You Just Can’t Take Me Anywhere

You just can’t take me anywhere,

By train or on the bus,

Whenever I must venture forth,

I like to make a fuss!

With bags across my shoulders,

And my cane between my knees,

I glare at people with a seat,

Until they’re ill at ease.

Of course, there are no vacancies,

So patiently I wait,

For some poor sod to sympathise

With my unhappy state.

Now, people share a strange belief,

That if they all do nothing,

No one has to take the blame

For not attempting something.

So, clinging to the railing,

As we lurch and bump and sway,

I plot revenge on anyone

Who dares get in my way!!

 

 

 

 

Florence once said, To her shy husband, Ted, “I’ve had an amazing idea!” “And what might that be?” he asked, tentatively, (He was not sure he wanted to hear.) “It would be so good, If only we could, Have a few people over for dinner? I thought Easter Day – all the kiddies could play And an egg hunt would be a humdinger!” It was time he got over, His acute social phobia, Whatever the cost, it was worth it. They would start really slow, and then gently let go, If you’re caught in a bubble, just burst it! He agreed to her plea,  Somewhat reluctantly, ‘Though she thought she was onto a winner! Preparations were made and tempers were frayed, As Ted’s wallet grew visibly thinner. It would be fancy dress, With a prize for the best, And the wine had been pleasantly tasted. Eggs in strange places, excitement in faces,  But Ted only wished to get wasted! Florence tried to explain, But her words were in vain, And upon his deaf ears they did fall. Betty Boo and The Bunny, Florence thought would be funny, So she gave a costumier a call. When the outfits arrived Ted was quite horrified, He wished he had paid more attention. In a Pink Bunny suit, Florence said he was cute, Now he prayed for divine intervention. The guests were arriving, Some kids started crying, Whenever he ventured too near, So Ted sat in a corner, tried to make himself smaller With a basket of eggs and a beer. By the time folk were leaving, And gladly receiving An egg from The Bunny himself, He was parched, dehydrated and exasperated And intended to leave with some stealth! But he was so clumsy, The zip on his onesie, Was broken beyond all repair. But he had to get out – get some air and a stout, Leaving Florence in total despair. Keeping well out of sight, Under cover of night, He made his way to “The King’s Head”. He collapsed on a stool and some bloody fool, Shouted out, “Take his pulse – is he dead?” About two days later, The Pink Bunny Caper, Went viral on Facebook and Twitter, On the BBC news and press interviews Now he’s cured of his pre-bunny jitter.

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Poem by Maddy Sykes

 

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Panic at the Checkout
You have an unexpected item in your baggage area

Poetic Rants and birodoodles

Panic at the checkout

I only wanted loo roll and some crumpets for my tea,

And milk so I could brew a good old cup of rosie lee

It should have taken minutes – maybe fifteen at the most.

If people try to speak to me right now, they will be toast!

 

I plodded through the supermarket doors and nearly froze,

Again, I had forgotten that I needed extra clothes.

Of course, it is essential that they keep a fridge or two,

But must the store itself be cold enough to turn us blue?

 

I set off rather smartly for some fresh milk from the dairy,

To find the semi-skimmed sold out, which was extraordinary.

Behind me, someone warned of snow and inclement conditions,

In three or four months’ time, so we should stock up with provisions!

 

Have I missed out on something? For Christ’s sake, it’s September.

We’re lucky if we see a flurry, even in December!

The battleaxe beside me glares, as I reach in the chiller,

If she keeps me from the last full cream, I fear I’ll have to kill her.

 

The snow-phobes hadn’t yet wiped out the toilet roll supply,

At least I didn’t have to fight to keep all clean and dry,

But what a choice we have, these days – now 2ply is just one,

There’s 3ply, quilted, scented, velvet tissue for my bum!

 

I can almost smell the crumpets, with the loaves on the next aisle,

But then this stupid woman stood before me with a smile.

“Well hi! How nice to see you. How are things, today?” she said.

“Thank you, Yes, I’m fine, if I can just get to the bread…?!”

