Poets’ Corner – The Three Little Pigs

Hi again – I’m sure you all remember the story of “The Three Little Pigs” that we were told as tiny children?  I certainly remember my mother reading it to me.  What I didn’t realise as a little tot was that I was never told the whole version, so here goes: my offering for today!

 

The Three Little Pigs  

The animal I really dig,
Above all others is the pig.
Pigs are noble. Pigs are clever,
Pigs are courteous. However,
Now and then, to break this rule,
One meets a pig who is a fool.
What, for example, would you say,
If strolling through the woods one day,
Right there in front of you you saw
A pig who’d built his house of STRAW?
The Wolf who saw it licked his lips,
And said, ‘That pig has had his chips.’
‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in!’
‘No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!’
‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!’

The little pig began to pray,
But Wolfie blew his house away.
He shouted, ‘Bacon, pork and ham!
Oh, what a lucky Wolf I am!’
And though he ate the pig quite fast,
He carefully kept the tail till last.
Wolf wandered on, a trifle bloated.
Surprise, surprise, for soon he noted
Another little house for pigs,
And this one had been built of TWIGS!

‘Little pig, little pig, let me come in!’
‘No, no, by the hairs on my chinny-chin-chin!’
‘Then I’ll huff and I’ll puff and I’ll blow your house in!’

The Wolf said, ‘Okay, here we go!’
He then began to blow and blow.
The little pig began to squeal.
He cried, ‘Oh Wolf, you’ve had one meal!
Why can’t we talk and make a deal?
The Wolf replied, ‘Not on your nelly!’
And soon the pig was in his belly.

‘Two juicy little pigs!’ Wolf cried,
‘But still I’m not quite satisfied!
I know how full my tummy’s bulging,
But oh, how I adore indulging.’
So creeping quietly as a mouse,
The Wolf approached another house,
A house which also had inside
A little piggy trying to hide.
‘You’ll not get me!’ the Piggy cried.
‘I’ll blow you down!’ the Wolf replied.
‘You’ll need,’ Pig said, ‘a lot of puff,
And I don’t think you’ve got enough.’
Wolf huffed and puffed and blew and blew.
The house stayed up as good as new.
‘If I can’t blow it down,’ Wolf said,
I’ll have to blow it up instead.
I’ll come back in the dead of night
And blow it up with dynamite!’
Pig cried, ‘You brute! I might have known!’
Then, picking up the telephone,
He dialed as quickly as he could
The number of red Riding Hood.

‘Hello,’ she said. ‘Who’s speaking? Who?
Oh, hello, Piggy, how d’you do?’
Pig cried, ‘I need your help, Miss Hood!
Oh help me, please! D’you think you could?’
‘I’ll try of course,’ Miss Hood replied.
‘What’s on your mind…?’ ‘A Wolf!’ Pig cried.
‘I know you’ve dealt with wolves before,
And now I’ve got one at my door!’

‘My darling Pig,’ she said, ‘my sweet,
That’s something really up my street.
I’ve just begun to wash my hair.
But when it’s dry, I’ll be right there.’

A short while later, through the wood,
Came striding brave Miss Riding Hood.
The Wolf stood there, his eyes ablaze,
And yellowish, like mayonnaise.
His teeth were sharp, his gums were raw,
And spit was dripping from his jaw.
Once more the maiden’s eyelid flickers.
She draws the pistol from her knickers.
Once more she hits the vital spot,
And kills him with a single shot.
Pig, peeping through the window, stood
And yelled, ‘Well done, Miss Riding Hood!’

Ah, Piglet, you must never trust
Young ladies from the upper crust.
For now, Miss Riding Hood, one notes,
Not only has two wolfskin coats,
But when she goes from place to place,
She has a PIGSKIN TRAVELLING CASE.

Author – ROALD DAHL

 

Poets’ Corner – some more prose!

Hi again – here is some more verse from Christina Lynn – don’t forget ANYONE can send their poems to me – they don’t have to be “original” – perhaps something you have liked and want to share with other members?  As long as I have an author’s name…….

