Writing Deadlines comical poem 711 by Angela Lansbury

 

Two minute timer. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

I prefer to have a deadline

When my fine work is expected

With a margin of one week's time

Before the great work's collected

Don't ask me to save a password

Or remember a strange email

Writing a poem's hard enough

More admin makes creatives fail

But if you want comical verse

My face in a funny photo

Just send a link which I can click

To make my instant brainwaves flow

I write a poem every day

I wish it were a well-paid job

I'll do one or two, just for you

I've hundreds on my precious blog

Maybe you frown and speculate

You'd write something even better?

We could start to converse in verse

In a daily email 'letter'!

We could give each other feedback

Dear mentor, muse, I'll not complain

If you give magic my drafts lack

I'll gladly transform all again

Re-writing's not a bore, chore, war

It nice to ice verse once or twice

What excites me more than writing?

Being printed - paid for advice!

-ends-

Dreamy Travel Tales comical poem 710 by Angela Lansbury

Angela wearing I love London tee-shirt. Photo by Trevor Sharot. Copyright.

 I wish you a hundred happy twist tales

Steering the finest ships with the highest sails

From America to Kiwi land via Welsh rarebit Wales

Little lifeboats stocked with caviar and snails in red pails

Small steam trains passing playgrounds on signposted trails

Ships cause the envy of Nessie, jumping dolphins and whales

Islands where each meal feast is an ice carving surprise

Chocolate chicken and dinosaur pies

Giant chocolate-covered strawberries win first prize

Drones over domes carry you and me on easily

To castle towers with turrets, a fantasy

Beyond the wild Dalmatian dreams of Disney

Pearl-white opal silk clouds over silver seas

Where we sip Champagne froth and peppermint teas

Admiring rose roses and avocado trees

Coloured maps like solved crossword clues

Where skies are perfect blueberry hues

Waterfall music mountains make dreams come true.

-ends-

Father's Last Words comical poem 709 by Angela Lansbury

'I had a long and happy life

I had a short but happy wife

She always did her best for me

She made a lot of cups of tea

'Always been deaf in my left ear

When your Mum spoke I couldn't hear

Then I grew deaf in both my ears

I nodded, smiled and said, 'Yes, dear'

'I've had a good life

I can't complain

I'd do it exactly the same again'

He kept saying exactly the same

 

' I had a lot of holidays

You like home when you've been away

I'm never bored, no 'maybe' blues

I watered plants, and mended shoes

'Sorry to leave, you're not alone

I wish that I could die at home

'All lives go through some sun, some rain

I think of sun and won't complain

'When I'm below, maybe above

We've both had lives filled with love

Others here say their life was tough

My life's been good, I've had enough

'I've sorted all, there's nothing left

The bank statements filed on the left

I've told you everything I know

And so it's time you let me go

'If one's life is like a train

Mine has reached its destination

No need to do it all again

What's the point of reincarnation?

'I've no plans for reincarnation

Never thought about reincarnation

I don't care what's on my tombstone

Live in or let or sell my home

'I had a smiling happy wife

I've had a long and happy life

I've told you everything I know

I love you, too, so let me go.

Netta, Angela Lansbury's mother. 

-ends-

My father died aged 93 in Watford hospital.

Longing For Short Clothes in India comical poem 708 by Angela Lansbury

The year was nineteen sixty four

I've checked - it was a decade more

Too long a single I'd tarried

The year before I got married

Last boyfriend said, 'I've a conference

I'm going to Bombay

How would you like to come along?'

It seemed exciting, far away

To a novice travel vulture

India's a strange new culture

I left London in winter boots

For flip-flop tropics without suits

I'd worn my London miniskirt

But ladies there wore a saree

They looked at me like I was dirt

I draped a scarf in a hurry

The hotel gate grows begging kids

Demanding coins, each a winner

I learn money's for them or me

I can't afford to buy dinner

Hotel breakfast - not much to eat

No bacon, sausage, where's the meat?

Waiters are shocked when I complain

I reject fruit, think it's a cheat

The event was just for lawyers

It cost a millionaire's rupees

To get in free I did typing

I asked, 'Find me typewriters, please'

They showed me upstairs to a room

Alone, it's silent as a tomb

Then in rush men, they stop and stare

I am the only woman there

Every secretary's a man

It seemed the very strangest land

Now London's full of Indians

And Bangladeshi food

No need to travel half the world

If curry takes your mood

Our pub is stocking Indian beer

And serves weekly Indian grub

A good place to drink and eat

And meet Indians who live in my street.

