Slay bells ring, are you listening ?
Down his neck, blood is glistening
A beautiful sight
A bit of a fright
Murder in a winter wonderland

He floated on top of the water
A legend all bubbly and brown –
Knowing the crowd would try to enshroud
him with tissues – refusing to drown.

He was down but by God he was fighting
He was not going to let it all end
No miserable flush or stab with a brush
Could push him around the bend.

’cause Gaseous was a survivor
He’d been dumped and was shat on you see
But do not despair because Gas’ll be there
The next time you come in to pee.

I haven’t run – what I’ve done is fuck all
My gut hangs inches over my buckle
The pants I buy are labelled ‘L’
as in ‘Lard’ or ‘Lead’ or ‘Fed quite Well’

My belly is jelly one minute then solid
My flat’s full of crap from the takeaway – squalid
Getting caught with the thought of a jog makes me shiver
I’d walk to the pizza place – but they deliver

I don’t want to exercise
I just wanna be a smaller size
There’s gotta be an easier way to do it
Sennakot and a pot and I just sit and poo it ?

It’s important I oughtn’t ignore my inflation
My waist’s got the taste for some exaggeration
No lotion or potion or pill’s going to cut it
(Must) take hold of my cake hole I’ve just got to shut it

Hear It !

“We’ll see you at seven / half seven
You don’t want to miss the buffet
There’s chicken we found at eleven last night
that had only been there for a day”

The pigeons were really excited
They fluttered and flapped and they cooed
I don’t think they thought about foxes
And what they consider is food

The pigeons arrived at half seven
The foxes were fashionably late
But instead of a nice bit of chicken
It was all of the pigeons they ate

The squirrels were rather embarrassed
(And covered in feathers and beak)
But the foxes were quite unrepentant:
“Let’s do this at our place next week !”

A dog named after a bear,
(Not a real one but one that is stuffed,)
has more talent than all of the country ?
I can’t bear it I’ve just had enough

“The buttocks are the root of all evil”
my physiotherapist said,
“From the minute you’re up in the morning
to when you lie down in your bed,
your buttocks are plotting your downfall
creeping up on you from behind.
I have seen a posterior inducing hysteria
in an inferior mind.”

It bothered me for a moment
but the feeling I’m sure will pass
Just for now though emotion’s beneath me
I don’t want to be seen as an arse.

Your temperature is ninety eight point four in Fahrenheit
But for a crocodilian, no one number is right

They’re colder when it’s colder out, they’re hotter when it’s hot
But test it with a thermometer ? My advice is – better not.

I deprecate dawdling
These slatterns of sloth
Pedestrian walkers
Who saunter and loaf
Go walk in the country
On footpaths through trees
Or buck the fuck up now
Just hurry up please
Walk with some purpose
Or stride with intent
Don’t browse through the Metro
Phone messages sent
Don’t cling to your boyfriend
The couple chicane
Move along, step aside now
You drive me insane

This verse brought to you by the muttering man behind you at London Bridge station.

—

“Rhymed anapaestic dimeter” he said
I’ve got rhymed anapaestic di-thing in my head !
This pestilent prosody runs through my brain.
from my head to my dimetric feet this refrain
goes on pulsing, convulsing and bouncing around,
demonic, these phonics, they pound out their sounds
like trains tritter-trattering over a track.
Anapaests are just dactyls that read from the back.
A dimeter’s simply a line with two feet
like drawing a stickman that’s not quite complete.
And this counting of syllables isn’t as fun
as bumping along with them one lump by one -
besides I prefer to be metricly loose
(and remember that Seuss rhymes with Joyce and not noose)
So if someone takes your verse and tries to dissect it
I suggest – have a tantrum – why not go apoplectic ?
and tell them this rhyming was writ with aplomb
and it’s best if it goes tiddley-om-tiddley-pom

@mynameisedd: The first rapper to make a rhyme with “carbaminohaemoglobin” will get my eternal respect.”

I couldn’t resist, so here’s my response.

CO2 gets bonded tight
Locked in your erythrocytes
Harbour me no fear or loathing
Carbaminohaemoglobin

The Dead Badger Band played exclusively rock
There was Stripey and Digger and of course there was Brock
Their amps were the biggest that money could get
So large that they didn’t quite fit in the sett !

