Deadlines - Plan B. Comical poem 790 by Angela Lansbury.

  Don't miss deadlines or your lifelines

Sadly I missed my very first

So I was born Caesarian

My delay had not been rehearsed

Our five-year-old learned about time

She demanded a big pink clock

She watches as the hands turn round

Breakfast, lunch, dinner, school, bed, stop

She asked what is a lifeboat for

We don't want to make her panic

No need to tell her of shipwrecks

Rules dating from the Titanic

We tell her you must have plan B

For each eventuality

If your big boat is stuck on rocks

Go home on small boats pulled from blocks

Another deadline passed today

My poem missed it yesterday

So it will not be in a book

But it's on here, dear, if you look.

-ends-

Daddy Long Legs. Comical poem 789 by Angela Lansbury.

 

A fluttering noise gave me a fright

Noise signals something isn't right

Came into our kitchen last night

Something attracted by the light

Insects don't respond to your tears

I have over my many years

Found how to conquer silly fears

You can run, but I choose to be near

You can talk though it doesn't hear

Say, 'Don't be afraid of me, dear

The one thing which you need to know

Is why I opened the nearby window

'I did it hoping you would go

But I'm still taking photos of you

You don't do what I want you to

You do not seem to have a clue

'Go back the way you got inside

Or join others who died inside

How come that you do not know

Your escape is through the window?

'I even opened up the door

Your biggest danger is the floor

Where accidents likely catch you

With a blow or blind accident shoe.'

All my life I looked the other way

Until I researched them today

If only they and I could speak

Alas they only live one week

That Daddy seeks a Mummy mate

I hope that it is not too late

Before it meets its fated fate

And crosses Daddy Long Legs' gate

What use is it to the universe?

It wasn't born to help my verse!

It's eaten by birds, bats or frogs 

I wouldn't feed it to your dogs

It seems to have some legs to spare

As thin as all my shedding hair

It sheds a leg, though never taught

A quick defence so it's not caught

So if you try to grab a leg

That crane fly will shed its leg

And simply pull and fly away

And live to dance another day.

-ends-

Insects Repelled By Lemon - Tea. Comical poem 788 by Angela Lansbury.

 

When I see insects I don't know

Which of the crowd is friend or foe?

Which moths are fond of eating clothes

Only its friend, the moth God. knows.

The pesky things come in at night

From miles away they see our light 

We open windows for ventilation

And turn into an insect station

A harmless 'daddy longlegs', also more properly called a crane fly. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

Some small insects have bitten me

They treat me like I'm family

Obliged to give them lunch and tea

A tasty feast, timeless and free

I need to leave more vital tasks

The web gives answers when I ask

I learned a very simple fact

Flower perfume, I thought attracts

Adoring men to me and you

But alas attracts insects too

Insects don't leave when I tell them

I need to scare them off with lemon

Lemons taste sour, and insects learn

One sniff's enough , they won't return.

-ends-

Useful Websites on Daddy Longlegs

https://thenaturenetwork.co.uk/why-the-daddy-long-legs-is-natures-most-misunderstood-flying-nuisance/#google_vignette

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There's someone for everyone. Comical poem 787 by Angela Lansbury.

 

 Tissue box with gold circles. Photo by Angela Lansbury.

I'm feeling hot, I've got a cold

I'm feeling young but looking old

Terrified inside, acting bold

I'll praise this rubbish 'til it's sold

There's some buyer for everything

There's some suitor for everyone

You just have to keep searching

To find the one 'til the job's done

Cynthia's mother said, 'Never fight

There's plenty more fish in the sea

Don't claim a right, feel jealousy

There's enough for both you and me.'

-ends-

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The Good Listener. Comical poem number 786 by Angela Lansbury.