Did I say Indian beer?

Indian Mango beer - made here.

-ends-

Christmas Day - The Truth comical verse 707 by Angela Lansbury

It's shristmas day, don't say, no way

Time flies so fast that I'm caught short

No Xmas prezzies have been bought

Just poems on what I've been taught

I've rushed about, I'm getting fraught

Afraid plus plans will come to nought

Last night I had a drink, a few

Today, it's none, just one, or two

As designated driver

Saving license, car and liver

I hope that nobody suspects

I'm already planned what comes next

When prices are not quite so dear

I'll buy my outfit for next year

In sales we'll buy more sweet mince pies

Terrific, calorific and good

Leftover turkey, Christmas cake

Nuts, silver tinsel, Christmas pud

Maybe Champagne, a drink or two

Sequins, red Santa hat and wig

A photo showing what we do

Before we all fall off the twig

Imagine Santa in the sky

Is where we all good children go

To get rewarded when we die

To race across the snow cloud sky

We get rewarded with a sleigh

I'd like a new Rolls Royce I'd say

We wrote letters back in the day

I guessed I wouldn't get my way

The plastic reindeer glowing bright

Never seem to sleep tight at night

Alas I'm wise, I've learned the truth

'You can't park your sleigh on my roof'

I believed in Santa Claus

Got prezzies in bows by the tree

Years have flown by so fast

Now old, white-haired Santa is me.

-ends-

I Want To Live One Hundred Years comical poem 706 by Angela Lansbury

I want to live one hundred years

If doctors can't give three or two

I'd like to spend one more decade

With, or without, the help of you

I'd like to live one hundred years

Or even only ninety-nine

Like a leasehold that's getting old

Or long-term parking with no fine

I regret spending so much time

Trying to not to get frail nor ill

With vaccines, flu jabs and masks

Six different types of daily pill

If I live to one hundred years

Journals will ask how I survived

With broken bones, and broken teeth

They'll be surprised I'm still alive

I'm hoping to regrow my teeth

Chew well, look good - ribbon, bow, tie

 Smooth skin on top, cure all beneath

A smart hair cut before I dye.

-ends-

Books of Comical Poems By Angela Lansbury

Please share with friends, family and colleagues the links to your favourite posts. Please follow me. Share with friends, family, colleagues, teachers, pupils, fellow poets, links to your favourite poems and my blog.

My books of poetry are on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk and Lulu.com

Seriously Funny Poems

Poetry Workshop Workbook (Ballads, limericks, villanelles and more, examples, structure, tips)

Writing Poetry for fun

Poetry Pets and Pests

Humorous (not poetry).

A Xmas present to yourself, friends or family.

When You're Feeling Dizzy comical poem 705 by Angela Lansbury

When I lie down or stand up quickly

No fever but I feel I'm sickly

Everything swings round and round

The ceiling swaps space with the ground

I feel like a roller coaster

On a swinging, falling poster

Like a ship goes up and down -

While waves create a scary sound

A ringing, zinging, high pitch whine

I do not hear it all the time

Only when all else is quiet

Is it lack of sleep or diet?

I'll be glad when the cause is found

Cure - physio, or pills sent round

My doctor says the inner ear

Controls both, so a cure is near.

My friend says just rotate both feet

So messages to brain will meet

Though feet and brain seem far apart

Signs travel through the lungs and heart

The world is known by eyes and ears

Right from your very early years

Earth at your feet, eye level's here

No need to think about it, dear

It's like a distant radio

Take no notice, no need to know

Your body talks, it gets work done

'til one thing fails, then that's no fun

Feet send a signal which is clear

My head's on top, my feet down here.

Or both my feet and head in bed

Stop jumping when I rest my head

Head, hear blood, don't drive me mental

Head on pillow, I'm horizontal

I'm not standing, no longer vertical

Listen, brain cells, nerves told you all

So I'll go off to A and E

I'm glad the NHS is 'free'

Paid by our taxes in advance

So when we need health, we can glance

From your toenails up to your hair

Just fill in a long questionnaire

Doctors and nurses hurry by

Leave me to trust helpful AI.

Like saving for a rainy day

AI need not get in your way

It's like your money in the banks

Helps when needed and needs no thanks.

-ends-

Tinnitus and dizziness both caused by the ear, related problems, my doctor said.

Please share with friends, family and colleagues the links to your favourite posts. Please follow me. Share with friends, family, colleagues, teachers, pupils, fellow poets, links to your favourite poems and my blog.

