"sindy" poems
It's that time again folks,
Bikini weather,
Well, maybe not for me.
The six stone babes are out in force,
But i am ten stone three,
I daren't go out with such big *****
Those girls are small and pert,
I think that i'd make two of them,
I think i'll wear a skirt,
Oh look, the ice cream van approaches,
I'm going for a poke,
Those girls need two egg cups and string,
But i need two buckets , and a rope!,
I look with dread upon my thighs,
And sigh a moan of stress,
While barbie and the sindy dolls,
Could wear my shawl for a dress,
So in i go, indoors for now,
Til the sunshine turns to wet,
Please god, if you can't make me thin,
Then please make my friends fat!!!!
Jun 14, 2010
Jun 14, 2010 at 9:47 AM UTC
Whence he came a bus driver
he'd always have somewhere to be.
Somewhere to go
Whence he came a bus driver
noone would ever have to know
He'd never be lost and alone
Driving down the road
He once called home
But alas he is once again there
Imagining the midnight fair
His bus got warm
Whence outside was windy
His bus was cold
Her name was Sindy
The street of which they ruled
King and queen they had ever'one fooled
He swore he'd never again drive lost
Down that road that cost
For whence he came a bus driver
He'd always have somewhere to be
He wouldnt have time
To get lost in the rhyme
Of the king and queen to be
He loved her so
But whence she saw his show
She coughed and ran
She laughed and span
And kissed his love to be
After that day he swore
He'd never drive the street
For if he killed another
If he trapped their feet just under
The wheels on his bus burnt umber
If they were lost in games
And his bus slipped on the rain
Life could not go on
On their empty lonely street
He knew he'd change another
Possibly **** his lover
Down that empty lonely street
He'd forget about their show
And nobody would know
Whence he came a bus driver
Mar 14, 2014
Mar 14, 2014 at 11:44 AM UTC
Mr Parsons made it sound exciting.
But mum told Joan that she was wicked.
She wasn’t allowed her dolls for a week,
a week she spent bemused and resentful
and she refused to poo for three days
until mum relented and gave her Barbie back
– but the rest would have to wait.
It had begun with Mr Parsons at Sunday School
with the story of the blind man and the mud and the spit.
We’d sat on the adult chairs in a circle
Me, Joan, Gemma, Charlie, and the Brown sisters.
knee to knee in a circle in the corner of the hall,
the one with the draft and the stacked chairs reminding us
that we were the remnant of a once thriving community.
He told us how Jesus made a paste of mud and spit
[Charlie thought this hilarious and spat at Gemma,
so he had to stand with his nose on the wall for the rest of the lesson]
and how Jesus slathered it on the man’s eyes and then told him
(unnecessarily we thought) to go wash it off.
It hadn’t worked first time – was that a first for Jesus? we speculated
and the second time the bloke saw people again
but he was told to keep it secret, which made no sense.
So that afternoon, after dinner, Joan got mud from the garden,
and pasted it onto Barbie’s legs which were abnormally long and made her topple over
and on my action man’s face on account of his ****** scar
which I thought looked cool, but was curious to see what happened.
She pasted it on Ken and Sindy too, but not for any specific ailment.
She followed the prescribed method, slather, wash and then repeat
(which I think she enjoyed a little too much to be honest)
but after the second wash there was no sign of any healing,
perhaps because, like mum said, she was so wicked,
unlike Jesus of course.
I’d never seen mum go that colour – she was livid,
she told Joan to go wash the mud stains off her hands
and to put her dress in the wash.
Joan couldn’t be Jesus and it was wrong to think she could.
That sort of thing wasn’t for little girls.
The next Sunday Mr Parsons seemed a little miffed.
He and dad and mum sat in the hall, knee to knee for ages.
I thought we were for the high jump,
but afterwards mum looked like a school girl caught stepping out of line.
Mum was very quiet and at dinner dad said that she had something to say
- to our horror, she apologised in front of all of us
and she told Joan it was okay to try and do what Jesus did.
It was what he would have wanted.
We were so ashamed for my mum
- neither of us tried to be Jesus ever again.
Jun 19, 2022
Jun 19, 2022 at 2:57 PM UTC
Mr Parsons made it sound exciting.
But mum told Joan that it was wicked. She wasn’t allowed her dolls for a week, a week she spent bemused and resentful and she refused to poo for three days until mum relented and gave her Barbie back – but the rest would have to wait.
It had begun with Mr Parsons at Sunday School with the story of the blind man and the mud and the spit.
We’d sat on the grown up chairs. Me, Joan, Gemma, Charlie, and the Brown sisters, knee to knee in a circle in the corner of the hall, the one with the draft and the stacked chairs reminding us that we were the remnant of a once thriving community.
He told us how Jesus made a paste of mud and spit [Charlie thought this hilarious and spat at Gemma, so he had to stand with his nose on the wall for the rest of the lesson] and how Jesus slathered it on the man’s eyes and then told him (unnecessarily we thought) to go wash it off.
It hadn’t worked first time – was that a first for Jesus? we speculated and the second time the man saw people again, but he was told to keep it secret, which made no sense.
So that afternoon, after dinner, Joan got mud from the garden, and pasted it onto barbie’s legs which were abnormally long and made her topple over. She then pasted it on my action man’s face on account of his ****** scar which I thought looked cool, but I was curious to see what happened. She pasted it on Ken and Sindy too, but not for any specific ailment.
She followed the prescribed method: slather, wash and then repeat (which I think she enjoyed a little too much to be honest) but after the second wash there was no sign of any healing, perhaps because, like mum said, she was so wicked, unlike Jesus of course.
I’d never seen mum go that colour – she was livid, she told Joan to go wash the mud stains off her hands and to put her dress in the wash. Joan couldn’t be Jesus and it was wrong to think she could. That sort of thing wasn’t for little girls ...
The next Sunday Mr Parsons seemed a little miffed. He and dad and mum sat in the hall, knee to knee for ages. I thought we were for the high jump, but then I saw that mum looked like a schoolgirl, like she had been caught stepping out of line.
Mum was very quiet at dinner and dad said that she had something to say - to our horror, she apologised in front of all of us and she told Joan it was okay to try and do what Jesus did. It was what he would have wanted.
We were so ashamed for my mum - neither of us tried to be Jesus ever again.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 10:26 AM UTC