Entries to:  meridianseniorsforum@gmail.com.

 

CAUGHT SPEEDING!

When I was young and very agile

I had a bike on which to travel

And then a motor-scooter I did get

But in bad weather, I’d get wet.

So earning then, and with some cash

A car I bought, cut quite a dash

I could now arrive in style

And cars I had for quite a while.

Now car and I are getting older

On the roads you must be bolder

‘Cos they are now so very busy

This traffic puts me in a tizzy!

When the car behind me gets too close

I’m sure they do it on purpose.

Just because I’m old and grey

They seem to think I’m in the way!

I’ve reached the age for something slower

Mobility scooter, though less power

Will suit me for the next few years

I’ll travel safer with less fears.

Though pavements which are most uneven

And obstacles can be a problem.

In “lockdown time” ’twas four o’clock

Not too far, just round the block

For our exercise we went

Me in road Vic on pavement

Social distancing applied

With regulations we complied –

We had not gone so very far

When I was stopped, a police car

Drew up beside me, questions asked

“Where are your number plates?” I gasped

And answered that they were not needed

For I the law had always heeded.

Insurance certificate carried with me

Perhaps that document he’d like to see?

But by then he’d had enough

I look back and laugh

‘Cos I was doing tortoise pace

On a scooter you don’t race.

Of speeding cars I’d heard a few

You’d think he’d better things to do!

So this incident deserved a verse

I think I may have written worse!

By:  Christina Lynn

Poets’ Corner – another from Marilyn!

As in the previous poem by Marilyn Nolan this was written when she worked for The Argus and The Leader, and features Tom – again!

ANOTHER ODE TO LEADER LOAD TOM

(to be sung to the tune of “Postman Pat”)

 

Loader Tom, Loader Tom, Loader Tom and his red pom-pom,

Early in the evening

When all the rest are leaving,

He loads up all the Leaders in his van.

 

Loader Tom, Loader Tom, Loader Tom and his red pom-pom

He loves his bright red jacket

It cost the firm a packet

He even wears it when he goes to bed.

 

Everyone knows his red and white van,

All his drop-offs cheer as he drives to meet them,

Maybe, you can never be sure

They’ll be knock, ring, Leaders at your door.

 

Loader Tom, Loader Tom, Loader Tom and his red pom pom,

When his day is ended,

All Leaders have been “sended”,

He parks his van and goes and has a pint.

Poets’ Corner – the poems keep coming!

Once again, we have a poem from our Committee member, Marilyn Nolan.

Marilyn wrote of lot of poems related to where she worked at any one time – this one was penned when she worked for The Argus and The Leader (sadly The Leader is no longer).

AN ODE TO LEADER LOADER TOM

It was a Wednesday evening, the rest were going home,

But Loader Tom’s just starting, they called him on the phone.

It was Richard Nash, himself, no less, he had some joyful news,

A star was needed, not anyone, he must look like Tom Cruise.

“I thought of you, young Tom” he said, “the moment that they called,

I suggested Ken, but they just laughed, they would not be fooled”

“We must have Tom” the quickly said “he is the one for us,

Hollywood needs him, bring him here, stop making such a fuss”

So wearing his jacket and a sexy grin, he walked to the loading bay,

The filming crew were all aghast, they didn’t know what to say.

He swaggered in, his hair slicked back, he was an impressive sight,

His jacket new, his trousers pressed, the heartthrob of the night.

The cameras rolled, young Tom was there playing his part with pride,

He loaded bundles with such ease, and threw them to one side.

“Them upstairs” were well impressed, such an advert for the firm,

The rest of us who were not picked, could only sit and squirm.

He acted well, then took his bow, then drove his van away,

Not just Tom “Anyone” anymore, Tom Cruise is here to stay!

Marilyn Nolan

Poets’ Corner – the list grows……

This poem from Christina Lynn is rather topical

Compare when this was written to where we are now……

 

COVID-19

 

For that year of twenty-twenty

In the future we’ll have plenty

Stories which I’m sure we’ll tell

Of the horror that befell

When spreading all around the world

Coronavirus it took hold

Where it started, not quite sure

But put a blight on our future!