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If Your Hair Is Straight Or Frizzy comical poem 704 by Angela Lansbury

 If your hair is straight or frizzy

And you have a special date

You need not get in a tizzy

If your hairdresser is busy

There's no need for you to wait

DIY it curly or straight

Just like a shirt which you drip-dry

You make it wet, then let it dry

While holding straight with pins and combs.

Or curl your finger, when at home

In a cafe or by the sea

I promise you it works for me

-ends-

I number my poems to keep them in numerical so I can find them again, or refer back to them with other people. I discovered early on that if I kept changing the title of a poem and kept them in alphabetical order it was time-consuming to try to locate a poem, to find the latest version, or the shorter early version or to compare version 1 with revised renamed version 2, or to identify a poem which somebody else had read under a different title.

Please share with friends, family and colleagues the links to your favourite posts. Please follow me. Share with friends, family, colleagues, teachers, pupils, fellow poets, links to your favourite poems and my blog.

My books of poetry are on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk and Lulu.com

An Xmas present to yourself, friends or family.

Fabulous Food For the Festive Season comical poem 703 by Angela Lansbury

 It is always good 

To talk about food

A little something

To make you feel good

I like to chatter

About foods which matter

You ought to eat healthily

Even if you're not wealthy

Some food makes you fatter

Like sugar and batter

Whilst salads will slim you

To fit clothes which flatter

I start with something

That's good for my heart

A grapefruit with red cherry

Some like sherry to make merry

I like a Prosecco

From warm Italy

Or a Cava from Spain

Or Champagne's fine by me

We like to eat fish

Three times weekly, a dish

We never forget

To add some courgettes

And we're never mean

With well-cooked aubergine

I praise the good cook

For the care which he took

Potato in its jacket

Is easy to bake

Soy sauce in a packet

A minor mistake

End with a surprise

Christmas pud, or mince pies

At three, the king's speech

Will he praise, thank, teach or preach?

For high tea, Christmas cake

If we're all still awake

We'll all diet, I believe

Until New Year's Eve.

I hope old friends will say

'You're looking good!'

And my husband won't quip 

'Like a Christmas pud!'

-ends-

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My Body Is Like A Train comical poem number 702 by Angela Lansbury

Brixton station. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

 My body is like a London train

Start, and stop, and change again

Signal failure, then it runs fine

But a foreign body is blocking the line

Now I am feeling dizzy

Maybe it's a blood clot

A stroke, something permanent blocked

I do hope that it's not

My body's going nowhere

All activity has stopped

I have to wait, and rest, and read

Pretend that I don't care a jot

The system is all linked

Doctors are like engineers

Checking every junction

Don't delay with silly fears

They prod parts, check, make them function

Stop the clock, turn back the years

My body is like a London train

It stops, delayed, then moves again.

-ends-

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My books of poetry are on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk and Lulu.com

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How To Record Poems. Writing comical poetry post 701 by Angela Lansbury

Poetry notebook in the shower room. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

I woke in the night with the opening couplet of a poem in my head. To not wake anybody else, I went to the shower room, placed a towelling cover on the the toilet lid for comfort, and sat thinking.

I fetched a pen and notebook and wrote out the poem. I planned to type it the next morning.

 I knew from previous experience that typing on a laptop at night could lead to me sitting up all night. Advertisements and news flashes are a distraction. So a simple old-fashioned notebook and pen in the bathroom is a good idea.

The next day I stuck a label on it, labelling it poems in black broad felt tip pen. My next addition will be a piece of elastic or a custom made pen holder. When I am asked what I want for xmas, I shall say pen holders. Buy a dozen, wholesale, at a reduced price. Than I can have one on each of many many notebooks, the diary, the poem notebook, and so on.

-ends-

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I Woke In The Night, Lost For Words comical poem 700 by Angela Lansbury

Magnifying glass and laptop. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

 I woke in early, in the night

I had a poem in my head

But I'd had less than 5 hours sleep

So I stayed in nice, warm bed

Now at my laptop the next day

My special poem's gone away

I live in sixes and sevens

Night's lost poem's in the heavens

If I believed in afterlife

Which I think is wishful thinking

I'd ask St Peter for each verse

Lost at night, or after drinking

Now I am in dreadful distress

My lovely poem's gone astray

Like parcels to the wrong address

Which should be safely here today.

My mind is like an empty box

I've tried the keys, shaken the locks

I do not have a single word

No clue to lead to songs I heard

I've hunted high and hunted low

Where did my witty words all go?