 

Before long, I have figured out this supermarket scheme,

The cashier at the checkout is replaced by a machine.

Now, I’m not an idiot, a simpleton or fool,

But soon I’m made to feel as though I never went to school!

 

I clutch my ‘bag-for-life’ as I approach with apprehension,

But it appears that ‘eco-friendly’ is beyond its comprehension,

So, to start with, I am charged for plastic bags I do not need,

And all I ever use them for is storing chicken feed!

 

The automated checkout speaks – it couldn’t be much scarier,

“YOU HAVE AN UNEXPECTED ITEM IN YOUR BAGGAGE AREA”

Everybody turns to look, thinking they’ve caught a thief,

As a murderous – looking supervisor comes to my relief.

 

At last, I’m out! I swear to God I’ll not do that again,

Whoever thought up that idea was clinically insane!

From now on, you’ll not see me on the supermarket floor,

I’ll order stuff online and they can bring it to my door!

Panic at the Checkout and birodoodle by Maddy Sykes

 

 

 

 

 

A Poem for February

 

I think everyone gets a little depressed at this time of year, but spring is not so far away. There are snowdrops beneath the tree. Where there are snowdrops, there is always hope. I wrote this to cheer myself up a bit, one grey day. Do like if you do!

Fabby Febby!

Cold, dark and depressing,

Fabby Feb was here again.

Apathy and lethargy were tethered to my brain.

The month has just one feature,

For which we’re truly blessed –

Fabby Feb is forty-eight hours shorter than the rest!

I re-read many books I hadn’t looked at for decades,

Resisting ‘War and Peace’, ‘Les Miserables’ and ‘Fifty Shades’.

The water froze in all the pipes,

And that alone alarmed me.

When the thaw set in, I’d get a freaking great tsunami!

My little black book had some names of people who were handy,

So I picked the first one on the list and sent a text to ‘Andy’

I told him I had no idea where stopcocks were located…

Without checking predictive text, I was incarcerated!!

He reacted very quickly to my message, that’s for sure,

But then, unknown to me, he had expected something more!

I must say, he looked pretty fit,

But it was only my intention,

For him to check my taps out with advice on flood prevention.

I apologised that I was not able to offer tea,

He said, “No worries, leave all lubrication stuff to me”.

His trousers were slung very low,

Displaying builder’s bum

I had to get him out of here – I couldn’t cut and run!!

So I had a shot of whiskey and prepared to cut some slack.

Then he started to get chatty and there was no turning back.

“I’m sorry, mate, you’ll have to go,”

I said, “I’ve someone coming.”

He stopped me there and said that he could hear some water running.

I told him I would deal with it,

He heartily objected,

When he realised, at last, that he had been rejected.

I pushed him out, slipped on the step and then I spun around,

And there I was, just lying there, unconscious on the ground.

I came to in the hospital,

My leg was in a pot,

And my amorous young Valentine was right there, by my cot.

“I’m all right, you can go now!” I told him, “I’ll be fine.”

But still he stood there so I screamed,

“YOU’RE NOT MY VALENTINE!!”

                                   Fabby Febby y Maddy Sykes

Continue reading “A Poem for February”

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Poetic Rants & more

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The Dentist’s Chair

 

The dentist terrifies me,

And I had recently relapsed,

So imagine my distress when the bloody chair collapsed.

 

I hardly need to tell you,

I was under some duress,

As he picked up all the bits and blamed it on the NHS.

 

The thwack and twang of latex,

The arrival of a nurse…

Would I need a filling or (God help me) something worse?

 

He poked about a little,

With a mirror and a prodder,

Then he put a lengthy hose pipe in to deal with all the slobber.

 

“Ouch! That bloody hurt, you swine!”

“Aha! You have a cavity!

I’ll fill it now while this chair still defies the laws of gravity.”

 

I swear, the man’s a sadist,

Not in the least bit sympathetic,

When I dared to ask if I could have an anaesthetic.

