The pleasure is mine
in a glass of wine

My pleasure is you
in the things that you do

The pleasure is ours
in all the shared hours
we are able to spend together

They're worth more than gold
or riches untold
a pleasure we'll treasure for ever

You write of apple picking, carborundum wheels
Swishing scythes and landscapes full of trees
A different place, a different time
But familiarity I find in images like these

Among the downy flakes
We feel your little horse's shake
As the woods fill up with snow

Your wife stares out the window
Standing by the sink
We wonder what she really thinks
The day you move into your country home

A stranger makes an offer for your trees
To sell for profit in the Christmas city
Three cents each is far too low, we agree
So they may stay and he can go

What unexpected face was that
She's sure she saw one winter night?
Alighting from the pony trap
She seeks him out by lantern light

Conversations written down
Stories from your time you tell
Glimpses, snapshots, daily life
Atmosphere conveyed so well

That day when 96 fans died
Through their teeth the police
They lied

They tried to give the fans the blame
Now hang your heads
In utter
Utter
Shame

First, the basics -
I may lose you quite soon here,
It won't matter though
I'll say bye now
I don't blame you
There is nothing to commend this poem
It deserves no likes
It has no rhythm, none at all.
No wisdom, humour or philosophy.
If you get this far, well done
I admire your persistence.
I dedicate it to the little **** on the internet
Who tried to defraud me of £130 last night.
It was unsettling, so I write for therapy.

Anyway, the basics -
Well maybe we'll leave them for another day
I have already used up too much of your valuable time
And there are loads of proper poems to read here
So off you go, all that other stuff can wait

There was a young man from Ceylon                                    Another man from Sri Lanka
Whose turkey went on and on                                                Penned an original tanka
Each piece on his plate                                                            ­ With himself he was pleased
He dutifully ate                                                              ­           But his friends they just teased
Till every morsel was gone                                                       And called him a silly old....wally


Turkey in soup, turkey in curry,turkey in sandwiches when in a hurry,turkey for breakfast,turkey for tea, fed up with turkey soon I shall be. Ways to eat turkey different and clever, man this turkey goes on for ever. Can we have something else now please, put the rest in containers to freeze.

Help me dig this tough old plant
roots all mats like a rasta's head
flowers look alright I grant
but it aims to dominate this bed

Blooming with a pretty yellow
don't remember by what name
dig it up with me good fellow
it's become a proper pain

Strongest fork, in real deep
coming out like rotten teeth
every bit now, fossick down
go to hell, what's this we've found?

Clanking heavy rusty metal
tumbles from the fork
that my dear - now I could be wrong -
looks rather like a blinkin' bomb!

So I made the call
local bobbies came look see
took a photo, got i.d.
then we made a cup of tea

Call the bomb squad, you can never tell
firing X-rays, diagnosis solid stable anti-aircraft shell
that was it, they took it away
the end of our unusual day

At this time of year Winter's grip is left behind
In every corner little signs of Spring we find
Birds are pairing up, snowdrops brave the chill
Life in the earth begins to stir
And yes, I love you still

I met a man with a bean moustache
All I could think of saying was Gosh!
You have got a bean moustache
Then he grew a green bean beard
Which everyone thought was very weird
But can you guess, he didn't stop there
Next he grew asparagus hair;
With compost in his cauliflower ears
He grew potatoes for years and years;
Out of his pockets sprouted leaves
And strawberry plants grew in his sleeves
Then much to even his surprise
His brain turned to cabbage,
Which sadly led to his rapid demise

Welcome to Vegas
Lasers shining at the moon
Gilding the lily

adoration we adore
criticism is deplored
reptilean eyes show no remorse
as silken smooth we subtley slither
closer now, invite a strike
or keep your distance
and your life

my teeth are hollow
so is my pen
venom flows
through both of them

My name is Dave, I'm polite and clean
I left my home in Aberdeen
To be your host, that is my task
All for the fun and a season's pass

So under the table with your feet
If you like garlic you're in for a treat
You'll sit and dine with cheapo wine
The recipes will work out fine
With fancy puds you will be nourished
All presented with a flourish

At the end of the week goodbye my friends
Next week I do it all over again.

Up the lift, must not be late
Find the ski school, they won't wait
Hello, and what's your name?
Do you think we ski the same?

Bend ze knees, don't lean back
Snake down in line, like on a track
This is how you need to be
It's counter-intuitive you see.

