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BOB
JONES LIVE - ON - LINE
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All these poems posted on the Internet
are copyright Bob Harding-Jones 2012 and are protected by normal copyright laws.
Lucy . . . Lastic . . .
A Great Character from Tommyfield
Market, Oldham , Lancs
(Adapted
by Bob from the North West Sound Archive Caught in Time 1995)
Lucy Lastic
Sold elastic
Six pennies every knot.
And if you asked her for a yard
A yard’s not what you got.
Lucy Lastic
Sold elastic
And s-t-r-e-t-c-h-e-d it for good measure.
So when you bought a yard or more,
. . . All you got was two foot four.
..........................................................................
JEREMY VINE SHOW
BBC RADIO 2:
I’m Going
Bald!
Every day from my
head I lose some hair.
And I don’t replace
it;
I just don’t care.
Yes: I know I’m going
bald, because people tell me.
‘You’re going
bald!’ they say . . .
They’re very
helpful.
I had millions of
hairs once
A
real collection.
It’s now being
dispersed
Due
to a shortage of exhibits.
Once my hair was
thick
Now it’s thin.
Once I stroked my
fingers through the waves of my hair.
Now, I rub my
fingers through the ripples of my skin.
Copyright Bob Jones 2011
THE HECKLER
I love a heckler.
A heckler's my mate,
He makes the audience laugh
When I can't get a word in.
A heckler's fine,
His punchlines
are funnier than mine.
A heckler's a treat
He's got a great act
He thinks on my feet.
A heckler's sense of humour's sublime
Especially when he's spoiling mine.
But what really ****es
me off
About a heckler:
He's usually drunker
Than I am.
*********************************************************************************************
The Poet that Bites
I'm staying at home today,
Because my dentist has taken
My front teeth away . . .
Removed for repair
And I'm aware
That people might stare
At the gaps in my life.
So I'll hide inside
Out of sight
Writing poetry
Without a bite
********************************************************************************
TOAD ODE
This is an ode to the toad:
The toad only knows how to crawl,
He pulls no other strokes at all;
Which makes it difficult for the toad,
When he has to cross the road.
Once a year toads return home
To mate, and spawn by the load.
(if it wasn't for the road)
Or to be more exact,
The cars that compact.
If it takes the poor old toad
Ten minutes to cross the road,
It doesn't take a statistician
To work out, it's a suicide mission.
Nothing could rival
Toad's sense of survival,
Toady does what comes naturally:
He doesn't look right,
He doesn't look left,
And if it's all clear (or not),
He doesn't bother a jot,
He just crawls out into the road;
And sooner or later, splat!
That's that,
Toad's flat . . .
It's the Code
Of the Highway Toad!
***************************************************************************************************
Little Boy's Poem
Lucky little Freddie Trippin
His belly button had a zippin.
He could hide
Secret treasures inside:
A conker
A length of string
A walkman or a gameboy…
All fitted in;
And if he really risked it…
A can of drink
And a ginger biscuit.
His belly button was clever stuff
And his zip
Kept out the fluff!
Both from: KIDSTUFF! ISBN 0 9516941 2 X
. . . but I can be serious . . .
BURYING A FAMILY FRIEND
(Sam 1979 - 1996)
The spring sunshine
Held back by weeks of dismal cloud
Now cannot be denied.
Garden life bursts through:
Bees and birds and buds
Speed up by solar power.
The sun-tinted grass
Is greener than I can remember
But under a blanket
our friend lies dead.
The spade slices
The sandy loam
Preparing his grave.
My tear escapes
As his eyes stare
Beneath the shroud.
Sweating away the grief
Swallowing back emotion,
It doesn't do
To cry over a dog.
Both from: "Intro" ISBN 1 873468
49 0
All Copyright Bob Harding-Jones 2012