 

The minute he had finished,

I bolted out the door,

Away from the commotion as the chair collapsed once more

 

 

Daffodil

 

When I was a hippy,

Back in nineteen seventy-three,

A friend had laced my cuppa with a whack of LSD!

Feeling rather giddy, on a cold March afternoon,

The weight was off my shoulders,So I felt like a balloon!

I wandered lonely as a cloud,

And saw a daffodil,

Standing, tall and proud against the wind, up on the hill.

I clambered up and sat with him,

“Hey dude!” I said out loud.

“Man!”he said, “I’m chillin’ – would you please get off my cloud?!”

I know it sounds incredulous,

But what else can I say?

A talking daffodil was not a great surprise, that day!

The sun was slowly melting,

In a green and purple haze,

The emerald of coming spring – a scarlet, amber blaze.

A poet could not but be gay,

At such a lovely sight,

Yet my stoic, little daffodil was clearly in a plight.

His yellow petals quivered,

And so justified my fears,

As from his little orange trumpet flowed a steady stream of tears.

“You should be with a host,” I said,

“Did they leave you behind?”

He said he’d sprouted late and then and no daffies could he find.

I told him not to worry,

I knew where they would be,

It wouldn’t take too long if he would just hang out with me.

I carefully dug out his bulb

And handled him with care,

And took him to a forest glade – I knew he’d love it there.

Ten thousand saw I, at a glance,

A golden host, for sure!

In my hippy-zonkie trance, I could not have asked for more!

I keep a look-out, every spring,

While walking in the hills,

As my heart, as well as Wordsworth’s dances with the daffodils!

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Grumpybugger greetings cards

by Maddy Sykes

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My name is Maddy Sykes.

Having been about for a while, trying to be normal, I finally realised that (depending on your definition of normality) I am much more inclined not to be. To aid my recovery from the real world, I have now retreated to a hypothetical banana tree. Here, I can rant and rave as much as I want, knowing I will not upset anyone.

To vent my spleen, I put evil thoughts into poems and my birodoodles. I hope you enjoy them.

If you care to visit the banana tree, you are very welcome. Leave your inhibitions behind you and I will throw you a rope! You may even meet my Barmy Owls, The Animal Funny Farm or The Grumpy Buggers. There is more to this than meets the eye.

Rats!

Rats! I really hate them!

They’re vermin, nothing less.

They’re sly, they spread diseases,

And they make a bloody mess.

 

An old wives’ tale it may be,

But there is some truth in that,

No matter where you are,

You’re only six feet from a rat!

 

They consume almost anything,

Including their own poo,

And, given half a chance,

I’m sure they’d eat each other, too!

 

I had rats in my dustbin,

Some few years ago,

God knows how they got there,

But they put on quite a show.

 

They jumped so high, they hit the lid,

And when the Rat-man shot them,

I glimpsed the hatred in their eyes,

And fangs that dripped pure venom!

 

An unopened Mars bar box,

Was on the stock room floor.

Emptied of all content,

The work of rats, I’m sure.

 

Indeed, beneath the box,

There was a gaping hole,

Through which they’d dragged the Mars bars,

To a space behind the wall.

 

If you have a ratty situation,

Or their antics have been giving you distress,

There are a few things you can do that may relieve that,

Although I haven’t ever put them to the test.

 

Grow daffodils and hyacinth,

Some lavender as well.

Mint is really great,

Because they hate the smell.

 

Human hair and mothballs,

Can make them rather queasy,

And peanut butter spread about,

Is really rather easy

.

God forbid, that you should find a rat inside your house,

But if you do, remember you’re not dealing with a mouse!

If you should catch the bugger, you can flush him down the loo

But remember you are showing him another way in, too!

 

Only think of the man who needs the loo, deep in the night,

Lifting up the seat, he’d have a bloody awful fright,

Personally, I would just leave everything alone,

And call someone, so I’d not be with ratty all alone!

These creatures aren’t the pet shop type, all snowy white and cute,

What we really need is a pied piper with a flute!08.jpg

Poem and birodoodle

by Maddy Sykes