A Poem – They’ve gone and bought me slippers

They’ve gone and bought me slippers

What will they think of next?

I don’t need flamin’ slippers

I know how to text!

Then I’ll get a cardi

Chequered patterned wool

Choose a Stannah Stair Lift

That’ll help me pull!

It’s funny how the youngsters

Pigeonhole the old

Put them in to boxes

The watch them growing mould

But when does it start to happen

What women call ‘The Change’?

Transition to the Third Age

Onset of the mange?

One day you’re in the wine bar

Open necked shirt and chat

Ordering Veuve Clicquot

Giving it all that

Then suddenly it’s over

Happens in a flash

Blink, you just might miss it

The grey hairs in your ‘tache

It’s like they get together

Decide it’s time for you

To drop out of the A-team

And join the Zimmer crew

They’ve even chosen vehicles

A kind of ‘senior car’

MPVs and Volvos

And ugly Multipla

We’ve got sticks and senior moments

They like to laugh at those

Big pants for the women

And run-free pantyhose

Sanatogen for vim and vigour

Saga for spare time

Fat Fighters and Line Dancing

When you’re past your prime

‘Careful when you cross the road’

Watch out! Take good care!

Suddenly these phrases

Hit you from nowhere

Then it’s Friends Reunited

Catch up with 4B

Find out what they’re up to

No more Glastonbury…

Kaleidoscope catalogue frenzy

That looks rather good

Remote-control coffee holder

Smoke alarm cooker hood

Do you try to keep up?

With Twitter, Bluetooth and Wii

There’s YouTube, iPads, Facebook

Let’s have a cup of tea

You don’t ever want to lose it

Your grip on reality

But how do you relate to

Pete Bloody Doherty?

Soon it’s Stiffs Reunited

Now there’s a novel thought

To terrify the oldsters

From drinking all the port

No more French Connection

No more sexy gear

Society demands you move on

Country Casuals for you, dear

Women cause the problem

Say ‘Mutton dressed as Lamb’

That skirt it doesn’t suit her

Doesn’t she give a damn?

To those who point the finger

Saying ‘Age with dignity’,

I say, ‘Don’t be so judgemental

One day it tolls for thee

So to those who just might listen

To this my plaintive plea

Just stay off mail order

Grow old disgracefully

Winter Love

Easter love springs hope eternal

Yet coming year could be infernal

Bright new clothes and fluttering hearts

Can sometimes herald doomed false starts


Like budding bush and daffodil

Changing season’s bitter pill

Better bear in mind the cost

It’s often dashed by April frost


When love is born from summer heat

Passions flaming, love tastes sweet

Sea-washed shores and moonlit walks

It’s almost like old Cupid talks


Hands brush close as sun is burning

For torrid passion young loins yearning

Hearts beat fast by June time’s peak

But come the fall the love’s antique


Autumn leaves bring late romance

And don’t they lead a merry dance

Swirling, teasing in such a rush

Soon turn forest floor to mush


Country inns and carpets Persian

Easily create diversion

Come the season of glad tiding

Fickle amour is back in hiding


Yet winter love that’s born in snow

Ignites the passions far below

That is the love of yours and mine

Pray, when’s the day of St Valentine?


Winter love it fades not fast

Though land is swept with icy blast

From deep within our beating hearts

We’ll keep them safe, those angel’s darts





So lovers, seasonal advice

Don’t sunset seek in hasty trice

If true love is your heart’s desire

Wait until they’ve lit the fire


For springtime love can rue the day

When summer love has gone away

And autumn’s flickering candle? Never!

It’s winter love that lasts forever

 The Future Mrs W

Better Off Dead

I’ve always found it somewhat strange

No! Surreal is the word

The way we glorify the war

In film and spoken word


This is no attempt to scorn

Those men who paid the price

Quite the opposite is true

But wouldn’t it be nice


To look after the living

Whilst they’re still around

Not wait till Al Qaeda

Have stuck them in the ground


Under fire in Helmand province

Some Godforsaken hole

Fighting for Blair and country

It’s better than the dole


Let’s get back on topic

We’re talking about lives

There’s more dough for the dead, pal

Than weeping kids and wives


Trumpets, pomp and fancy funerals

Coffins draped with flags

Dignitaries saluting

The rows of body bags


But who was there to bother

When they all went out?

Just the wives and families

With stomachs in, chests out


Something on the morning show

Woke up my sleeping mind

We spend more money on the graves

Than the wives who are left behind


The boys went out with cardboard boots

And jeeps made out of tin

Yet we bring them back in coffins

Accompanying military din


“Necessary evil”

And “Expedient”’s bandied round

The only mass destruction

Is when Daddy can’t be found


There’s more Victoria Crosses

Given to the dead

They gave their lives for England

“Could someone pass the bread?”


Pompous politicians

Tell us why we’re there

Yet each and every conflict

Lacks planning and due care


This poem could be written

Down the centuries

The story never changes

Just the weapons and the ease –


– with which we slip into the carnage

Union Jacks held high

Never think about the outcome

Never questioning “But why?”


I think it’s the hypocrisy

The politicos band about

Ranting on about the honour

Masking all the doubt


“Ultimate sacrifice, don’t you know!”

All jolly fine working chaps

Try giving them some guns that work

Not friendly fire ‘mishaps’


And while we’re on the subject

Of inefficient tanks

Give our lads the right stuff

Don’t force nicking off the Yanks


We should go back to the old days

When the king stood at the front

Not hiding down in Whitehall

Like some lily-livered cunt


So think about the girlfriends

The families and wives

Desperate for a hand-out

To help their shattered lives


They don’t want shiny medals

Accepted through the tears

Try giving them decent money

To ease those stolen years