Father Christmas

 

When Father Christmas comes to town,

With long white beard and bright Red gown.

Trimmed with Ermine, purest white,

He must truly be a wondrous  sight.

With  Reindeer pulling sleigh of toys,

To give to all GOOD Girls and Boys.

With magic dust to help them fly,

So speedily across the sky.

As midnight strikes, through homes he’ll creep,

Whilst all GOOD children are asleep,

Filling sacks, and stockings hung,

Till finely his work is done.

You must never open eyes to see,

Or very cross Santa will be!

If during night sleigh bells you hear,

For Santa will not come next year.

Nelson Mandela

 

Mr Nelson Mandela!

What a wonderful fella,

Lived for neigh on one hundred years.

He did so much for peace,

And now with his decease,

South Africa mourns with its tears.

Captured by white men,

And then thrown in a pen!

For Twenty Seven years of his life.

Still fighting for peace,

He gained his release!

To join up with Winnie his wife.

They called him a fool,

But he got to rule!

As soon as the Blacks got their vote.

No more Black against White!

No more reason to fight,

They should put his face on a note.

In another hundred years,

When the worlds shed its’ tears,

Let’s hope, they remember, those who can.

His long fight against Apartheid!

And they celebrate with pride,

Mr Nelson Mandela the man.

The Squirrel

With those bright eyes,

And large bushy tail.

He leaps tree to tree,

Without any fail.

Then scurries cross carpet,

Of leaves on the floor!

Searching for the larder,

He’d prepared months before.

Sitting bolt upright,

On only two feet.

He breaks into nut,

And savours the treat.

Whilst all of the time,

His ears scan the air!

For the sound of anything,

That’s moving out there.

Hastily feeding on,

Nuts and Pine Cone!

Constantly fearful of,

Attack whilst alone,

Startled, he runs,

And climbs nearest tree!

Till safe, in the cover,

Of the large Canopy.

The Clutha

It dropped like a stone,

But no one knows why!

The Police helicopter,
Was unable to fly.

Crashing through the roof,

Of the full Clutha pub,

As hundreds of people,

Were  enjoying their grub.

Ten  people were killed,

And lots more were hurt,

It could have been worse though,

And that’s’ a dead cert.

Police, Ambulance, and Firemen,

Were quick on the scene!

With survivors and helpers,

They worked as a team.

Pulling out the people,

And sitting them down!

Midst the Chaos and Mayhem,

Of this large Glasgow town.

So many families,

With loved ones so dear!

Will be left broken hearted,

What with Christmas so near.

Infectious Behaviour

Here I am, lying in my bed,

With runny nose and aching head!

Throat that’s sore and dry as dust,

In medicines I’ll have to trust.

So in my bed I’ll have to stay,

With drink to last me through the day!

Hot water bottle at my feet,

That’s generating lots of heat.

With aching bones, and feeling cold,

It’s harder, now I’m getting old!

To fight off any small infection,

I’m glad I had that flu injection.

For three days now, I have been trying,

To get better, but I think I’m dying.

What’s a bloke like me to do?

This aint no cold, this is MAN FLU.

Flights Of Fancy (the Red Bull Flugtag)

They come from every point on Earth,

And launch themselves,

For what it’s worth.!

From end of pier,

Into the sea,

And a giant bird pretend to be.

With wings of cardboard,

 strapped to their arm.

They gather speed,

With some alarm.

Some with faces,

Racked with fear!

Only to plummet,

Off end of the pier.

With woops of derision,

Or cheers of delight!

Some are successful,

And actually take flight.

Aunty Pats' Cat ( WARNING may Offend )

Now my Aunty Pat ,

Has got a large cat.

It’s coat is rather quite bushy.

At night when at home,

When she’s all alone,

She really likes stroking her pussy.

Now her boyfriend Tim!

Who’s really quite dim,

Calls it his little fur ball.

Thinks it only polite!

To feed it two times a night.

And Pat doesn’t mind that at all.

Now my Aunty Pats’ Cat,

Is getting quite fat!

Was it something in the food that it loves?

Now her boyfriend Tim!

Said “don’t blame it on him”

He didn’t know he should have worn gloves.

Philippines Disaster

I was watching TV,

Whilst eating my tea.

And I saw all those people in trouble.

Those poor Philippines,

With no method or means,

Help needs to be sent on the double.

It made their hearts wrench,

From the sight and the stench,

Of litter and bodies all strewn.

With no water to drink,

I was starting to think,

Help better get to them soon.

They spoke to this man,

 Hit by Typhoon Haiyan.

Robbing him of children and wife.

What’s left now for him?

Where does he begin?

Just how do you start a new life?

Mans' Inhumanity (the H Bomb)

No one could imagine,

What role it would play,

As high over Japan,

Flew the Enola Gay.

Carrying its cargo,

Like a pregnant mother.

As the world was to see,

What we could do to each other.

Four hundred children,

In one school got surprised,

As the H bomb was dropped,

They were all vaporised.

Nothing was left of them,

Not even their clothes.

As the blinding light hit them,

And the mushroom cloud rose.

No lessons were learnt though,

You’ll still see today,

As political leaders,

Their war games still play.

Can somebody tell me?

Just what is gods’ plan?

Why must we still suffer?

Mans, Inhumanity to man.

(Enola Gay was a world war two, B29 bomber which dropped atomic bombs on both Hiroshima and Nagasaki).  The bombs were dropped at 8.30 am at a height that would cause the maximum damage to humans and property. The plane was named after the pilot’s mother.

