knelt on the ground
the workers around him could do nothing but frown.
For the silver haired leader, an octogenarian,
was restoring the carpet to a sparkling new state again.

With more cash in the bank than the east side of Surrey
he scrubbed at the carpet with blood, sweat and hurry.
When asked why he didn’t just replace the duff tile,
he looked up and responded with a wink and a smile,

“It’s the little things, dear boy, that lead to the big.
If I replaced every carpet, each time Sue dropped a fig,
I’d never have got to where I’ve got to today
(with Rita in Gloucester, and Joan in Herne Bay.)”

“Take care of the pennies and the pounds, they will follow.
A carpet cleaned here, means Sushi tomorrow.
Or lobster with Megan, in Clacton-on-Sea,
You’ll be tickling the rich, boy, take it from me.”



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That Flag

That flag up in my window,
the one of red and white
It doesn’t mean I’m racist,
or looking for a fight.
It doesn’t mean I’m ‘chav-scum’
or ‘simple’ and on the scrounge.
It doesn’t say I’m full of hate,
or I’d kick you when your down.

That flag displays my passion,
support for England’s boys.
It shows my love, my dreaming,
my trust in them and Roy.
It says it’s time for football,
on an international scale.
It says I wear 3 lions
on my shirt, my heart, my smile.

So even though they’re miles away
I’ll hang my flag for them.
For Wayne, Joe, Glen,
and Chamberlain,
for Raheem and Studgie-D.
For Cahill, Hendo, LaLaLa
and our maestro, Stevie G.
Come on England!



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Running Man

When my brother phoned and told me

that he was going for a run,

I never thought one moment,

it would be under the starter’s gun.


He said he’d do a marathon,

(to me an age old Snickers).

But no, it was the runny-kind.

I couldn’t help but snigger.


It reminded me of the time he called

and said, “She’s expecting twins!”

I laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed

then laughed some more at him.


He took it well, whilst still in shock,

and carried on his life.

Preparing for the inevitable:

1 Ayla, 2 twins, a wife.


Then things went strange;

I got a call, to babysit my Ayla.

I didn’t ask. I grabbed my keys

I was there, in half an hour.


It didn’t matter that the duck I’d bought,

was cooking in the pot.

Or the plum sauce to accompany it,

was left aside to rot.

(no really, don’t mention it.)


So that’s when unlucky Selma,

was diagnosed with palsy.

But the docs had checked her baby bump

and said that all was rosy.


A few weeks on, the twins arrived.

The emotions began to flood.

The girls were made to stay on ward

with complications of their blood.

They’re fine now of course,

our little mountain goats.

Never shy, always fun

and (still) wearing matching coats!


But Sel still wears the scar of this;

she has done for a while.

Whilst happy on the inside,

she finds it hard to smile.


So that’s what made my brother

put on his running shoes,

and beg you all for money

until his face turned blue.


He raised well over 1,600 quid,

(he’d aimed for only half.)

And now he’s home, with blistered toes,

relaxing in the bath.


To Rew, I say, well done, well run,

Are you signed up for next year’s?

To those that gave some hard earned dosh

Thank you, good work and cheers!



Congratulations, Andrew, you’ve done yourself, your family and the Facial Palsy charity, proud. If anyone reads this and still wants to donate then please, you can do so here.

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