My husband has a rubber face

  • My husband has a rubber face,
    He’s from a subspecies of the human race.
    Some men have faces fixed and set
    My husband’s face is not like that
  • He imitates our politicians,
    Just like Rory Bremner can.
    Though he has no wig or hair piece,
    He can look like anyone.
  • Some nights I waken for I am laughing
    While I am quite sound asleep.
    I am dreaming of his mobile features,
    Contorted to a different shape.He is skilled at telling jokes.
    And he loves a good cartoon.
    If I am feeling flu type blueness

  • Hhe can get me up again.
  • He has a rather noble visage.
    He gets attention he abhors.
    In the bar on King’s Cross Station—
    I was asked was he a Lord!He’s a Lord of Fun and Humour.
    He’s a Lord at Listening Well.
    He’s unique, but so are you,
    And all creatures that on earth do dwell

The end of the affair

  • Stan has just got back from church.He helps to polish the pews on a weekly rota.He also embroiders kneelers.He learned in the Navy.Sailors used to knit whilst on long voyages and sew too.Now he’s home and making some coffee.
    Ah ah,the doorbell.He ignores it.Then Annie appears tapping on the window.”Hello,what’s up?” he enquires impatiently.Church seems to affect him that way……..odd!
    “I’m just a bit lonely as Emile’s come back to you.”
    “What about the bee you adopted.Bobbi?
    “”They’re affectionate but rather hard to cuddle,”she answered with tears in her green eyes.”They do look soft and furry but they are too small”
    “You need something about a dog?”
    “I’d prefer a man,”she said softly and suggestively.
    “Why not give meditation a go?” Emile miaowed.
    “I’m a bit past it all now at 106,” Stan replied.”But, if you get some rainbow striped underwear from Ann Summers and some red bed socks , maybe that might help with the desirability aspect.”
    “I will not be seen dead in striped underwear,” she cried cunningly.
    “Well,why don’t you go on the internet?You could find someone younger and slimmer than me!”
    Annie looked very angry.”I’ve spent 20 years on you.Are you telling me it’s all wasted?”
    “No,it’s been useful to know how to ring 999,” he admitted wonderingly.
    “But my baking would have been quicker if you hadn’t kept coming in trying to induce me,reduce or seduce me.”he said confusedly
    “Are you losing your word power?” she asked curiously.
    “No,I said that on purpose.I’m training to go to a poetry weekend at East Anglia University.”
    “You are so daring,darling!”
    “Well,what have I got to lose? he riposted jovially.
    “And all the food is included.It’s only £3,000 for the weekend!”
    “Is that cheap?” “I don’t know.I need to look at the Index of Retail Prices or whatever they have nowadays.”
    They sat before the computer gazing at the government data and statistics with pen and paper in their hands.
    “I really enjoyed that,”said Annie,”It’s even better than sex!”
    “Thank God for that,” thought Stan with wry amusement.
    “Now I can keep her busy learning more about how to analyse data.I’m fed up with kissing her all day long.Now we can study for Open University degrees in mathematics and statistics and keep our minds lively.”
    “Quick put the kettle on Mary is here.”
    “Hello,Mary.We are studying government statistics.It’s so interesting.”
    “Yes,I know” she answered coltishly.”But a woman has another needs too.”
    “Oh,no!” cried Stan,”Not you too.” He fell onto the striped rug by the fire.
    “Oh,dear,I suppose we’d better ring 999!” said Mary to Annie.”How lucky you are here,dear.”
    “Well,I’ll make the tea.We’ll need it.”
    “By the way,Annie,your eyes are looking so bright.Like two emeralds.” Mary whispered.”Have you ever fancied a woman?”
    “No,darling.It never occurred to me.So many men.So little time.”
    “Well,do let me know if you are interested!”
    “Sorry,dear.I want to become a government statistician then maybe I can understand government the from within, as it were.”
    She ran out singing “Onward Socialist Lovers” to welcome Dave,the handsome paramedic who was at the door.
    “Dave,do you know any Statistics” she called.
    “Only vital ones,my angel,” he replied coolly.
    “How’s Stan?”
    Not dead yet“Stan called spiritedly from the blue lambswool, hand washable Mary Quant rug.”Get me some fresh tea and we can all discuss the latest health statistics.”
    Anne laughed merrily but she looked truly insincere.At least according to Emile ,who was hiding behind the television in the corner.”I wish we could have our dinner,” he murmured.But no-one heard him.
    Cats don’t like tea but nobody seems to know.Emile is hoping to write a book soon.”Cat against tea.”

The ancient holy song

Although it’s dark, out there the blackbird sings
His territory  is the same as in the past
An ancient ,holy sound begins the Spring.

These birds are little dinosaurs with wings
Like the spider they adapt so last
Although it’s dark, out there my blackbird sings.

What other pleasures will the season bring?
The crocus flowers the daffodils,long grass
An ancient ,holy sound begins the Spring.

In my leafy wood, birds wisely throng.
We have no cat nor greenhouse with its glass
Although it’s dark, out there my blackbird sings.

In my heart, for Northern moors I long;
The heather where we loved, the sheep shorn grass
As ancient ,holy sounds began the Spring.

Yet I am rarely mournful for the past
God lives in each moment,Life’s our Mass
Although it’s dark out there the blackbird sings
An ancient ,holy sound begins the Sprin

Shut the door to refugees

Where have all the cowards gone?
Wrong time passing
Where have all the cowards gone
Wrong rhyme ago?
Where have all the cowards gone?
In the government half of them
When will they pay and go?
When will old Satan show?

See him in a liar’s eyes
See him in the murky skies
See him laugh as children die
See him,hear him by and by
when will we ever learn?

Let children drown in warm blue seas
Shut the doors to refugees
Like we did to Europe’s Jews
Just buy red poppies and feel pleased
When will we truly mourn?
When will we ever grieve?

Taunt no more the hints of man

Taunt no longer idiots on these isles
For like the Lord they are not English pure
They voted for the stupid and the wild

In appearance, May looks fairly mild
For old men, she has a faint allure
Being the headless sweeper of church aisles

Boris Johnson Turkey has defiled
He cooked his goose in rapeseed oil uncured
As befits the madmen and the wild

Michael Gove’s own head his heart beguiled
What saves him from the deserts of the sewer
Taunt no longer morons on these isles

The NHS is poorer mile by mile
It’s good if you are dying on the wires
Even when it’s suicide to smile

Mrs Thatcher never paid the toll
She wrote a cheque and signed the counterfoil
Taunt no longer MPs on these isles
We chose among the cunning, the most vile.

Mr Putin s mind is very cold

The freshness of spring air soothes human souls

Except there is a war a Russian start

So our happy feelings can’t take hold

Though late,spring air does soothe our anxious souls

Mr Putin’s mind is very cold.

Nothing but a bomb gives him delight

Soft the sunny air on stricken souls

The freshness of such air soothes human souls

Except, forever lost, old Russians fight