colin-john-nicholls
English
Colin J Nicholls BAHons Eng lang/lit, MIET, MICW, Eng Tech; born Wednesbury in the heart of the Black Country. His first book of poetry (In my Mind’s Eye) was published in 2006 and was shortly followed by his first novel (The Turn of the Worm) 2007 and in 2008 his second book of poetry, (Star Gazey Boy), in 2009, his second novel (SCROOBY The Pilgrim Fathers), followed by more poetry (Time and a Third) and recently (Bostin Fittle). / / Colin is now retired after working for the education department of Sandwell where he was based at Hall Green Primary School in West Bromwich for 4 wonderful years loving his duties working with the local children and still finding enough time to devote to his second love of writing poetry and novels.
The missus wanted to go out;
I wanted to stay in.
So I did the washing-up
And emptied out the bin.
But still she wasn’t too impressed;
She was determined, I could see.
I needed to improve my odds
And it occurred to me;
Perhaps I should just toss a coin
To have an even chance;
So I suggested it to her
And she gave me such a glance!
She said, “You are so tight;
Have you a ‘double-headed coin’?”
I asked, “Would I do that to you?”
She said, No! Use one of mine!”
Then she handed me a ten-pence piece;
I tossed it in the air.
It hit my thumb as it came down
And bounced to who knows where?
Deciding it had found a crack
Right beside me in the flooring;
I went and fetched my tool-box out
And soon began on sawing.
“Leave it! It is just ten-pence!”
That’s what the missus said;
But I said that we didn’t know
Whether it was tail or head?
Seeing how determined I’d become
She left me on my own;
Went off in a strop
And soon began to moan!
I heard her say, “He’ll wreck the house
Just for a silly coin!”
She came to offer me another
But still, I did decline.
I smashed the tongue and groove
And slowly lifted up the floor
But when I looked into the space;
I took fright at what I saw.
There was a cavity right below;
Between the house-brick void
Because the coin was not around,
Well it must have fell inside.
So off I scurried down the stair
As fast as I could go
And with my lump-hammer and chisel
I gave such a mighty-blow!
About an hour later on
I’d smashed out half a brick;
The missus was annoyed with me
And said, ‘I made her sick!’
I pushed my hand inside the gap;
Then I ferreted about,
Got my hand stuck sideways
And could not get it out!
The missus grabbed me by the belt
Then she pulled with all her might;
She could not move me anyway
So she disappeared from sight.
She returned with Fairy-liquid
And squirted it on my wrist;
Pulling-it and pushing-it
I soon regained a fist.
But, there still appeared no coin;
My hand was black and blue!
The missus asked me to give-up;
There was nothing else to do.
She said it was too late now;
Even if we wanted to go out.
We might even have enjoyed ourselves
If I hadn’t mucked-about!
It seemed to me, she’d took the ****
I disliked her attitude
And after all the work I’d done
I found it very rude!
I said, “It won’t take long
To put it back together.”
She said, ‘she didn’t give one,
She’d reached the end of a long-tether!’
Off she went to bed
Without wishing me goodnight!
I followed her just after,
‘Cause I sensed things wasn’t right.
She was lying there in bed
With a face ‘as dark as sin’;
Said she had a throbbing-head
And that she didn’t want me in!
Off I went into the spare-room
Feeling like a condemned-man;
All I’d done was for the best,
If it hadn’t gone to plan!
At times like this, when I feel down,
I fancy something hot
So off I trotted down the stairs
And boiled-up the ***
Back inside the bedroom
With hot-chocolate in my cup;
I threw my trousers on the bed
And something fell from my turn-up.
Would you believe; it was the coin?
It really made me smile
After all the fuss I’d made
It had been there all the while!
I dashed right in to tell the wife
Thinking she’d be ‘chuffed!’
I said, “We’ll have to toss again!”
But she just yelled, “GET STUFFED!”
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:59 PM UTC
“Have you seen the chicichita?
I have waited hours to meet her.
I’ve been lurking in the wood
And truly, truly, mean no good.
I am hid behind this tree
Hoping that she won’t see me;
Her Mom will send her to see Gran
And I will catch her if I can!
I know she’ll have to pass this way;
So now I’m here, it’s here I’ll stay.
My teeth are sharp, clean and shining;
It will be no good her whining.
We are miles from Granny’s house,
Where it’s quiet as a mouse.
She can run and scream and shout
There will be no one about.
I think today I’m on a winner;
I’m going to eat her for my dinner.
Here she comes all dressed in red
With her hood upon her head.
Wait a minute, if I can,
I’ll go with her to visit Gran.
