And soon became the prisoners of the Notts Allotmenteers
A voice came o’er the megaphone some thought it smug and rude,
Saying “Yes you’ve struck oil but it certainly ain’t crude,
It’s an Army oil tank, been lost for sixty years,
If you give us back the S.A.S we’ll let you oil your shears!”.
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The Bus-pass Romeo
Just about a year ago my Dad turned sixty-five,
And thought he’d go adventuring while he was still alive.
He set upon a mission where he would boldly go,
And ride the city transport as a bus-pass Romeo.
He chose the older ladies as he scoured the lonely hearts,
But realised he’d have to be a man of many parts.
Each demanded someone different with each letter that they wrote,
Expressing every fantasy to help them float their boat.
Lots of older ladies had flown the golden cage,
And dumped their inhibitions when they reached a certain age.
And so to keep them happy he told a few pork pies,
Which meant he had to court each one in a separate disguise.
One wanted Bob the Builder another Postman Pat,
And one just wanted bearskin in a Guardsman’s furry hat.
On Monday he was toy-boy in t-shirt, wig and jeans,
On Tuesday he was suited up as a businessman of means.
On Wednesday he wore posing pouch the lady wore a thong,
And he knew that it was party night when he felt her studded tongue.
Grace the curate’s widow while snogging in the pews,
Would lift her skirts and tease him with some very rude tattoos.
Mrs Drew from Bridgford a blue rinsed little gem,
Produced some whips and handcuffs and demanded S and M.
On Thursday he was bit of rough his date was most impressed,
When he turned up wearing fake tattoos in his mucky old string vest.
But all this dirty dancing began to take its toll,
With warden aided Wendy whose pash was rock and roll.
He’d never disappoint her but he felt a proper wuss,
In full Teddy boy regalia riding on a Barton’s bus.
But ladies he must leave you now for the hour is getting late,
You’ll find him in the Lonely Hearts ring up and make a date.
Life is made for living you too could boldly go,
Fulfilling your desires and dreams with the Bus-pass Romeo.
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The Tramps Bicycle
Tony the tramp would be seen round the town,
When winter his travels curtailed.
And down in the crypt of the sisters of mercy,
The warmth of their calling prevailed.
The sight of his plight brought him pints every night,
And sympathy flooded his way.
People offered him treats as he walked down the street,
And kept him well fed every day.
Then a generous donor gave Tony a bike,
That would otherwise go to the tip.
He polished it oiled it adjusted the seat,
His new status soon got a grip.
Times got suddenly lean as he rode his machine,
And all round the city he ranged.
The tramp didn’t tramp he rode on a bike,
And people’s attitudes changed.
His beer dried up and his treats were no more,
He now had to scrounge for his bread.
So upwardly mobile he soon got a job,
Delivering free-papers instead.
Then a gay divorcee thought she could see,
Through all the rags and the grime.
Beneath the veneer he was kind and sincere,
She would polish him up given time.
She got him a job that paid a few bob,
She was always out purchasing things.
To top up his pay he worked two shifts a day,
Her material needs had grown wings.
For six months or more he was on the shop floor,
His imprisonment crept up in stealth.
He stared out in rage through the bars of his cage,
For he knew that he’d built it himself.
At the end of his shift someone gave him a lift,
To somewhere near the M1.
He’d thrown his old bike in the factory dike,
So he happily stuck out his thumb.
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If you enjoyed these poems you might like to
The Onion Peeler
This book gives a captivating view of wartime Britain, the hungry 50's, the swinging 60's, the turbulent 70's and the free for all of the early 80's.
The Rat and Other Poems Page 3