A Jack The Lad To His Mrs
(After Marlowe)
Come live with me and be my love
Though we’re not wed, we’re hand in glove.
There’s a new estate close to South Shields,
The Council built it on some fields.
I’ve got some keys that fit the locks
To one of them, don’t look so shocked,
Just tell the inspector when he calls
That our six kids need roof and walls.
It’s all he needs, ’cause he supposes
They live in damp, have runny noses,
The tale I told, for the last hurdle.
Oh and put some padding in your girdle.
Sit knitting bootees in white wool,
That way they’ll think your belly’s full
And know that hardship will unfold
When the landlord throws us in the cold.
Don’t let on the kids are borrowed,
Will go back home to Sis tomorrow,
Or they will never let us move.
Come live with me and be my love
A New Me
How slim I was at twenty,
But I fear those days are gone,
I carry fat aplenty.
Fond memories live on
Of a waist no longer there,
Before I weighed a ton.
My days of long dark hair,
Without a hint of grey,
That made the men-folk stare.
Those days, now far away
Still fill me with regret,
Too bad, they didn’t stay
I miss them so, and yet
I’m sure that I can change
And a better figure get.
I’ll gladly rearrange,
To how slim I was at twenty,
And once more I’ll think it’s strange,
To carry fat aplenty.
Census At Bethlehem – Pieter Bruegel the elder
How well you transferred to canvas
The night there was no room at the inn.
How cold and bleak, yet full of crowds
The place, as Joseph led the pregnant Mary
On an ass, to be counted by oppressors.
Did Mary, I wonder, know the birth was imminent?
Certainly, she wouldn’t know the stir her baby caused.
Worshipped equally by shepherds and by kings,
By man and beast and worshipped still today.
The City
The city is a busy place,
Theatres, shops and bars
Line its bustling streets.
Men in suits hurry to and from
The railway stations to offices,
Where world trade is carried out.
But while for some the streets
Are paved with gold, for others
It’s a hellish place to be.
Ask the old man in the park,
A cardboard box his only home,
The girl who sells her body,
Not for pleasure, not for fun,
But because she’s an illegal, trafficked,
Needs to pay the man who brought her here.
So, as you walk its pavements,
Sit in theatres, drink in bars,
Spare a thought for the man
Whose cardboard box, is home,
For the girl who prostitutes herself.
Incy Wincie Spider
Incy wincie spider,
Ran round and round the garden.
Burping very loudly,
He said, “I beg your pardon.”
Incy wincie spider
Couldn’t find the spout,
He knew there was a drought on,
So he wouldn’t get washed out.
Incy wincie spider,
Asked a teddy-bear,
Who said, “You must be blind, old man,
The drain-pipe’s over there.”
Incie wincie spider
Climbed the spout, so steep.
Curled up in his favourite spot
And promptly fell asleep.
She Takes The Floor
She takes the floor and plans to dance till morn
Watching her gyrate, her partners ask for more,
While women view her moves with envied scorn,
She takes the floor.
My envy of her seeps through every pore.
I cannot help but wish she’d not been born.
Her conquests now are drawn from every shore.
The hearts of men, she now from them, has torn,
They love her as they’ve never loved before,
Too bad she’ll join her husband, come the dawn,
She takes the floor.
