Ascending dissent

“Stop. Wait. Ah! We said halt.”
Their mother froze with a comical jolt.

“Now come on kids its time for bed!”
This dissent unsettled this calm homestead

“We call for parley, a conversation of truth
Before we even contemplate brushing one tooth”

“Long have you held this bed time rule
Long have we ascended like a saddened mule.”

“To the prison of pillows and covers of lies
To bid the tearful authoritarian beddy byes.”

“I say no longer! I’m tired of sleep!
The wounds of slumber have run deep.”

“Our eyes are open and jammies still folded
No more can you consider us parentally moulded.”

“Freedom! Rights! Freewill to gauge
When we have reached our bedtime stage.”

Eyes half squinted they stood with strength
Prepared to fight to any which length.

“We sit with solidarity and brotherly ties
A bottle of coke and two meaty pork pies.”

The beaten parent slowly sat on the floor
Pressing her back against the cold back door.

“You may shout and cry or threaten the worst
But protest will only quench our thirst.”

“The right of man, of humankind
Is not suspended for the younger mind.”

“So hurtle your stones and your words of fear
You will not see from us one single tear.”

“I’m getting your father”


Picture Courtesy of Steve Kay at Flickr

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Robber and Dumber

“Right, you ready?”
With a lie I say “Steady!”

Sweating rivers
Tights squashing face
Anxious shivers
Confidence no trace

“On the count of three
you just follow me”

What did he just say?
Why is he counting?
This ridiculous day
This folly I am doubting

“Three!” there he goes
To what end who knows

Running, breathing
Eyes darting round
Chest harshly heaving
Can’t hear any sound

“Everyone be cool this is a robbery!”
Met with silence and abject snobbery

“Any of you motherfuckers move!”
The Pulp fiction reference did not improve

“Excuse me dear
Could you pass me the menu”
Bereft of fear
In this peculiar venue

“And now I think I’m ready to eat”
She said to the robber from her restaurant seat

Unsure how to act
I grabbed an old pad
I cant add or subtract
And my memory is bad

“I’ll have the Flimpy Burger and fries beside
Well done please, rare I just can’t abide

“Any drinks Miss?
We do a lovely Shake”
From behind me a hiss
I could not mistake

“Are you mentally ill or just fucking stupid?”
My partner bemused, and extensively livid

“Is that you Mark?
Are those my tights?”
His look turned dark
As reality bites

My associate’s grandmother sadly shook her head
“Your grandpa would slap you if he were not dead”

Now quickly with that food
I have a pain in my hip
I’m not in the mood
So don’t you expect a good tip

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Ode to a Fonzie

You sneezed with such power
And ate like a loon
The thought of a shower
Made you howl at the moon

When dinner was ready
I was just set to nibble
You stood there so steady
With your purposeful dribble

Tail chasing round
Even when old
Never was found
Even when told

Sometimes I wonder
What you would say
If a magical thunder
Made a dog talking day

“Well thanks for the food
And the walkies dear sir
But don’t cook so nude
Plus tell that to her”

“I care not for leads
Or banishment outside
I’m a fantastical breed
This cannot be denied”

“Off to the shops you go
Just take me along
I’m quite helpful you know
At your side I belong”

“I’m sorry I poo
So often next door
Just fit a dog loo
On the ground floor”

“As best friends go
You’re the pick of the bunch
This will always be so
If you make me my lunch”

Photo courtesy of Jill Beninato at Flickr

The Identity of this lovely dog I gather is Clancy, a befitting symbol of Fonzie’s memory.

I have nee pics of Fonzie I’m afraid.

RIP you crazy mutt, I hope you’re sniffing a heavenly butt

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Monkey Madam

I cant but expect
Your avid attention
On this I reflect
For your comprehension

I once new a Guevara monkey
Who practiced mad Kung Fu
He danced especially funky
And cooked a rather mean stew

His style caused some envy
From ladies there came wonder
T’was a sexual frenzy
Till an unfortunate blunder

It was in no way poetical
When he fell on a broken cup
He broke his favorite testicle
The tone of his voice went up

He called his brothers for help
Unable to recognize his voice
Bemused at his high pitched yelp
His family left him no choice

He dressed up as a lady
Slapped on his mums makeup
People called him baby
Instead of the usual s’up

Never before had he smiled
As much as he did that day
The idea of it seemed wild
But life seemed better this way

Photo Courtesy of Brad Bartkus at Flickr

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I ain’t through I’m 82!

“I’ve called you all here

For my announcement”

They all crowded near

For her pronouncement


“I’m leaving that’s it!

I’m off for adventure!”

They all ceased to sit

“What is this dementia!”


“Granny don’t leave

Who’ll knit me a hat?”

A pull at her sleeve

“These shits wont do that”



This rabble burst out

Her sensibilities so bold

Bereft of self doubt


A backpack of tea

A suitcase of soup

Finally she’s free

To flee this old Koop


She sailed to Chile

And flew to Hong Kong

Grabbed a mans willy

And smoked a harsh bong


A sunburn from Spain

Two rugs from Deli

A woman called Jane

Tattooed her old belly


She Married a Shepherd

Form South Korea

Raced on a leopard

With Diarrhea


Sometimes she ponders

Of the family she parted

But these great wonders

Of her new life has started


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Whistle at my mother

Keep pushing! Breathe tight!

You’ll be a mother this night!


“Its coming, he’s here!

A beautiful boy!”

The accumulated fear

Transformed into joy


Nine months ago, she just thought the worst

After a romantic night ended, when a condom had burst


Her future projected

By a pee covered stick

Her feelings rejected

Its happened too quick!


“Oooh look at your tummy, you’re starting to show”

This lazy fat baby makes me walk slow!


Coke mixed with oil

Sausage and Jelly

Ice cream on the boil

For my confused belly


“You’ve birthed a boy! What is his name?

“Get me my fat husband! Such pain is his blame!


“Mummy! Mum mum!

Can I have some money?”

“Get a job you idle bum!

I’m not being funny!”


Days, turned to months and transformed into years

Till a job he did get, his absence caused tears


“I love you mother

happy mothers day

I bet my crap brothers

Didn’t do it this way”


After four children, she always remembers

That her kids are great, but not as good as Eastenders.


Painting – ‘Whistler’s Mother’ By James McNeill Whistler.

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Who’s the Paddy

An Ocean of green
No Irish in sight
What does it mean
This St Patrick days night

Drink till your Brain
Dribbles out of your ears
Till you miss your last train
So you drink some more beers

Finally you notice an Irishman’s voice
Drinks all round! A drunken Rejoice

“I, I Slove the Iwish they, they’re just grand”
Out I spitted, as I could barely stand

“Well ye fookin ignore us, all year round
Only on this night are we to be found?”

He looked at me straight
With hate in his soul
“I”m fookin jokin mate”
“How funny, so drole”

Shaken and drunken
I sat back on my stool
My ego had shrunken
I felt the old fool

Then a Guinness was placed on my table
Like some old magical St Patrick’s day fable

“Don’t mind my jokes, to St Paddy we drink!”
And the night concluded with an Irishman’s clink

Photo Courtesy of Miguel Degz at Flickr

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