Tea & Seedcake

Phyllis: Are you popping in for tea Ivor? I have a pot brewing. I’ve put the wardrobe over it to keep it warm for you.

Ivor:  Yes Phyllis, I will be ’round shortly when I can find where I left the road….it was here just now, all rolled up in an elastic band, beside the electric fire to keep it warm.

Phyllis: Ivor…..will you bring some seedcake please?

Ivor:  Yes if you want. But I thought you had made one for me.

Phyllis:  Well, I did….but I seem to have lost it between the kitchen and the sitting room.

Ivor :  Oh well…..we can cut a nice slice of wall instead…….

……..When Ivor eventually found the road, he swam to Phyllis’s flat and dried his clothes on her warm heart….

They sat in silence because their breathing said all the words that needed  to be said.

We met in Ibiza on a sun-drenched beach

We met in Ibiza

on a sun-drenched beach.

 

And he came to me

with a little speech.

 

When I replied….

wouldn’t you know it…

 

Smiling, he said…

‘You talk like a poet!’

Buttering Breezes

 

If you go down to the sea today

You will see a fine lady

In a caff by the window

Eating toast drinking tea

 

Please dont think that she may

Not or even that you maybe

 

Be sure to smile

To give her a

Warm wave

 

As she sits there

Sipping sea

Buttering breezes

 

Making

Hazes

Fish Soup in knitted bowls

I’m walking my bicycle up the hill, it’s feeling rather tired, whilst Ivor is pushing a box.

Inside, his Harmonium sits crossed legged, with colourful bright red socks.

 

It is sharing the box with a conger eel who has invited his bicycle too.

But his bicycle insists on following us so we are forced to follow it through.

 

‘Did you bring a picnic Phyllis?’ asks Ivor, feeling a little bit low.

‘Yes, I did, and its soup in my best knitted bowls.

 

Some cake and a hake and a comforting brew, served up with

basket of rolls, two spoons….and a kettle, a crow and a settle,

 

We can stay ’til the morning comes.

Sardine Sorrow

I want to go home!

to the sea again

get me out,

let me in

its too late now

for you i said

as i un

roll

ed

the sar               dine

into                         my

 mouth

from its

toma

toey

tin

Wance a Wee Bairn

There was wance a wee bairn

who was a noisy wee midden

He couldna speak an he wouldna listen

but he cud whistle cud whistle

to all his dear darlings

Until he cut their throats

an popped out their singsongs

An now he can tweet

as well as he can whistle

Mr Skittles

This is Mr Skittles.

He is every dog you ever wanted.

Excitable. Endearable. Irascible.

Prone to being very lickable (that is, he’ll lick you at every opportunity)

Throw in fondable (of him we very are)

And fondleable (he licks you for laps, and keeps you for cuddles) (On cold winter nights this is very hard to resist)

And of course he is funny funnable.

Much more fun than any real dog.

No bark bark barking (shuts up when you tell him to, immediately)

No pestering (he will fetch a stick but is inclined to wait patiently for you to finish first your conversation)

No leaving little poos in parks or piddles in puddles.

No fussy dog diet (mostly lives on choccy bics and cheesy chips)

No biting (children) or chewing (cushions) or chasing men on mopeds (although, of course, he does chase cats)

He understands everything you want him to do.

And will not do what you don’t want him to.

Because he’s perfect.

He is Mr Skittles.

He is every dog you ever wanted.

A Faerie Awaits her

Awaits her what?

Her Peter? Her Pan? Her Prince? Her Angel? Her Lover?

Whoever he is he’d better make a nice cup of tea.

A Faerie Farrago

Strange fantastical beings are afoot. Everywhere are faeries and pixies, imps and elfs, goblins, and gremlins, and gnomes.

Tippinguptheteapots

                   scatteringallthecushions

turningonthebathtaps          pokingthroughthecatflap

sauceringoncups               knifingintoforks

belchinginthebreadbin            poppingoffbottletops

                             rollinguptherugs

blowingoutthelightbulbs         bouncingoutthebedsprings

bangingon    lids                                  upturningbooks

dancing aroundandaroundandaround

                                                         infunnypointyhats

Causing a right rumpus.