Stripey played keyboards and Digger he drummed
While Brock played guitar as he sang and he hummed
They were called The Dead Badger Band (so Stripey said)
because they were Badgers and because they were dead

The Doctor had given them his diagnosis
“You’ve all got a bad case of tuberculosis”
Now a badger’s a sturdy and healthy wee beast
But a dose of TB makes him quickly deceased

So our heroes decided they just wouldn’t cop it
They’d stay here as ghosts and they’d rock till they drop it
Being undead would give them more time to rehearse
And they’d drive to their gigs in a second hand hearse

So now every night of the week they play mostly
Ethereal music that’s heavy but ghostly
They’ll go up to heaven, but not til the Lord
Says they can rock – not play harp- they’d be bored.

The last time I rode this tricycle it was bigger than this I think
Did some master of miniaturisation come along and make it shrink ?
I’ve checked for other changes, I’ve checked its symmetry
I’ve checked both handlegrips and I’ve checked wheels one, two and three

I’ve gone and checked the manual they provide when they deliver
But still I haven’t figured out why my tricycle was bigger
I thought it through I’ve pondered, cogitated, I have thunk
But yet I cannot tell you why my tricycle has shrunk

Perhaps my Mummy’s lying making up some fabrication
Cos she loves me and she’s trying to placate my indignation
But I haven’t heard her offer me one single cause at all
That would tell me why my favourite trike is suddenly so small

At this rate I’ll be riding with my knees up by my ears
It won’t be long before my trike just ups and disappears
I’m worried this affliction though might spread to other stuff
But apart from maybe brothers’ heads – one shrunken thing’s enough

My Daddy says “It could be worse, so stop your mad invective
The expansion of the universe puts it all into perspective”
I can’t tell Dad that’s twaddle I don’t want to be in trouble
But he says that it’s all explained by Mister Edwin Hubble

The universe is growing every minute, every day
And everything that’s in it moves a bit further away
And objects in the distance seem much smaller than they were
That’s why it looks as if my trike has turned out miniature

Then Dad went on to tell me what occurs as it gets older
As the universe expands it keeps on growing ever colder
And in the end each molecule is frozen like an icicle
I wonder though – he never said – what happens to my tricycle ?

I want pickled garlic for breakfast
I’ve made it quite clear to my Mum
That she has to get it off Daddy
And I get to eat Allium

My brother has ate all my glitter
My Daddy is hoarding his food
Now Charlie’s a sparklier shitter
And Mum says I’m not to be crude

I said “I just want pickled garlic
Come on Mum it can’t be that hard”
But she went and sided with Daddy
I tried grabbing the jar but was barred

My parents are terribly liberal
Politically they’re both right on
When it comes to my rights over brekkie
I’m telling you though it’s a con

My Mum says I can’t steal the garlic
She’d find out that I had with her nose
It’s olfactory my dear Watson
In the Case of the Lost Stinking Rose

I want pickled garlic for breakfast
I know it sounds bourgeois to say
It’s lack of the pickle that ails me
As I eat my petit dejeuner

I wish my life was a musical
Or something even better
Some G and S would be the best
My life ? The Operetta.

I wish my life was a musical
Not this complicated thing
I don’t want to trudge this weary path
I want to dance and sing

In musicals no spots pop out
When the heroine’s had a snog,
The hero never farts at all
Or leaves the seat up on the bog.
When they’re looking for an answer
To a thorny problem-ette
They just sing and then a dancer
Does a lovely pirouette -
And before you know what’s happened
There’s no problem any more !
The thing that was wrong was solved in the song
Whilst swooshing across the floor

In a musical, the good bits
(& I’d like a few of these)
are repeated for you later
In a wonderful reprise.
The sad bit in the middle
The bit the makes you want to weep
Is cancelled out by lovely things
And the hunk you get to keep !

So You up there in heaven
Don’t you sit there being fickle
Get off your arse and help me fast
Create this new mu-sickle !
And I’m not just in the chorus
Singing Alto ‘cause I can …
I wanna be the leading lady,
I wanna pick my leading man

I wish my life was a musical
I want to live life, not just doze it
And through good or ill, I’ll remember still
It is my show – I composed it.