Crown Of Thorns (the Easter story)

They made him carry his own cross,

With crown of thorns on head.

Then crucified him on the hill,

And left him there till dead.

As he hung  upon the cross,

Between the other two.

He said “Father please forgive them”

“For they know not what they do”.

They took him down by six o’clock,

That was the Sabbath day.

Placing him inside a tomb,

With large stone in doorway.

On Sunday, Mary Magdelene,

Walked stealthily through the street,

With water and clean bandages,

To wash his hands and feet.

When arriving at the tomb,

The large stone was not there.

Reaching where he’d lain inside,

She found the tomb was bare.

Now Mary Magdalene was scared,

Of capture, and of prison,

A voice said “ Be ye not afraid”,

“ For Jesus Christ has risen.

They Travelled Far (the Christmas story)

To Bethlehem the couple came,

His wife upon a mule;

They had to sign a register,

At that time this was the rule.

They travelled more than seven days,

Then finally reached the City;

They found it hard to find a room,

No one would give them pity.

They eventually found a kindly man,

Who owned a local inn.

He gave them room inside a barn,

Where, her labour did begin.

She gave birth to a baby boy,

In the middle of the night.

Above their heads, there rose a star,

The brightest ever light.

The animals all gathered round,

And went down on their knees.

They knew the baby was to be king,

And now him they tried to please.

Three kings arrived, each bearing gifts,

From far off they had rode.

Each one bowing down to him

With, Myrrh, Frankincense, and Gold.

On December 25^th this year,

Whilst kids with toys all play.

Tell them what it’s all about,

Remember Christ’s Birthday.

The Petrol Head

My nephew Nick is a petrol head,

There’s nowt more he would like.

Than sitting in a motor car ,

Or sat astride a bike.

He doesn’t really mind at all,

As long as it’s got power.

Going round a racing track,

At two hundred miles an hour.

He likes to hear their engines roar,

And give out lots of noise.

There’s nothing he likes better than,

Being out there with the boys.

He takes new owners, and their bikes,

And puts them through their paces.

The one thing he enjoys the most?

The smiles upon their faces.

ABANDON SHIPping

ABANDON  all shipping,

The country is slipping,

Eight hundred more people on dole.

Is anyone listening?

No point in resisting!

The plug has been pulled from the hole.

For heavens’ sake!

Sir Frances Drake,

Would be turning now, in his grave.

It was hell of a shock,

To the large Portsmouth Dock,

But now it’s too late to save.

They put in a plea,

To the now BAE,

In the hope of a second chance.

But no one is listening,

No point in resisting,

They are all in their Villas in France.

The Brun





Two Hundred years ago it all did begin,

In a tiny little room, besides the New Inn.

Seven men got together and the decision was made.

Run by George Drayton, a surgeon by trade.

After some arguments, they said he must go.

Drayton built a chapel in the then Parkers Row.

The chapel it prospered, as record books tell,

But when Drayton resigned, attendances fell.

A new school was built as the records recall,

 In 1884 with The Raikes Memorial Hall.

By 1972 their building was old,

So the building was emptied, and the chapel was sold.

Whilst leaving the chapel, the search had begun,

Foundations were laid and they built the New Brun.



The Game

 On most Saturdays,

All over the land.

Thousands of people,

Will sit down or stand,

For almost two hours

Watching men chase a ball,

Football or Rugby,

It’s simply their call.

Travel hundreds of miles,

Following their team.

Whoever they support

They all have one dream.

Gaining promotion and going up,

Winning a trophy, the league or the cup.

But if their team is beaten,

No doubt you will find,

The linesman was biased, the referee blind.

Whatever their watching,

It’s always the same,

Calm down you people,

It’s only a game

Hate Mail

I went on line the other day,

To check up on my mate,

All  I saw on her web page,

Were messages of hate.

Calling her all sorts of names,

And other hateful lies.

Reading all this bullying,

I can’t believe my eyes.

Not only was there Verbal Abuse;

They’ve put pictures on there too.

Now she’s shut inside her room,

Not knowing what to do.

Now she thinks of suicide,

By not reporting it to staff;

Her so called friends still bully her,

And think it’s all a laugh.

The Lord Sayeth Unto Me

The lord spoke to me whilst in my bed,

And this is what the good lord said.

“Pick up your pen and follow me,

And soon another life you’ll see.

Put away your thoughts of doubt,

For I will surely cast them out”.

“Don’t fight me, for you have no choice,

These words you hear are from MY voice.

I’ll send them down like drops of rain,

That slowly soak into your brain.

For you to write with pen so swift,

And share with joy, this brand new gift”.

The Stream Of Thoughts

At night when I lie in my bed,

These words appear inside my head.

Without thinking I just seem to find,

These words that come into my mind.

Like water seeping  from a stone,

They just appear whilst I’m alone.

Like a river oozing from a spring,

Come words about the slightest thing.

They pick up pace, and very soon,

Become  a torrent in the first Monsoon.

The river soon becomes a sea,

And I drown, in words of ecstasy .

Is It Me or Is It My Age?

After climbing the stairs,

And reaching the top,

After pausing for breath,

And having to stop.

As it’s no longer clear,

As to why you are here.

Is it me, or is it my age?

Policemen look younger,

And don’t seem as smart.

You have to sit down more,

Because of your heart.

And the kids of today,

Speak in a strange way.

Is it me, or is it my age?

Whilst reading the papers,

Propped up in your bed.

Loosing your specs,

On the top of your head.

Then somebody checking,

To make sure you’re not dead.

Is it me, or is it my age.