The Shaving Conundrum

I cannot get the razor in my wrinkles
they’re far too deep to get a blade in there
I remember when these crevices were dimples
but back then I didn’t have the facial hair
I guess I need to buy a pair of tweezers
or Brazilian wax if that does not seem weird
but whatever I decide it needs to be quite soon
as I cannot walk around with wrinkle beards


Last Year’s Rhyme : A Minute of Nonsense

last year’s rhyme was a longer rhyme
funny it felt quite short at the time
but this year’s rhyme is hardly writ
and already we are near the end of it.

I wonder though on next year’s ode
will it in turn take the very same mode
and will that rhyme just stutter and stall
in fact will it even rhyme at all?

Head Lines

Mister Hit-Parade is dead
Senta Berger jumps for joy
there’s crumbs of Wordsworth in my bed
for rhymes I must employ.

So I spark a docker’s delight
and hope my ship comes in
as I dream it every night
I write it all down with a grin

The table turns and Stevie sings
Noël Coward drops to the floor
Jane wrote a line about apron strings
but alas I can’t write anymore.

Everybody Goes (nonsense quickie)

Brigitte Bardot
all at one time
had to go
Da Vinci
Stevie Wonder
would have had use
for a put under
Michael Rennie
were also known
to spend a penny
and Marilyn
before she died
was definitely
The Dalai Lama
St. Jerome
have sat upon
the porcelain throne
all presidents
have been known
to go the gents
and even good Queen
Lizzie too
still takes time
to use the loo

Saturday Knight

a knight, he went a tarrying
up and down the outer shire
his tilly, tolly, tallywhacker
held aloft by his young squire

up on his hippy hobby horse
oh he had such a smile
following the river’s course
for four and twenty miles

this knight’s name was Barnaby
his squire’s name was Bill
they’d come to fight the dragon
who lived on Bidston Hill

but the dragon came from Birkenhead
and knew a thing or two
so that morning stayed in bed
and said he had the flu

so Barnaby and little Bill
despondent rode away
in search of something else to kill
perhaps on Saturday.

Bucket List (first bucket)

I’ve never painted a turnip
I’ve never jumped in a lake
I’ve yet to ride on a big balloon
or leave destruction in my wake
I’ve still not ridden a motorbike
or stepped one step on the moon
I’ve not met a kitten I didn’t like
or shook hands with a blue arsed baboon
I’ve never climbed to a mountain top
or swummed in the big blue sea
but all these ambitions mattered not
once you said you love me.