I went to my auntie’s last weekend
‘cos my cousin got married you see
that isn’t as odd or as strange as it sounds
‘cos he’s quite a bit older than me

In the garden they had a contraption
for torturing boys of my size
It looked like a table with mats on
and springs all attached at the sides

In the middle the surface was rubber
It was flat and looked stable to me
I turned and I smiled to my brudder
His eyes glinted malevolently

“It’s a trampoline George” said my brother
but I couldn’t quite fathom his meaning
I knew perfectly well how to trample
but I’d never done trampling whilst leaning

Now let me put this in perspective
I’m one and a bit, nearly two
Imagine my horror when Mummy elected
to join in with torturing me too

She lifted me onto the surface
It seemed to be soft under bum
I stood up (I’m getting quite good at that now)
and I started to walk towards Mum

Imagine my shock when the rubber
Gave way when I started to walk
and then shot up and launched me right into the sky
like a blond haired blue eyed champagne cork

But gravity’s no laughing matter
It brought me back down to the mat
before flipping me up like a coin being tossed
I went base over apex and then Splat!

When the bouncing stopped I was erratic
I walked like Dad’s Wonston Arms friend
And the rubber had filled me with static
and my hair was all standing on end

Can I have a quick word in your ear ?
(I have) something to tell you you see
My brother in law makes urea
and enriches his compost with wee

He sneaks down the garden at midnight
It must be in darkness I think
and he climbs up the mountain of compost
having had lots of water to drink

Their tea bags and potato peelings
Old newspapers, rotting and faded
Are all piled in a heap
Onto which Presto leaps
Just waiting to be biodegraded

His experience shows, he’s sure footed
He don’t tumble, or slide – never slips
He just stands there astride his leftovers
And confidently starts to unzip

He unleashes the Prestonic Piddler
The wondrous pride of the nation
Cometh Mark, cometh hour
He lets loose a great shower
Of nitrate enriched irrigation

Spider plant, spider plant,
Copies spiders ? Well, no, it can’t.
Spends all day sat in pots
Doesn’t get ’round a lot
Watch out!
Slow moving spider plant.

Is it wrong ? It lives in mud
It’s got radial active buds
Spin a web ? Never has
Doesn’t do all that jazz
Hey there,
it’s just a spider plant

Though it’s got no eyes, it’s a genius with light
Photosynthesizing (but never at night)

Spider plant, spider plant
Capture evil ones ? No it can’t
Criminals it won’t fight ‘em
Cos’ it’s a Chlorophtyum

It’s there, just sitting in the corner
It’s flora it’s not fauna
You’ll find the spider plant !

My father’s an eminent sailor,
though I’m not sure what eminent means
I think it’s his work clothes are tailored
and he doesn’t commute wearing jeans

His hair’s short and straight, it’s not wavy
it’s not spiked up or permed, it’s not curled
‘cos you have to be smart in the Navy
when you’re travelling all ‘round the world.

My Dad says he’s sailed the ocean
But the ships these days haven’t got sails
There’s engines that give the ship motion
It isn’t reliant on gales

He once said he ‘steamed’ into port but
he wouldn’t explain it, he weaselled
I don’t think there’s steam engines now though
But it just sounds wrong when you say ‘dieselled’

I’ve sailed with my Dad – in a dinghy
It’s quite like a frigate, but smaller
I’d quite like to captain the warship
but my Dad says you have to be taller

My Dad says it’s war every Thursday
when they’re training the Captains at sea
In the city, Mum says, war is five days a week
Which sounds a lot harder to me

In the city though guns aren’t encouraged
The only shells you see come with your lunch
and I’d rather fire salvos of missiles and rockets
than worry about credit going ‘crunch’

For now though there are things more important
Affairs of great import to me
Like isn’t it time we got a puppy ?
And what am I having for tea ?

Look over there
What can we see ?
The whole wide world
as far as the trees

There’s a giant giraffe
eating bamboo
and a very tall ostrich
that is six foot two

Look over there
What can we see ?
The whole wide world
as far as the trees

There’s the garden next door
and the one after that
and sneaking up the path
is a naughty little cat

Look over there
What can we see ?
The whole wide world
as far as the trees

There’s a crocodile swimming
‘cross a river of blue
and up in the branches
there’s a squirrel – no ! Two !

Look over there
What can we see ?
The whole wide world
as far as the trees

Then right above the treetops
Can you see in the sky ?
The marshmallow mountains
of clouds flying by

Look over there
What can we see ?
The whole wide world
as far as the trees

Now Mummy draws the curtains
from the left and from the right
and the garden and the trees
have all vanished from sight

Look over there
What can we see ?
The whole wide world:
Mum and you and me.