Sunday, 9 August 2015


For this poem, I think a passing Facebook post started me thinking. Sometimes the appropriate insult or concise description isn't instantly available. We either need assistance at the relevant time, or be prepared to do some decent work beforehand to have those words at our instant beck and call.


We are blessed with a wonderful language
with words that are varied and deep.
Some just roll of the tongue, ...
some are short, some are long
and some that a censor may bleep.

But there are those times when the right word won’t come,
when you’re faced with new kind of fool.
You don’t get results
with the usual insults;
You need something diff’rent - a tool.

A tool that assesses the object of note
Assessing the faults it portrays,
choosing each syllable,
something distillable,
making a word or a phrase.

It could start by defining some attributes
And forming a phrase or a clause
then, using synonyms
It could form acronyms –
a way to condense all their flaws.

Until there’s a unit out there we can use
we’ll need to do prep on our own.
Take some time; be reflective
for future invective.
And prepare to enjoy a good moan.

Examples (no doubt you can do better)
GUDANSOR: Grammatically Unsound, Derivative And No Sense Of Rhythm
SCRIT: Supposed Celebrity Requiring Immediate Termination
TWACS: Totally Without Any Common Sense
PEFAHB: Poor Excuse For A Human Being
OMARIJ: Opens Mouth And Rectum Is Jealous
VATCH: Vindictive Acid-Tongued Corrupt Hag/Heel

Saturday, 1 August 2015

My Favourite Holiday

The most recent "Pub Poets" open mic gathering had a dual theme of "We're all going on a summer holiday" and "Holidays from hell."

I had written one poem, but I wanted something a little more upbeat, so wrote this on the day of the gathering, finishing it half an hour before I left home.

Oh, and it's not a true story!

My Favourite Holiday

I would not argue with my wife
as she was one to hold a grudge.
It simply was not worth the strife
for when proved wrong she would not budge.
Facts did not matter in her view
and when they contradicted her
a stubbornness inflicted her;
you saw her eyes and then you knew.
And that is why I let things slide
and let my darling have her way,
and it worked fine, ‘cept when my bride
would come back from our holiday.

She’d leaf beforehand through brochures
to find the place where we would go;
the final choice was always hers
and when she’d made it I would know.
Some naff resort, hotel she’d choose
and each year it would be the same
and each year I would take the blame;
it wasn’t worth it to refuse.
I’d take it with a pinch of salt
and marvel how her mem’ry blurs.
Of course it had to be my fault
because, of course, it wasn’t hers.

Eventually I’d had enough –
that Chinese water torture thing;
incessantly that slagging off,
the prospect next year’s trip would bring.
I’d need to bring it to an end;
this annual apology –
I’d need to use psychology
to get my way and not offend.
By chance I found a magazine
that fit in with her fantasy
as Johnny Depp upon the screen,
he was her fav’rite man to see.

A Caribbean cruising ship
set up to have a pirate theme,
and when she caught sight of this trip
I’d got it right, it was her dream.
Last minute I said “I can’t go,
as Work has this emergency.”
“I’ll go there on my own,” said she,
whilst giving me the old heave-ho.
It’s been two years since off she sailed
Towards the Car-ib-be-an Sea
It isn’t that our marriage failed
The ship sank there. It wasn’t me.