Under the lift, in full view
Two people collide
Ouch! I'm glad that wasn't me or you.

Stop for lunch, sit in the sun
Do the moguls, have your fun
But do take care, take care a lot
If you fall you may not stop.

It's nearly over all too fast
This morning's lesson is the last
"So 'ave you learned somesing? asks Jean-Louis
We all reply "Oui merci".

There is a vicar from Chelsea
Who alas is not very wealthy
Often he dines on communion wine
And curried bat from the belfry

He lights a lot of incense
To hide his flatulence
He gets a bit high
Perhaps that is why
His sermons never make sense



--The vicar gets his knickers in a twist--

The old church roof had seen better days
The pressing need was a serious fund-raise
So the vicar abseiled down the tower
As the village watched by the graves and flowers

With a flurry his cassock flew up in the air
Shocking pink he wore under there
Flapping around it covered his face
As he dangled there in embarrassed disgrace

Someone called the fire brigade
A turntable ladder came to his aid
When at last they got him down
Humbled and grateful he kissed the ground

She has a clever way with words
Says it how she feels
What you see is what you get
No messing that's the deal

A poet's eye for observation
Always taking stock
Toast not buttered to perfection
Jellyfish in the dock

She carries us along with her
We share her swings and dives
And see ourselves reflected
In this woman's eyes

Her feistiness, her generosity
Is often what I see
Perhaps one day I'll say hi
Milk, no sugar in my tea!

And she's funny too!

She's our woman who does
so she is
here once a week
her name is Viv
she sweeps the floor
washes the tiles
arranges the papers in neat little piles
flicks a duster across a few things
breaks a saucer
and gently places it into the bin

You wouldn't **** a man
Or **** a woman
Then **** her, normally.
But listen kid
You've got a gun
Have some fun
You're in the army now.

For the big occasion
She's lost a pound or two
Last minute jitters playing out
Something borrowed, something blue

Posies for the bridesmaids
Flower in her hair
The thought of all those people
Gets her feeling scared

Roller waiting, protocol demands
Be ten minutes late
Line up for some memories
By the old lych gate

Holding back tears of joy
She glides the aisle in a daze
Nervous smiles exchanged
As the ***** plays

A moment's pause, new shoe shuffle
Children struggle to behave
Baby words da da da
Echo down the nave

No impediments are known
As far as we can see
No one shouts out from behind
Yeah, it should have been me!

In the nearby meadow
The big marquee awaits
Congregation filters back
Through the old lych gate

The groom pays sincerest thanks
To everyone he should
The best man airs embarrassments
As we knew he would

The band strikes up, as they dance
The car is 'modified'
Lipstick on the window
Cans and balloons are tied

It's not a worn out cliche
As the night winds down they realise
They really have just lived through
The best day of their lives

How can I put into few words
What we think of her?

How can I say in just a few lines
How proud she has made us, so many times?

She is just a woman, but so much more
             A figure head
                         Ambassador
                                   Diplomat
                                           Sovereign bold

And like a sovereign
Worth much more
Than her weight in gold

" Hai,ku you tell me if da poet lives rondeau bout here? "

" Yes, he's in Limerick, it's trochee to find but I'll senryu
acrosticarpark and it's the ode place with red tiles sonnet,
number 5-7-5 called Villa Nelle. "

" Tanka."

This compulsion to share
What we feel, what we think
To open our hearts in permanent ink

This primordial urge
To do what we do
Where does it come from
Can you give me a clue

Do you remember your very first line
The very first time for you
Did the moment just flow
Was it so long ago
Did the duck go to water
Or the lamb to the slaughter
For you

To share is real nice
But it's for ourselves that we write
Maybe it's just our way
To stay afloat
So we can cope
With the junk thrown at us every day

We follow the bridleway that dissects the growing field of wheat, now dark green and vigorous after it's Spring dose of nitrogen. Pass the smouldering ruin of a bonfire which has been awaiting the torch for weeks. Charred black are two big sections of oak trunk which I considered purloining every time I passed, but decided they looked too heavy to move.

Reach the road, rein in the dog's lead, turn right. The thatch I renewed a few years back is definitely not looking new any more. Past the houses, past the one where the whistler lives. All the way across the wide East Anglian field I often hear him trilling, when we are both pottering in our gardens. He has a brick outhouse, probably a former loo or wash house. A thrush is sitting on top of the chimney and a blackbird on the weather vane, they look about four feet apart. I pick up a lager can, crush it and slip it in my back pocket. A pigeon climbs, claps its wings and glides back down. Jogger's footsteps catch up from behind. It's the chap who owns a Harley Davidson.