 

At the start we were too late

And being slow determined fate

Of those who were most vulnerable

From this virus diabolical.

 

Boris listened to the men scientific

Sure, their advice was most prolific,

“Herd Immunity” they hoped we’d get

And so few targets we had set.

Our hands to wash in “special way”,

While singing twice Happy Birthday.

Two metres distance we should stand

From other people in the land.

They hoped these things would stop the spread

Of virus which on contact fed.

 

Now “Lockdown” should have come much sooner,

In waiting, Boris made a bloomer.

This delay came at a cost.

As many were the lives we list.

Boris too was then laid low,

In hospital t’was touch and go,

But nurses helped to pull him through

This virus so much worse than ‘flu.

 

Soon our lives turned upside down,

And many things now made us frown,

Some were big and some were small

We wondered just what would befall

Us, if we lived, or if we died?

There was no place where we could hide.

 

Those in care homes were neglected

No P.P.E. for them provided.

Many there would lose their lives

However hard the staff might strive.

“Immune systems”, did they function?

If not must stay in isolation.

For those who lived in cramped conditions

This would cause them many problems.

 

The “poor” who had so little money

For them and children ’twas not funny.

But “Food Banks” to their rescue came

(We as a nation should feel shame!)

Then we thought we’d “track and trace”

To get this running was a race.

You might have guessed, yes, many hitches

And oh so many, many glitches.

 

On Thursdays then at 8 o’clock,

In streets we stood with hands to clap

Those doctors, nurses in the NHS

With key-workers they’re the best.

 

Technology it was a boon

Many could connect with “Zoom”.

Industrious people worked from home

Long calls were made on telephone.

 

However things were not all bad

‘Cos other benefits we had

When we worked all those long hours

There was no time to tend the flowers!

Now every bed looked pristine, weeded

Every flower was dead-headed,

That old shed repaired and tidy

All tools there were oiled and ready.

Rooms which many years had waited

Now were fresh and decorated!

 

Air was clean without pollution

Less cars now, new resolution.

Electric cycles now the rage

These useful were for those of age

When pedalling vigorously up a hill

No longer seems to fit the bill!

But there’s one problem we all shared

What could we do about our hair?

Men with long white hair we saw

Looking like Methuselah

Pig-tails, pony-tails, hair like rats

Some people covered heads with hats.

Hair now grown, but not same colour

‘Cos now was grey and looking duller.

Of dear me we were so worried,

But Government would not be hurried.

Hairdressers they were in a race

Protection had to be in place

Before the scissors out could come

And snip, snip, snip the job be done.

Now the future’s in our hands

We should not bury heads in sand.

In days to come we must remember

People, the services they rendered

To our country much in need.

For their own safety paid no heed!

Some lost their lives in helping others,

Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers.

And when all this is at an end,

I hope the message that we’ll send

“Key-workers” all must have reward

There is no other way forward.

 

By Christina Lynn

Poets’ Corner 27 September 2020 – continued

Hello again all – here we have a poem from our Committee Member, Marilyn Nolan.  It was inspired by Marilyn’s niece, who loved the band, “The Style Council”  – an English band formed by Paul Weller (singer, songwriter and guitarist formerly from “The Jam”, and keyboard player Mick Talbot, in 1982.

ODE TO DOT

She’s reached the age of seventeen, and still not seen the light.

She thinks Paul Weller’s fabulous, he’s really out of sight.

 

Is it the legs, no cannot be, for they’re like bits of string

So thin and white, bereft of hair, I feel so sad for him.

 

Must be the nose attracting her, just like a skiing slope.

So straight and long and pointed too, he’s really got no hope!

 

His crowning glory, his barnet fair, it accentuates his beak,

Having it cut so short and cropped, like Samson, has made him weak.

 

His taste in clothes is something else; they hang just like a sack,

But without a doubt my favourite gear, is his sexy, dirty mac.

