Mother, Father, please sit down;
I’ve got some news for you.
It’s quite the revelation
and I wish it were not true.
I’ve done some introspection
and I’ve analysed my mind.
I’ve fought my inclinations
but I have to be resigned
to be the person I must be
in order to fulfill
the destiny bestowed on me
by fate’s unbending quill.
I know that it will cause you pain
but please try not to show it.
Mum and Dad: when I grow up
I want to be a poet.
Some of you play football
and some others act or sing,
but if you want to moonlight
then we know of just the thing
to gain more recognition
and a bit of extra quid:
It’s really rather obvious —
just write a book for kids.
It doesn’t really matter
if you cannot hold a pen,
nor if the typing of a word
is quite beyond your ken.
Just spew out some ideas
and we’ll come and jot them down;
we’ll stick you on the cover
and you’ll be the toast of town.
Nor does it make a difference
if the plot is rather slight.
We’ll make the letters bigger
and put pictures left and right.
We’ll print your name in sparkles
and you’ll wear a golden crown
as kiddies crowd around your pap
and gobble it right down.
Yes we know you’re very famous
and already have it made.
There may be better writers
and they may be poorly paid.
We pray for these unfortunates;
our thoughts, meanwhile, are thus:
we’ll make you lots of money
and you’ll make some more for us.
Today I went to my to my grandma's lovely 80th birthday bash. 80 is pretty young to be a grandmother of someone my age, and my grandma has always been like a second mum to me. An occupational hazard of being a poet is that it becomes expected for me to stand up and do a poem at this kind of event. I usually try and duck out of doing this, but this time I thought I'd better step up. Here is my grandma's 80th birthday poem:
CIRCLE TIME
We have it every Friday.
We go round one by one
taking turns to say
what’s on our mind.
Yesterday James discussed
visiting France this summer.
Ahmad talked about his new baby sister;
Ruth spoke of her kitten.
I said nothing. Again.
Just stared at the swirls
on the carpet and shrugged.
Miss Ellis said I didn’t have to talk
if I didn’t want.
And I wish I could tell them.
I wish I could explain
how Dad and Laura
fight in the night
when they think I’m sleeping.
I wish I could talk
of that tangled twine
that tightens round my torso
when they fire those poison arrows.
But I said nothing. Again.
Just kept my eyes down
as that still small voice
murmured once more
how it’s all my fault.
The Conservative government is currently mired in corruption, inadequacy and misplaced values. Firstly Boris Johnson is facing tough questions on the refurbishment of his abode. Thus:
FLAT
Having been
steamrollered
by cronyism
incompetence
inadequacy
and failure
I think it's
fair to say
Boris Johnson's flat.
These cretins also want to spunk much wonga on a new boat for her madge. I don't like this idea. Hence:
YACHT
I am nacht
Too hacht
On the Royal yacht;
I dislike the idea
A lacht.