I turn back into our lane, a skylark is singing loud and clear above us to the left. A rabbit dashes across the lane a few yards ahead, disappears. The dog's ears go straight up and he eagerly sniffs its trail. Back home.

Paddy's faithful workhorse
It broke down by the gate
And he had forty acres
To plough and cultivate

Paddy lived all alone
Now that was a fact
So he wrote an advert
Somewhat lacking tact

WIFE REQUIRED URGENTLY
A MOST IMPORTANT FACTOR
IS THAT THE APPLICANT
SHOULD POSSESS A TRACTOR
AGE UNIMPORTANT, COLOUR DOESN'T MATTER
PLEASE ENCLOSE WITH REPLY PHOTO
OF SAID TRACTOR

An apple a day keeps the doctor away
A peach a day makes the eyeball stray
A lovely pair makes them stop and stare
Let's go home, I'm getting bored
With looking at stuff I can't afford

-          Wheel turns full circle           -
       Don Quixote would approve
-          Windmills used again           -

-  Winter is long
    But the sun shines
    In your art  -

I don't mind working on my own
It gives me time to ponder
While my body works away
My mind begins to wander

Dusty serenades the treetops
Pesky teasing squirrels
I sit on a tree stump
Pleasing little scribbles

Cut down, saw up
Cart, split stack
With a certain satisfaction
It seems to me
There's an ounce of poetry in that

I made an appointment, I was worried
Off to the doctor in a hurry
Doc I have a strange affliction
Sort of weird-beard word addiction
When I speak, every time
The words I say, they have to rhyme
Can you treat it, is it serious,
Or is my query simply spurious?

Doctor drew a heavy sigh
Looked at me with weary eye
Take these pills and in a day
Your condition will fade away

I said look doc, I think it's catchin'
Did you know your words were matchin'?
He said have you had your prostate checked?
I said I'm sure it's fine, backed off and left

.      
      big fat juicy worm                                  
blackbird fighting for his prize                
       tug of war ensues                                    


    storm discarded twigs
slow water under the bridge
   play poo sticks with me

It's time to write a poem
Don't know what about
First we need a subject
Nothing's coming out

The river isn't flowing
Nothing in the store
Read other people's poems
Pushing at the door

Raid the bank of memories
To supplement the day
Senses at the ready
Like a bird of prey

Then a spark, a glint, a flash
Clutch it with both fists
Take it home, examine it
Pull it all to bits

His ink flowed with fervour and speed
Certain the world had a need
To read his verse
But his thoughts were perverse
For nobody else agreed

-         imagination              -
in a boundless mind endless
-          possibilities              -

Slumping back in your chair
You hardly move your head
Gazing straight ahead you look
Like the living dead

Your feet are swollen like balloons
With little piggy toes
How you stayed alive this long
Heaven only knows

Your belly looks as though
It's about to pop
You're looking nine months pregnant
And about to drop

I'm sure you're very clever
But hardly very wise
When's the last time
You took some exercise?

Young Americans, all volunteers
Sampling English women and English beer
Over sexed, over paid and over here

In the scrubby bit next to Sally's house there used to stand another cottage. If you scrape away some soil you can find floor bricks. A german fighter tailed some bombers back, shot one down as it made its final landing approach.It crashed short, demolishing the cottage. When Sally first moved in there were bits of metal laying around and dials hanging in the trees. An old boy turned up one day, a surviving crew member. They gave him some bits of his old plane to take home.

On planes with names like
Frivolous Sal, Dauntless Dotty
Million $ Baby, Memphis Belle

Sylvia was a child during the war.They saw a german fighter shot down, the pilot managed to open his chute. He walked up to their house, knocked on the door and gave himself up. Sylvia's dad marched him down to the Police Station.

Braving the freezing hostile skies
Thousands and thousands of you guys
How can we thank you
After you've died?

Next to Diane's house, hidden in the trees are the remains of nissen huts built as accommodation for the airmen. Not much left after 70 years, a few concrete block walls. Now and again she used to see some misty-eyed old guy gazing into the trees.

Long after you're gone
The land remembers
Bears the scars
Of those few years of turmoil

David is a gardener in our village, nice guy, should have retired by now. Don't think his father ever kept in touch.