Shielding in the Nursery

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Shielding in the Nursery

 

Jack Sprat Is getting fat,
He’s nibbling while he shields.
Weight reduction and old age
Are now his battlefields.

His wife has quite a different plan
As she battles with her weight.
Her diet, filled with pop and coke,
And cake upon her plate.

Tommy Tucker no longer sings,
Waiting for his supper,
Gorging on sweets and chocolate,
And loaves of bread with butter.

Little Miss Muffet’s curds and whey
No longer are enough
To satisfy her appetite,
She huffs and puffs and stuffs.

Georgie Porgie’s pudding and pie
Were never enough for existence,
He’s taken to feeding on fat chicken thigh
As the line of least resistance.

Little Jack Horner still loves his pies,
But one won’t suffice for a snack,
So he adds to his meals a pair of Cartwheels
And a toffee and treacle flapjack.

Now Humpty Dumpty sits on the floor,
He’s had quite enough of falling.
He contents himself with Smarties galore,
His appetite something appalling.

Jack and Jill are filling out,
Snacking all the time,
Drowning their recent lockdown sorrows
In patisseries and wine.

All seem now to have given up trying
To take more care with their diet,
Which causes us all to be sad at their fall,
At least they’re not having a riot.

 

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New Year – A Two Word Tale – #8

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Photo by DreamSky on Pexels.com

 

New year
Cold night
Snow falls
All white

Hot fire
Scots pine
Church choir
Mulled wine

Bright hearth
Warm heart
First foot
New start

 

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My ‘Two Word’ Verses

Number eight  in my series of short verses 

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Reverie #7: Dead Drunk 

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Photo by Mateusz Dach on Pexels.com

Reverie #7: Dead Drunk

… A Dirge in the Key of D 

 

Drunk 
Distended and Distressed 
Doped in a Downtown Dive 
what have I Done to Desire to live 
what have I Done to Deserve a life 
what Dread Deeds Do I Declare 
Why is all Despair 
 
Down and out and 
Done to Death 
Dipped in Diesel 
Dressed in Dirt 
Dished up 
Defeated 
and Drowned in Drink 
Doing my Damnedest to Die 
 
Deftly Dealt 
It was a Diamond from the Deck 
Doom’s Deliberate Dance of Death 
Done and Dusted 
Drowned in Dread 
 
IN CASE OF DEATH 
DO NOT RESUSCITATE 

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In Vino Veritas 

 

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Photo: WHB – Devon 2019  . . .  ©

In Vino Veritas

Truth …  
In wine? 
Pull the other one. 
Stick it on me, babe 
I’ll believe it when I feel it 
 
Next you’ll be persuading me 
Love is blind 
When everyone knows 
However fickle 
It’s in the beholder’s ken 
The plaything of their whim 
Their only hope for the future 
 
Then 
You’ll be saying 
Time flies 
When we all know  
It sinks and swims 
Runs and stutters 
Can’t make its mind up 
Whether to be patient 
Or restive 
Anxious or unhurried 
 
And as for 
Life being for living 
Non sequiturs 
Don’t come better than that 
Its for laughing 
For crying 
But…. 
Above all it’s for dying 
For returning to the earth which spawned us 
For calling time on the pain of living 
 
For …  
And this we must remember …  
As the old song goes 
You can’t have one without the other. 
 
Sic transit gloria mundi 

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G.K.Chesterton: ‘Wine And Water’

 (Poem No.47 of my favourite short poems)

Gilbert Keith Chesterton (1874 – 1936), was an English writer, poet, philosopher, dramatist, journalist, orator, theologian, biographer, and literary and art critic.  He was a large man, standing 6 feet 4 inches and weighing over 20 stone (130 kg).  His girth, perhaps in part due to his great fondness for wine,  occasioned a famous incident when he remarked to his friend George Bernard Shaw  “Look at you, anyone would think a famine had struck England.”  Shaw retorted, “To look at you, anyone would think you have caused it”.

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Wine And Water

Old Noah he had an ostrich farm and fowls on the largest scale,
He ate his egg with a ladle in a egg-cup big as a pail,
And the soup he took was Elephant Soup and fish he took was Whale,
But they all were small to the cellar he took when he set out to sail,
And Noah he often said to his wife when he sat down to dine,
“I don’t care where the water goes if it doesn’t get into the wine.”

The cataract of the cliff of heaven fell blinding off the brink
As if it would wash the stars away as suds go down a sink,
The seven heavens came roaring down for the throats of hell to drink,
And Noah he cocked his eye and said, “It looks like rain, I think,
The water has drowned the Matterhorn as deep as a Mendip mine,
But I don’t care where the water goes if it doesn’t get into the wine.”

But Noah he sinned, and we have sinned; on tipsy feet we trod,
Till a great big black teetotaller was sent to us for a rod,
And you can’t get wine at a P.S.A., or chapel, or Eisteddfod,
For the Curse of Water has come again because of the wrath of God,
And water is on the Bishop’s board and the Higher Thinker’s shrine,
But I don’t care where the water goes if it doesn’t get into the wine.

Gilbert Keith Chesterton

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To reinforce Chesterton’s delight in the drinking of wine, I quote a verse from another of his poems on the same subject . . . 

“Feast on wine or fast on water,
And your honour shall stand sure …
If an angel out of heaven
Brings you other things to drink,
Thank him for his kind attentions,
Go and pour them down the sink.”

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