Not delivered intact next day

So you and I will never know.

-ends-

In case any reader was not aware of Christian mythology, St Peter is said to be the gatekeeper of heaven. Numerous jokes are about the questions St Peter puts to people who want to get in the gate. In this case I am at the gate, asking St Peter, like a postman, or a householder delivered the wrong parcel meant for another address, for the delivery of my lost poems.

I was rather pleased with these metaphors. Poems like parcels. The image of the poet knocking on doors. Hoping to find lost poems in heaven. St Peter like a porter holding deliveries. A poet queueing like someone at a post office for words to be delivered.

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My books of poetry are on Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk and Lulu.com

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My Friend's Two Teacups Gift Rediscovered comical poem 699 by Angela Lansbury

 

My friend bought me two fine teacups

When she came, one of four, to stay

As a thank you when her clan left

With thanks, on the very last day

Shae and I were very close then

We talked of our hopes and fears

Years later, her husband left her

She phoned, she was ill, in tears

The two teacups were neglected

Not a match, like buyers remorse

Her gift hidden in a corner -

Her voice infrequent, and hoarse

The cups were pushed back, neglected

Sat in a lonely, distant place

I rarely washed dust collected

Replaced, like her forgotten face

We did not drink tea but coffee

We did not need them for our tea.

Then one day we needed soup bowls

Why not tea cups? Right size, and free

Yes, now the cups are out again

We love them, use them daily

Maybe I should call up my friend

Like the cups, retrieved so gaily

Often old garments, like old friends

Are still too good to throw away

After years they come back in use

Like an old dog's, new, treasured, day.

-ends-

Doctor Calls The Pub comical poem 698 by Angela Lansbury

 

The crowded Atlas pub, where I got a personal call from a doctor. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

Our wine tasting's Champagne then grub

Next Christmas party - via pub

My doctor calls me! I must have forgotten!

Body and mind must be going rotten

All doctors ask, 'How much are you drinking?'

Four drink rounds, what were they, and I, thinking!

Can't hear his questions, makes no sense

Noise, shout, about incontinence?

Now, on to gynaecology

Nobody shares, nobody cares

Pub's just the place for privacy

Drunk strangers, a doctor and me!

-ends-

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My books on poetry, and writing poems, include

POETRY WORKSHOP  Workbook, 

Poetry Pets & Pests

Seriously Funny Poems

on Amazon.co.uk or Amazon.com

Sympathisers Upstaging My Illnesses comical poem 697 by Angela Lansbury

Walking frame and Bissell Magic Broom, dustpan and brush. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

' t's so good to see you again 

Great, meeting at clinics like this

You must be sick. Family well?

'I'll blow your dead uncle a kiss'

'Why don't we meet for tea? Just me!

I know the others won't meet you

I don't know why they don't like you

Forget them. You're okay by me.'

'How lovely of you to phone me

Wait, Dad fell from his wheelchair

I've twenty grandkids, an art class

Can't talk - dashing everywhere!'

'I'm sorry you've got skin cancer

Glad to hear it's only stage three

I've stage four, Covid, flu, lots more

Must rush off, I've doctors to see'

'I'm sorry to hear you were sick

Trouble I see, with two big toes

I walk around, with a white stick

I've ten hammer toes just like those.'

'So, darling, please tell me what's new

Yes, we, too. had Covid, and flu

I've many to see, much to do.

Please call me, 'cause I won't call you.'

-ends-

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Rudy the Runaway Reindeer comical poem 696 by Angela Lansbury

 

Rudy the Runaway Reindeer

took off on a wet winter's day

It's family all called, 'Wish you were here

Stay here,' - but he sauntered away.

Everyone was out looking

The police did a search with a drone

The coastguard, even the Royal Marines

All wanted to help Rudy home

A thermal heat-seeking picture

Revealed where our lad fell asleep

He was over the moon, asleep by a dune

Thank God not lost in the deep

They escorted him safely home

An end to our worry and fears

As for Rudy, he'll tell his tale

Of his travel for many years.

-ends-

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cn5l209pn1wo

Please share links to the post of your favourite poems. I have books of poems plus Poetry Workbook which has guides to rhyming scheme for writing your own in the same book.  Another book lists alliteration and rhymes to help you with poetry, prose and marketing. See my books on Lulu.com and Amazon.com and mazon.co.uk

My latest book is a book of anecdotes called Embarrassing Moments.