 

One day she’ll see the light, I’m sure, cause if he could take his pick,

He’d not give her a second look, for he’s friendlier with Mick!

Poets’ Corner 27 September 2020

Hello all – sorry for the hiccup, but I have so many poems to choose from, it’s taking me some time to select them!
Here’s the first one I’ve selected – from Christina Lynn’s booklet “Verses Written Some Before But Most During Lockdown”  These booklets are being sold if anyone is interested – in aid of the Wannock Village Hall and the Vickie Vowles Memorial Fund For Safer Childbirth” – cost £5 each or two for £8.  Contact me if you are interested and I’ll put you in touch with Christina.

 

TO JAZZIE

In this time of isolation

My cat has been my consolation.

From break of day ’till dusk at night

She’s always there to set me right.

Stroking her, it keeps me calm

Her soothing purr it is a balm,

When tickled underneath her chin,

It’s better far than medicine.

“Jazzie” is my pussy’s name,

I do not know from whence she came.

Handed in to “Cats Protection”, skin and bone

Her kittens whereabouts unknown.

Though lean at first she has grown bigger

And now displays a portly figure.

She’s paws and vest and tum of white,

Striped pantaloons a funny sight!

Her body’s glossy tortoishell

Which with the white contrasts so well.

Her eyes are green and beautiful,

She stares at you, she is no fool,

She weighs you up and with that look

Your soul’s laid bare, an open book,

That tells here if you’re friend or foe

She’s canny and will always know.

That is why at our first meeting

She rubbed round me and miaowed a greeting

That told me we’d be friends forever,

I think that shows that she is clever!

Her ears are soft and feel like velvet,

Their position on her head well set.

Whiskers long and white and straight

Size of gap to estimate.

The markings on her face suggest an owl

And like that hunter she goes to prowl.

Her hunting skills are quite prodigious

Voles and mice she finds delicious.

What’s left behind does not look pleasant,

I’m glad she hasn’t caught a pheasant.

Though there’s always some that get away

Or she leaves then for another day.

Sometimes they die and leave a whiff

The only time we have a tiff!

She has a routine quite precise

No bad thing for both of us.

Her breakfast’s served at seven-thirty

Which means I have to get up early.

She needs to have a special diet

To keep her waterworks just right.

In personal hygiene she’s fastidious

There never was a cleaner puss.

She reaches places others can’t

With legs right-angled at a slant.

She is a living ornament,

This cat to me from heaven sent.

To those alone I recommend

You get a cat to be your friend.

They do not need to have a walk

And with you they like to talk.

You will not argue or have rows,

They’ll give you pleasure hours and hours.

CHRISTINA LYNN – Author

Poets’ Corner – 24 September 2020

For your delectation and delight, we are offering two, yes 2 poems today, as they are related.

One of our Committee members (Marilyn Nolan) admitted that she had written a few poems “in the style of Pam Ayres”, and she has recently sent them through to me.  I am starting with 2 related ones – here goes…..

ODE TO A MOUSE 

(An ode written for my husband’s friend)

A mouse should be a tiny creature, as timid as can be,

A man should be big and strong, a real man just like me.

A male of my acquaintance looks dominant and tough

But listen to him squeaking, fleas are made of stronger stuff!

I phone him up and ask him, “Can you come out to play?”

This little voice starts squeaking “I can’t come out today”

My wife has gone out shopping, more money I must pay,

And so I can’t spend any, she took my car away!

I can’t believe I’m hearing this; I’m master in my house,

I thought he was a real man, but he’s just a …kin’ mouse!!

PS  I promised my beloved, I wouldn’t go out tonight,

       And I squeaked for half an hour, till this poem did she write!!

 

ODE TO A CAR THIEF

(An ode written for my husband’s friend’s wife)

A woman’s place is in the home, cooking for her spouse

Even if “him indoors” is just a …kin’ mouse!!

You cannot go out shopping and do just as you like

If you really must go out at all, make sure you use your bike!!

It’s not as if he eats much, after all he’s just a mouse

No need to shop for food, so, stay indoors and clean the house!