Then when my day’s works complete
There’ll be two of them to eat.”
“Where you off to on your own?
Don’t you feel unsafe alone?”
“I am off to visit Gran.”
“Well I’ll escort you if I can?”
“No! You can’t! I’m in a rush!”
She knocked him over with one push.
He followed her but had a trip;
That’s when the girl gave him the slip.
At Gran’s cottage, she was smiling, but
The Wolf had made a smart short-cut.
He was waiting in Gran’s bed
With the covers pulled about his head.
Gran was tied-up out of sight;
Following her awful fright!
The girl cried out. Good God, Oh Grief!
Twas then she’d seen the eyes and teeth.
This was not Gran; she was undone,
It looked as if the Wolf had won!
“Where is Gran?” She screamed and cried;
Believing that her Gran had died!
Now she was terrified and scared
But in the woods someone had heard.
In he dashed, with chopper waving
Knowing Wolf was misbehaving.
The Cutter chased him round the bed
Threatening to chop-off his head!
Wolf realized he’d lost the fight
And off he ran into the night!
In the cupboard, they found Gran;
Red Riding Hood then thanked the man.
His arrival, just in time
Means a happy-ending to this rhyme!
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:57 PM UTC
“No! You sit down and have a rest
In your socks, your shorts and vest;
I’ll wash the pots, the pans and plates
And put the bottles in their crates.
I know so much on you depends,
You have to have fun with your friends.
There’s oh so much for you to do;
After all, you carve the turkey too!
I’ll put the breakfast in the pan
And clean the windows, if I can!
No! Don’t move; don’t even budge,
Just you stuff your face with fudge!
I know it is a vital task
To entertain the friends you ask;
You keep them jolly, make them smile,
I think it’s right you rest a while!
Just raise your feet, I’ll Hoover under;
It’s not surprising and no wonder
That you’re tired and feeling poorly
Life has always dealt you cruelly.
You should have stayed all day in bed;
Especially with that banging-head!”
“You know I can’t, I wish I could
To make an efforts in my blood;
I’ll force myself, there’s a bus to catch,
I’ve got to go and see the match!”
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:56 PM UTC
Variegated colours of the late Autumn leaves
Rustle and blow in the gathering breeze;
Like the patchwork of a quilt hung out on the line,
Resplendent and dazzling; God’s own fair design.
They shimmer and sparkle like the sun on the seas
Hanging onto last life from the boughs of the trees.
Colours of rainbows like sails on a yacht
Until they fall to the ground where they wither and rot.
Replenishing soil to kick-start dormant seed
Thus bringing new-life to all that they feed.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:54 PM UTC
In the shed down the garden, beneath the bench,
By the ladders and paint and the old monkey wrench;
There’s a tea-chest that’s full of all sorts of scrap,
Bolts, nuts and screws, and an old water-tap.
In the house up the garden, sat by the fire
There is an old-man who was once a live-wire.
He’d chase all the ladies and dance the nights through
But now at his age he finds little to do.
So it wasn’t so strange that one day he decided
That it had been far too long since the shed had been tidied.
He put on his cap and his old working-clothes
And he marched down the garden where everything grows.
He was armed to the teeth with his broom, bags and bucket
To save further journeys what he needed he took it.
In earnest he started to raise lots of dust
Then he threw out the things that were covered in rust.
A Smithy by trade, he had a feeling for metal
For years he had cut it and worked to fine fettle.
So he got out his tools, then he thought for a while
And then began crafting from the bits in the pile.
With all that was useful, out of all that he’d got
With skill, slow and surely he produced a Robot.
It was four-feet in height; on two-legs there it stood,
He observed it with pleasure and thought he’d done good.
But it was just life-less; no movement, no speech,
The legs could not walk and the arms did not reach.
He sat there and fretted, he pondered and thought
Until it was dark, but his thinking brought nought.
Sadly, defeated, and through lack of light
He reluctantly said, ‘that’s enough for tonight.’
So he gathered up his tools and patted Robot’s head
And he went up the garden and retired to his bed.
Tired from his grafting he soon snored in deep-sleep;
Whilst down in the shed only wood-lice did creep.
The Robot stood there lit up by moon’s-rays
Void of a heart and without human-ways.
It was then when the rain started to drop
In cats and dogs, well it just wouldn’t stop.
Then came the banging big base-drum like
And shortly there followed a bright lightening-strike.
It flashed through the trees and right through the shed
There it struck Robot on the top of his head.
Smoke came from his ears and his eye started to roll,
His arms lifted-up and his legs took a stroll.
He walked up and down, then through the shed-door,
Then out in the garden where the rain still did pour.