 

Do you feel that you ought to speak

You've said just proverbs all the week

And when you get a chance to say

What you think, you say cliches

It doesn't matter what you do

If great invention's not for you

Everyone needs one who listens

Small neighbours, big politicians

For many speak and just tell lies

No-one says so until he dies

So kudos goes to you and me

Who didn't say, yes I agree

Some are tall and some are small

Some are wall flowers, some are the wall

Some rise, and speak, and shout, then fall

And the wise ones say nothing at all.

-ends-

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I read a poem to a rose. Comical poem, post 785 by Angela Lansbury.

 

Orange standard rose. London

Photo by Angela Lansbury

 Copyright.

I read a poem to a rose

But what it thought nobody knows

Maybe it thought, 'Is that for me?

I'm the prettiest that can be!

'Please do not read me poems

They take your eyes away

Just sniff and smile and look at me

That's all I have to say

'Do your write poems to daisies?

And dandelions too?

And lupins and the other flowers

Your love for me cannot be true

'You don't really care for roses

You admire the taller trees

It's a good thing I'm not jealous

And I'm easy to please.'

We will never know

If a rose is smart or dumb

There are wicked roses which have thorns

Waiting to prick your thumb

But let us look on the bright side

Be on our dear rose's right side

Petals have their dark and light side

Their perfumed day and night side

A rose, everyone smart knows

Always dresses in her best

Every day, a rose always poses

So photogenic, perfect roses.

-ends-

Poems Are Everywhere. Comical Poem 784 by Angela Lansbury.

I find my poems everywhere.

They seem to hide under my hair.

Each time I sit upon a chair

Each rhyming line begets a pair.

I pick poems like wild flowers

Growing thoughts like April showers

Must stop myself wasting hours

Stacking lines like leaning towers

I've stacks of poems in my head

Bits of them on notes by my bed

For all, new born or wed or dead

I write them down, hope they'll get read

Though fanciful, some parts are true

So they're not plagiarised but new

Each needs one line which sticks like glue

Makes blue days pink, my gift to you.

-ends-

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Remember - too late, someone I never met. Comical poem 783 by Angela Lansbury

 

I've had loads of invitations

About somebody who died

I have never ever met them

They have gone out with the tide

I'm sorry friends are sorry

When someone's died or they are ill

It's too late to wish them well

And I don't wish anybody ill

I'd be pleased to hear about them

If retelling brings no stress

I'm sure you can say something good

About their joys and their success

I am reading what is said of them

Will the same apply to me?

Will I live and die differently?

Oh, well. What will be will be.

-ends-

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Nurse And Friend. My advice. Comical poem 782 by Angela Lansbury. Notes on Numbering Poems.

 

Photo by Angela Lansbury.

When I'm looking for a good friend

I think, 'Am I a useful friend?;

When I am looking at myself

 I check my words show mental health

When I visit a friend for tea

When a friend comes to visit me

When I'm asked around for dinners

Host and guest, are we both winners?

We take our child around to play

Don't want sad tales of yesterday

We want to eat today, and more

Not tears about hunger before

We're ill and call a hospital

We want to meet a smiling nurse

Not one in tears about a death -

An ambulance, and not a hearse

As parent, nurse, doctor, teacher

Writer, author, mentor, preacher

Our job is to give out good news

Not dwell on the unlucky few

If you call me to call today

My reply reflects what you say

If I can hear your smiling face

I'll rush my smiles round to your place.

-ends-

The numbers on my comical poem posts are useful in several ways.

1 They enable me, and you, to find a poem even if I changed the title.

2 They enable me to search for a recent or early poems.

3 I can compare styles and themes of early and late poems.

4 I can keep numerical track of proportions of themes, eg 20 out of 100 poems are on a particular.

 subject.

5 I can see whether I can publish all my poems in one book, or if a book is 100 poems, or 50, or 25, or 250, or a bumper 500, how many books can I publish, taking into account the printer's limit on pages, the cost to me as self-publisher, and the cost to potential buyers. Am I better off publishing an e-book?

6 I can work out how long it would take to read all my poems to select some for a book, the best ones, or those on a particular theme, assuming a theme is easier to sell.

