Bad poetry

Why, she said, in despair
Do these things keep happening to me
Does no one here really care
About this bad poetry?

The other day the poet raved
Her hair was glimmering gold
And in her sleep her hair was shaved
And taken to be sold
Then the poet wrote her beauty fair
Could stop a thousand hearts
She awoke to find corpses everywhere
They had to remove them in carts

Then he wrote that gentlemen
Would throw themselves at her feet
The next day again and again
They kept tripping her in the street
Finally she had enough
Of this poets romanticism
It was time for her to get tough
To reject his imposition

She realised that the poetry
Was really just a curse
It had no meaning in reality
It only made things worse
So she sat down at the table
And got herself a pen
She knew that she was able
To turn the tide again

She wrote a poem about the poetry
The Poets joy and pride
She mentioned his vulgarity
And much more beside
She bemoaned his poor use of verse
And she rhymed every line
In doing so she reversed the curse
Sent fear in the poets spine

So beware poets one and all
Once written there’s no reverse
You cannot regret or recall
No way to stop the curse
Better to not write one line
Than write and rue the day
And if it’s as bad as mine
Who’s going to read it anyway?

Where the hell is it!

Where the hell is it
I’m sure I put it there
Right beside where I sit
In the old armchair
I know I had it not long ago
Are you sure you’ve not put it away
Just check it’s not under that throw
That’s where it was yesterday
I know I used it last
No need to raise your voice
Or rake up the past
And for your information
Yes I’ve been working late
But it’s that renumeration
That pays for this fancy estate
Will you stop whining
And come and help me look
Instead of just opining
About the time I took
Oh damn it all I’ve had enough
Stuff your casserole
Get over here and shift your stuff
And find that remote control!


I’m destined for greater things
Of this I can be sure
Ready for whatever this life brings
All I will endure
I will slay the dragon in his lair
Put the ghosts to rest
Rescue the damsel with long hair
And by bishops I’ll be blessed
The bards will all sing of my good deeds
They will write a book on me
I will ride into glory on my white steeds
And mine enemies will flee
I’ll do all this before the alarm rings
And blows my dreams away
Oh I’m destined for greater things
But maybe not today…

Gardening blues

Digging is hard, it takes far to long
Some mechanical help, that can’t be wrong
A Rotavator or tiller, that’s what we need
Job done in minutes, that’s guaranteed

A DIY supplied it, I was so proud
Press start button, boy was it loud
My smile lasted as long as it took
For the tiller to spin and run over my foot

With a scream I let go and watched it go nuts
As it shot off and smashed into rain water butts
Within minutes the water flooded the garden
And suddenly the tiller didn’t seem such a bargain

Now friends all , it’s plain to see
An electric tiller runs on electricity
So grabbing the handle while standing in a pool
Is something only done by a fool

The shock threw me straight over the garden wall
Where the neighbours out sunbathing softened my fall
The relief was short lived as surely was I
When said neighbour punched me straight in the eye

I turned to run and fell over a log
That’s when I met our neighbours dog
Who cocked his leg as I lay in despair
And urinated all over my hair.

I barely escaped back without broken bones
Stumbling across shattered fencing and stones
The house was in darkness as I’d tripped the main fuse
So play me some of those gardening blues


Boris the bull

Boris the bull was a gentle one who
today had fancied his chances
But the heifer he had taken a liking to
Had rejected all of his advances
This left him in a terrible mood
He was feeling really irate
So in fact it was not the best time
for someone to walk through the gate

Godfrey had hiked up from the coast
Complete with backpack and shorts
An experienced hiker he liked to boast,
At least that’s what he purports
He obviously wasn’t aware of the rules
Leaving litter and open gates on his way
Releasing the cows, the sheep and mules
And not having a very good day

So he opened the gate into the field
Where Boris watched and snorted
And so it was Godfrey’s fate was sealed
For Boris was not to be thwarted
With a bellow his head went down
Scratching the earth with one hoof
At the sound Godfrey looked up with a frown
And realised the grim truth

He turned to run and slipped in a cowpat
Falling flat on his face in the scum
Boris charged and dropped his head so that
His Horns flipped Godfrey up by his bum
With a scream Godfrey flew over the gate
Which unfortunately he’d left ajar
Boris following trampled him under his weight
His screams could be heard from afar

The moral of this story is plain for you to see
Avoiding bulls and cowpats is a good policy
But most important as this tale has told
Always remember to follow the country code!

Copyright Tallisman 2022

Grandma’s gang

My grandma bought a motorbike
She’s only eighty eight
She wanted to try it out
Before it gets too late
We didn’t mind the motorbike
But the leathers had us in stitches
She wanted to do it right
But the logo was “ hells bitches”!

Then she went and formed a gang
The average age was eighty two
They would rev the bikes outside the pub
It was closer to the loo
They had this particular game
Took young men by surprise
When they got a well placed Zimmer frame
Straight between the eyes

One motorbike had a wheel chair
Strapped to the side
93 year old mad Beryl sat in there
Along for the ride
She was the moll of Bertie Titus
Who at the age of seventy two
Despite his advance arthritis
Was the youngest of the crew

Then their was evil Ant
We thought was grannies guy
He had a droopy seventies moustache
And an eyepatch over one eye
He has a talking parrot as a pet
And a peg leg too
He reminds me of someone maybe I’ve met
I just can’t think who..

The neighbourhood sadly reports
It wasn’t for the best
Seeing grannie in her tight leather shorts
And a low cut vest
They complained to the authorities
The chief constable as well
Who made it the police priorities
To round up this gang from hell

The police went to break up the gang
They didn’t expect a chase
The octogenarian’s decided to go out with a bang
And chose to have a race
Around the block the bikes shot away
A race not for the scared or the meek
The winner finished later that day
The rest slightly later that week

The policemen decided to take chase
And as a last resort
They didn’t bother with the car
It was easier to walk
All were captured and locked away
In the old folks home
So now they know that crime don’t pay
As much as bingo in the hippodrome

Copyright 2022 Tallisman