He got to the house, where he knocked on a pane,
When the man awoke he thought he’d gone insane.
The Robot then shouted, ‘look here my good-fella,
Is there possibly a chance I could loan an umbrella?’
He rushed down the stairs, turned the key in the lock
He was all of a shake; still suffering from shock.
But from that day forth he was a man with great pleasure;
Enjoying the Robot he’d constructed in leisure.
Never was a man so happy with his lot
From the friendship he forged with the home-made Robot.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:52 PM UTC
Get on your box and all protest,
Here’s something that we all detest;
They’ve got no rights to push and tug
No better than a common ****
To run us over in the street
Or simply knock us off our feet.
They should act better than the rest
Hid behind a policeman’s vest.
Who should know better than to incite;
Joining in with every fight.
Lead by example not by force,
Put it in your training course.
What sort of message does it send?
If you’re the ones who do offend?
I hope they understand us fully
All the Nation hates a bully.
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:50 PM UTC
We doh cur fer fancy werters
Bring us bangers in mashed terters
Gie us pork-pie caressed wi mustard
Rhubarb crumble topped wi custard
If yo’ve got a full day werkin
Black-pudding, eggs, beans and bercon
Un doh keep saying, ‘it’ll do ya no gud!’
We wont loads o’ graerty pud
If yo’me hungry jus the job
A great big hondfull of suetey gob
Grannies rice-puddin wi a gob o’ jam
Branston pickle on hunied-ham
Fish-un-chips wrapped in old newsperper
Ma’s bread puddin, nah that’s the cerper
Un if yo’ve got a babby-sitta
Wash it daen wi Bonks’s bitta
Black-Country fowk doh wont fancy starters
We wont bercon wie grey farters!
Oct 4, 2011
Oct 4, 2011 at 1:48 PM UTC
I looked on and he looked back;
I wished and wished the glass may crack
But on and on I stared at me
And saw not what I used to be.
Instead I saw an image there;
Moulded hard by life’s despair,
Etched upon a lived-in look,
A tedious text, an epic book.
Many pages now dog eared
I saw a face I had long feared;
A face that age did now behold
Of molten limbs that now run cold,
A dynamo without youth’s spark,
A fading light with looming dark.
I turned my eyes to look away
But in my mind reflections stay;
I turn them back and still I see
The image there that once was me!
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 11:59 PM UTC
From the goblet slowly sipped,
Of the poison cunning slipped.
To his wife he gave a nod
Not noticing how she acted odd.
From the Bank his money waned,
His loving wife had gradually drained.
To be with her new found love,
Her husband gone to heaven above.
From the goblet slowly sipped
Dark red wine, which she had tipped.
With a powder from her hanky,
So she could play her hanky panky.
On his seat he rocked and swayed
Not knowing that his wife had strayed.
Into her loving eyes he stared
And she gazed back as if she cared.
From the goblet slowly slipped
Dark red wine, from lip it dripped.
But his wife she did not care,
She wanted him to leave her there.
In that grand house with swimming pool,
She smiled too think he was a fool.
For she would live there in that mansion,
With her lover, dark and handsome.
From her goblet she then drank
Until onto her knees she sank.
For whilst she did conceal the potion,
Both the goblets were in motion.
Revolving tables come in handy.
Red wine, fruit juice or fine brandy.
And so the tables turned, you see.
It was she that died it was not he.
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 11:55 PM UTC
Black widow, waiting for a strike,
Crouching small, behind your mike.
You love to see contestants cringing,
This is a quiz; it’s not a lynching.
Face ******* up behind her glasses.
I’ve seen better bums on lasses.
Centre spot on stage she poses,
A jagged thorn on jet-black roses.
She’d like us to believe, I think.
She’d never be the weakest link.
Superior look upon her face,
Shame about the old boat race.
What’s this I see? You have a degree?
Still, you’ll never be as good as me.
Who chose that dress? Don’t like the shirt!
She loves to dig and throw the dirt.
Oh! And you belong to Mensa.
I’ve never met anyone who’s denser.
This is a quiz, I hope you know?
You’re the weakest link; you’ll have to go.
She earns more money than the Queen.
She’ll never be an old has been.
Was she born or just invented?
Let’s hope the moulds been lost or dented.
Where do you come from? No don’t know it.
Still you’re common and you show it.
I’m from Liverpool; I’m a Scouse,
You ought to see my big fine house.
It’s easy when you have the answers; see!
Too believe you are much cleverer than we.
But you’re not that clever, Ann we think.
Oh and one more thing, I Hate That Wink!
Dec 29, 2009
Dec 29, 2009 at 11:52 PM UTC