Private bedroom and bathroom. Comical poem number 781 by Angela Lansbury

I used to bath, but baths take too much water

More than a shower for parents and daughter

So now I relax in a nice warm shower

And try not to take much more than an hour

Then, warm and clean I can relax

I exercise lying on my back

I count sheep in French or Spanish

Until the sheep race off and vanish

Four-posters for bedsits? I'd love one of those

Discount Dunlopillo's the one which I chose

I'm allergic to feathers, trust what I possess

My duvet's red, like my favourite night dress

When I am asleep I hope none can see

Into the dream places where I'd like to be.

The bedroom's a place for night time privacy

For big secrets known to small pillows and me.

-ends-

11 syllables per line.

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Back To Bed - Mine's The Best. Comical poem 780 by Angela Lansbury

 

I lay half the day on my comfy bed

Better than a chair, my feet in the air

On my silk pillow case I lay my head

Supposed to smooth wrinkles, and soften hair

The mattress won't say which way I should lay

Nor when I rise or return, where to go

Sometimes it's lumpy, sometimes it's bumpy

When I need soft support, it seems to know.

A child likes to explore, learns to share, loan

'It's mine!', my own, familiar, feels 'at home'

I'm not Picasso nor Shakespeare

But I made this, it's mine, it's here

Your own bed, car, father, mother

Your own chair, house, or dress

It's everybody's favourite

'though you'd like more, your own's the best.

-ends-

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If only my teeth could speak. Comical poem 779 by Angela Lansbury

 If only my dear teeth could speak

And tell me what they'd like to eat

And warn me when my broken tooth

In truth will send me through the roof

If only teeth would tell the truth

If only molars were willing

To say if ice cream's good for them

Or leads to needing a filling

In fact my teeth do talk to me

Then tell me if food's hot or cold

If something is stuck between

And if I'm starting to look old

My gums don't complain, they're friendly

Although I often neglect them

I take no notice til they bleed

And the dire dentist inspects them

I wish my teeth were pearly white

And they made me look fantastic

Though one girl who had super teeth

Admitted that hers were plastic.

-ends-

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Who Needs A Nearby Place To Grieve? Comical poem 778 by Angela Lansbury.

 Who do we need a place to grieve

A tombstone, monument with names?

Or tee-shirts, tattoos, names on sleeves

Old pictures in new picture frames

Some like to move old dead away

Cemeteries, later move old bones

Cemeteries car parks, parks for play

Hidden, stored on walls, old tombstones

While some move on, gran's gone away

Graves once a year seclude your tears

Whilst others want the dead to stay

Say angels on shoulders calm fears

Some think souls live and will return

Fly past as short-lived butterflies

(Yet not as bugs in rugs nor worms)

Sweet memories when someone dies

We give them little when they live

Spend our money on us instead

Then spend huge sums on wakes and graves

When it's too late and they are dead

A quick death brings one day of pain

The birth and death dates make a frame

New birthdays, weddings aren't the same

But old pix show joys lived again.

And now money they saved is spent

On building a fine monument

A statue, standing, or reclined

In an upstanding frame of mind.

-ends-

Spike Milligan statue and commentary plaque in park in Finchley, north west London. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright.

I changed the last line of the penultimate verse

from

But photos show joys lived again

to

But old pix show joys lived again.

Photos is a much better word than the horrid neologism (recently new word) pix. But I wanted to clarify that it is photos of old weddings, not photos of new weddings, which revive happy memories.

I added the last verse when I came back to add a photo on Saturday May 9th 2026.

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That Hat. Comical poem 777 by Angela Lansbury.

See this summer sun hat's wide floppy brim.

I sewed on pink ribbon under my chin. 

I don't want my new hat flying away

On a bike or boat to ruin my day

It could be lifted by a sneaky breeze

If I read, take photos, or a strong sneeze

Where I am going five minutes sewing

Secures my hat for smart outfit showing.

-ends-

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