My heart’s pumping,
My brain’s starting gun has fired,
Watching Stephen Hawking on TV
Has made me feel inspired.

He’s working out the laws of the Universe,
The mysteries of creation to unravel,
I still haven’t fully grasped the rules
Of either Monopoly or Scrabble.

He agrees that the Universe is made from string,
As the Super String Theory suggests,
Whilst I thought string was only good
For making fishing nets and vests.

He’s trying to work out what happened
Fourteen billion years in the cosmological past,
I can’t even work out what happened to myself,
The Friday before last.

He’s mathematically calculating what happens
On the edge of a Black Hole,
I’m mathematically struggling with additions,
And my seven times table.

Despite my lack of brain power, I’m inspired
To challenge Stephen Hawking’s theoretical Big Bang,
Surely if the Universe is made of Super String,
It would have been more of a Big Twang?

Literary critics don’t always like
The poetry what I do do,
They say it should all be recycled;
Flushed down the nearest loo ...
They say they cannot find a metre;
Although one works for the Water Board,
They dance all over my dignity;
My self-confidence they have floored,
They say me grammar is somewhat bad,
I think the word they used was appalling,
Their taloned claws, grip sharpened knives,
They give me quite a mauling.

But kind, gentle reader (grovel),
I’m sure that at least you understand;
That my thoughts are erratic explosions,
Not controlled, orderly or planned.

As long as my simple poems
Make you ponder, weep, or smile
I’ll carri-on regardless,
For it would all have been worthwhile.

I once had a relation-ship,
But she sailed far away,
Up anchored and set course to find
Another sheltered bay.

Our stormy and tempestuous affair
Had ended, sunk at last,
The current which pulled us apart,
Had run so strong and fast.

She didn't even wave, but left me
At low ebb, high tide,
Her face was stern, my head was bowed ...
My salty tears to hide.

My flag, alas, she flies no longer
From her stately mast,
Our swell affair was present tense,
But sadly now 'tis past.

She left full speed ahead, her sails
A'billowing like a cloud,
If happiness equals silence,
My heartbreak's cannons loud!

I stare from port, my eye on a star,
Bored, like a boat without rudder,
My emotions beached on a lonely shore,
Left to flounder and shudder.

A vessel like her will shore-ly land
Another love-struck fool,
I'm only one fish in a big big sea ...
And her heart is fathoms cool!

On the I C,
I C,
I C Bergs.

Their splendour
Leaves me
Lost for wergs.

You are the viola,
And I am your bow,
You are the mountains,
And I am your snow.
I am the song-sheet,
And you are my tune,
I am the night sky,
And you are my moon.

You are my true love,
The love of my life,
My best friend, my lover,
My soul mate, my wife.

A rover you were, all your working life,
But your conscience caught up with you,
You chose honourable re-tyre-ment and
You're now green through and through.

Once you greedily thirsted for petrol,
But finally kicked the habit,
And you now partake of fresh country air,
Just as rural as any wild rabbit.

In the past your throaty engine's roar
Out-decibeled the traffic's bustle,
But you now much prefer to listen to
The dry, restless leaves which rustle.

Alas your coachwork no longer gleams,
But you still retain all of your pride,
It's just your wish to be at one with nature,
As everything else you've tried.

A frosty morning is no deterrent,
To a well-seasoned convert like you,
It's just an unavoidable prelude,
To the sparkling spring-time dew.

Your days of road rage long since gone,
When you used to speed and scramble,
You're now content to pull to one side,
And be overtaken ... by a bramble.

Gleaming white meringue,
What made me buy it?
It's not part of my diet,
I'm inclined to bite it,
But I'm trying to fight it!

My conscience's view of it:-
Sugary,
Sticky,
Synthetic,
Sickly.

My stomach's view of it:-
Scrumptious,
Salivatating,
Seductive,
Sensepulsing.

Actuall­y:-
It's Inanimate,
It's Inconsequential,
It's Inanity
Is Innate.

In ...
Ate ...
Too ...
Late ...