What Would their friends think?

Posted on January 29, 2022 by Roland's Ragbag

An entry in the Daily Telegraph’s 1999 Mini-Saga Competition.

The task set being to compose a story of 50 words exactly – no more! no less!

IF I HAD MY WISH

Posted on October 18, 2021 by Roland's Ragbag

I can find no trace of the poem / ditty printed below. I am not the author, and I am unable to find out who is / was. Many years ago, when I was probably around the age of 6 or 7 (i.e. in the 1940s – yes, that’s right, during WWII ), I learnt this poem by heart and delivered it to an audience at a Yorkshire chapel concert – presumably to demonstrate my skills in memorised recitation. Well … it certainly wasn’t to showcase a budding poet! Although I don’t recall being sensitive at the time about the cannibalistic sentiments expressed, I do now see the poem as somewhat ‘non-PC’ and quite unsuitable for directing a child to commit such verses to heart and then expound them in public.

. . . and Yes, I have never forgotten these verses, the dramatic emphases within the poems structure, or the subtle cadence of its rhythms (!!!). So . . . make of it what you will, but I would certainly be interested if anyone can throw light on its origins and/or its creator! . . .

. . . I remember being instructed to “pause before delivering the last line … and then say it quickly and loudly – with emphasis!” . . . What artistry !!!

If I had my wish
I would be a small fish
And swim where nobody could catch me.
I never would look
At a worm on a hook,
Or some naughty boy then might snatch me.

I’d frolic and play
With the fishes all day,
And not go to school at nine-thirty.
I’d not give a bean
If my neck wasn’t clean,
Or if BOTH my ears should get dirty.

And when I had died,
I should like to be fried,
With the bones taken out of my tummy,
And served, if you please,
With some lovely green peas,
… and then eaten up by my mummy!

With Tongue In Cheek

Posted on August 30, 2021 by Roland's Ragbag

Oh yes, I’m now old and decrepit,
But neither past it nor fetid.
In no way I’m over and finished;
My ardour still has not diminished.

… ‘COS …

Age has not wearied me yet;
Desire is still with me,
Lust still stirs within me,
I’m a game old codger, you bet!

… SO …

IF YOU WERE MINE

You look divine.
If you were mine
I’d drool and dote,
You’d have my vote.

I’d fire Love’s dart
To win your heart.
That’s not a sin,
I know I’d win.

I’d face the press,
Ignore the mess.
I’d tie you to me
And Lose the key.

With every wish
I’d be selfish.
You’d have to be
Welded to me.

And each new day
Would show the way
To hold love fast,
To make it last.

And every kiss
Would speak of bliss,
Would prove at last
Life had not past.

They say I’m old
And won’t be told;
That love has past,
Dried up at last.

But yet I know
I’d love you so.
Despite my age
I’d take the stage.

You’d be my queen
And reign supreme
Over our peers.
For which three cheers.

So here’s the rub,
The heart, the nub.
What we’d have then
Is our Amen.

‘Twould gave us hope,
Help us to cope
With life, with pain,
To live again.

And when at last
Our time was past,
Our journey done,
We’d be as one.

. . . so . . .

Take a note!
I’m not dead yet,
And, get this quote,
“I’d like to bet
You’ll be like me,
You’ll have a ball
When you can see
Work is not all.”