Magpie Tales

MAGPIE TALES

 Passed!

I had to pass her, Mrs. B;

She would keep making eyes at me,
Her nineteenth test, she couldn’t drive,
But she was “eating me alive.”
Those mini skirts, revealing thighs
Up to and beyond her eyes.
Couldn’t see where she was going,
Blond fringe ever over flowing,
And, ah, me, that seductive smile,
As we zigzagged every mile,
Three point turn in twenty four,
 couldn’t take it any more.
So I lost my head and passed her,
Hoping to avoid disaster.
So, on the road she takes her place.

Be warned, people, watch this space.

28.10.11

           

STUPID DUCK

I said, “If I were you, I’d stay

On the pond, it’s your unlucky day;”

I knew, with his luck

He’d become Crispy Duck.

Oh, I’m no good at this sort of thing.

Magpie Tales

STUPID DUCK

I said, “If I were you, I’d stay

On the pond, it’s your unlucky day;”

I knew, with his luck

He’d become Crispy Duck.

Oh, I’m no good at this sort of thing.

Magpie TalesMAGPIE TALES

“THE LITTLE KING"

“So like him,” she thought as she walked past

His, (as she called it,) “stupid still life thing,”

“….Arrangement…..”  surely it could not be classed

As that; cold coffee, local rag and….king?

A little plaster model, and so small

Now chipped and faded, destined for the bin.

It, and the mug, she’d like to see them fall,

The coffee drench the king and then begin

To seep and spread, spoiling his pride and joy,

(Oh, yes! To see his disappointed rage,)

Half finished canvas painting, and, oh boy!

His silly smiling face soaked off the page. 

10.10.

 

ELEPHANT WITH WINGS

I’ve  been given these wings for my birthday

My ears just aren’t quite big enough,

I can fly in my dreams,

But on waking, it seems

That I’m too big for this sort of stuff.

I really am quite disappointed;

I can’t seem to get off the ground,

I watched Dumbo do it,

And thought, “nothing to it,”

But I’m too heavy, too fat and too round.

A "GIVE ME A TOPIC" POEM

Here's the topic a follower suggested I might like to write a poem about.  If you have any ideas, do pass them my way

NO SOUVENIRE

No. Souvenir?  You promised you would!

i did want some tat from New York,

“A Present From Broadway”, or some such bad taste,

Or even a French champagne cork.

Wot, no sombrero?  No “kiss-me-quick” hat?

No rude seaside postcard, oh, shame!

No interesting pong from the duty free shop?

Now, that’s really not playing the game.

No t-shirt from Blackpool! I’m so deeply hurt,

Do you know, I might even cry,

No bracelet from Brighton, no beach towel declaring

In crimson, “SEE FRINTON AND DIE.”

But what really battered our friendship to bits,

And came as somewhat of a shock;

The one thing I asked for and what you forgot,

Was a stick of pink peppermint rock.

Yuck!

When I was at boarding school, somewhere round about eight years of age, my friend and partner in crime, Nova and I were caught by Matron one morning eating toothpaste.  We knew we were for it, God save the mark and perish the memory; a fate worse than death; a large dose of Syrup Of Figs, and for no other reason than that she knew it made us feel sick.  Try as we might, we couldn't get rid of the taste.  It hung on for hours

However if we had an accident or were upset in any way, we were taken to the head mistress's sitting room, patted on the head and given a packet of dried figs.......as a special treat! 

Wet or dry I have hated figs ever since.  Even the word brings back the taste and the nausea.  They evern look as they should smell unspeakable.

Yesterday evening, however, Alice, (bless her) changed my life.  She walked towards me laden with fresh-from-the-tree figs.  I've never seen fresh figs before, but when she told me what they were, that horrid taste came back to me.  She offered me a couple, but I refused as politely as I could, but my daughter, Holly accepted them with glee.  "Mum, they're yummy!" she exclaimed. "Not a bit like the figs you buy at Christmas."  They were pear shaped and green and not at all like what I'd been brought up with.

Tentatively I ate a piece.  This wasn't fig!  This was glorious; sweet and juicy.  I felt a bit like "Mole" in "The Wind In The Willows"  ("oh, my, oh, my1")

Now I'm on a mission......Leave figs alone!  don't liquidise them or dry them.  Why do we have to mess things around?  They're wonderful straight from the tree.

Oh, by the way, whoever thought up sun dried tomatoes?