Ne needs his car each day you see, your gadding out must stop,

Without it we have no transport to travel to our “shop”.

So leave his bloody car alone, it isn’t pink, it’s red,

Let him be a real man, have this chocolate car instead!!

PS  To get my wife to write this, I really had to pay,

I’ve got to do the ironing for ever and a day!!

 

By Marilyn Nolan

Poets’ Corner – our collection grows!

Last week I was contacted by one of our members who had read our newsletter and the “Ageing Well in East Sussex” booklet, and had seen our “on-line” event!  This lady just happened to have recently published a booklet called “Verses Written Some Before But Most During Lockdown”  This booklet is being sold in aid of two good causes:  Wannock Village Hall and the Vickie Vowles Memorial Fund for Safer Childbirth.

If anyone wishes to purchase the booklet, please contact me on 01273 583213/07866 301908 and I will put you in touch with the author and give you more details.

 

I will put one of Christina Lynn’s poems on today, and more will appear soon after

 

HELP!

Our feathered friends enjoy a bath

But oh for you it was no laugh

That morning when ablutions done

To remove yourself you had begun

 

Your back gave way and when you tried

It was so difficult you cried

No good shouting, no one could hear

Even neighbours who were near

There was a way to summon aid

But naked in the bath you laid!

“Oh dear me, what shall I do?”

Should I ring for rescue, but by who?

 

For firemen it is nothing new

Bodies in the buff, they’ve seen a few!

When people in their baths get stuck

But oh, “Hooray, I’m out – what luck!”

With towel I took my modesty to cover

I’ll dry myself and then recover

 

But now, at last the time has come

I know t’will cost but must be done.

The bath must go, and in its place

A shower new the space will grace

And though I know a ‘soak’ I’ll miss

To sit in comfort will be bliss!

Author: Christina Lynn

 

 

 

Poets’ Corner – more for our collection!

We have been really lucky this time – three (yes, 3!) poems for the price of one!

One of our members, Lyn Davies, is in touch with two lovely ladies from New Zealand who enjoy creative writing and take it in turns to set a topic each month.  Unsurprisingly, Covid-19 has been a “hot topic” recently.  Enjoy these humorous verses from Lyn!

 

It’s different

 

In the garden, no weeds.

In the house, no dust.

In the garage, no rubbish.

On the railings, no rust.

In the sky, no planes.

On the street, no feet.

Far less traffic,

People can’t meet.

But the air is pure.

Nature can thrive.

I’ve learnt new crafts.

Guess I’ll survive

 

 

The Big Shut Down

 

A one-eyed Teddy Bear,

High on a toy shop shelf,

Sat with his two companions,

A fairy and an elf.

The owner was clairvoyant

And in his tea-leaves saw,

A virus fast approaching

Closing every store.

The Big Shut Down Sale was planned.

They did it pretty quick

Before the town got wind of things

And made them worried sick.

Festooned with balloons and banners

The door flung open wide.

Shoppers with over-filled purses

Bargain-hunted inside.

Puzzles, books and Barbies,

Techno games galore

Flew from the shelves of the toy shop

Soon to be no more.

Christmas and birthday presents

Rang through the tills all day.

The three companions tried their best

But no-one looked their way.

When shoppers and staff departed

No-one gave a care

For a sad little fairy and an elf

And a one-eyed Teddy Bear.

 

……and finally……like many people I suspect, we had a huge clear out of unwanted items which lead to this one…

 

The Man Drawer

 

In the man drawer

He hides everything…

Batteries, dead

Books, unread

Instructions, torn

Cufflinks, unworn

Pencils, broken

Out of date token

Glasses, deceased

Photographs, creased

Scissors for nails

Adverts for sales

Coins in a jar

From countries afar

Mobile charger

One small, one larger

All defunked

Load of junk

But it might be useful

One day.

LYN DAVIES (Newhaven)

Thank you so much Lyn – these poems certainly made me smile and giggle a little to myself – and how true is the “Man Drawer”!!!