Later. Comical poem 793 by Angela Lansbury

Watch the watch. Photo by Angela Lansbury. Copyright .

'I promise I'll do it - later,'

Means no-one will get the job done

Later is a mythical land

Where neither good nor bad folk come

Later is like a reminder

But alas it will ever come

Like heaven, all wait for later

Where forgotten deeds will be done

At four you think that later's soon

At six it's myth like life on moon

At eighty you no longer care

Later is neither here nor there

Later is a kind of polite

Way of saying, no, not tonight

If later's what they want to say

I don't mind, I live for today.

-ends-

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The Reasons For The Seasons comical poem 634 by Angela Lansbury

 There' s a reason for each season

And every spring small birds will sing

In summer time, as parents know

Red, white, pink,yellow roses grow

Roses in a garden.2025. By Trevor Sharot.

As a rule children go to school

Learn to cover books, wash their hands

Open windows to keep us cool

Learn about life in other lands

Granny teaches don't say never

But I cannot live forever

Every year some old folk have gone

But babies are born and life moves on

Winter sometimes brings us snow

Put on your boots and off we go

Spring time brings us refreshing rain

So we get to see new flowers again

Forget the past, not all things last,

We need to say, enjoy today

For every season there's a reason

Look around, our earth is heaven.

-ends-

Sleepless, Sleepy, Slept comic poem 227 by Angela Lansbury

Four poster bed in the Old Bridge Hotel. Photo by Angela Lansbury. copyright.

Old proverbs tell you what is true

Eternal truths kick me and you

Like kind mother, helpful teacher

God's stern rules, persistent preacher

 

You can't burn candles at both ends

Stayed up late? You must make amends

Sleep tight! Alas I woke at night

I hope oversleep puts clocks right

Do I need eight, full hours, or more?

Upright in planes, or on the floor?

I should be grateful I'm in bed

But thoughts fight battles in my head

No borrower nor lender be

The person who I cheat's me.

Last night I used my time awake

Then shut my eyes, ignored day break

Will I be turned back at heaven

Because I slept to eleven?

No matter, I passed one life's test

I made sure I got eight hours' rest.

-ends-

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Dear Little Children, Trust Me . Comic poem by Angela Lansbury number153

Children learn when you pinch toy rabbits they squeak

They live forever, without food, many weeks

You can shout at a toy, but it never speaks

We search the wide world, but don't know what we seek

All the world's dear little children

Think the clouds and the sky hide a heaven

And after we die - as we all might - one day

We all go to heaven, not the other way. 

And all the good parents

That's me, them - and you

Won't spoil adult kids' fun and say it's not true

For that would cause a most dreadful to do 

And all the nursery's soft, cuddly bears

Give the impression that bears have blank stares

And love to be cuddled

No scientist cares, nobody dares

Yet one day kids ask why

Birds fly through the sky

I can't explain the thunder and rain

Or how a young pilot can fly a large plane

So we all pretend til the day that we die

With hopes flying high

All adults are children, so don't ask why

We pretend, we believe, you can see through the sky.

-ends-

copyright Angela Lansbury Monday 2nd August 2022

If today were my last day Comic Poem 120

 If today were my last day

What would the nosy neighbours say?

'Look  at that dress - look at that mess

We're all so glad she's gone away

'The dirty bins are overflowing

Strangling the flowers, weeds are growing

The bin men - they refused to call

So we're not sorry at all!'

That's why today I empty the bin

If someone calls, I can let them in

I've labelled keys to all the doors

Washed dishes, swept and hoovered floors

No worried thoughts entered my head

My only thought was, make the bed

All day I knew where I was heading

To make the bed with fresh, clean bedding

So if the Lord carries me away

I'm sure of what neighbours will say

A tidy house, an emptied bin!

That's why she would not let us in!

And when I'm gone, for days you'll see

The centipedes race round in glee

The weeds in triumph climb the bin

Until another soul moves in.

A lost gravestone, it ought to say

The way she lived 'til her last day

She wiped the dust, removed the rust

She's gone to some clean place we trust

She was a very careful soul

Did not have many issues

She would not want us crying

And throwing dirty tissues

We heard the noisy ambulance bell

Taking her off to heaven or hell

Ensuring she would not be late

For her date at the holy gate

Where every lazy woman and man

Lets her make heaven spic and span

We'll honour her, who passed away

And cleaned the house on her last day.

https://comicpoemsbynutter.blogspot.com/2022/02/if-today-were-my-last-day.htmlo

-ends-

I was wondering how many poems and posts I had written. I presumed on https://comicpoemsbynutter.blogspot.com/2022/02/if-today-were-my-last-day.htmloe poem per post and no post without a poem. I started numbering at the earliest date. After three, I was already tired. Then it struck me that the statistics page tells you how many posts you have written. today, Feb 18, 2022, the system tells me I have written 120 posts. That is more than enough for a book. 

When I have time I could go back and add the numbers. That is a quick way to identify poems. For example, to say that poem 1 has the same subject, dusting and cleaning, as poem 120. 

This Poem Is An Atheist's Gift To Believers

Gift of Religion

by Angela Lansbury

This is my gift to you

My first and last white lie

To tell you I saw heaven

A happy or sad sigh

When I was born

And when I die

This is my gift to you

Which I can leave behind

To paint a better world

From my mind to your mind

A touch to soothe the deaf

A word image for the blind

This is my gift for you

For me it has to use

Take it, I do not need it

You gain, I do not lose

An ornament, an art, a lie

I’m practical, I just need truth

What can I leave to you?

A poem or a song?

What can I leave in ribbons

Like a chocolate, when I’m gone?

A lie or just the truth

Am I right or am I wrong?

You may say, she didn’t mean it

You may say what you please

You may say that heaven is golden bells

And the moon is made of cheese

Just say what makes you happy

Stop, or move on, what will ease

The strangest thing is

When we are truly dead

My words still reach to you

Today’s thoughts from my head

Time, and timeless, still preserved

What we both thought, and read and said

And so I leave to you my friend

A friendship that will never end

I would not take away from you

It’s your choice, what you think is true

You do what you want to do

And I will leave a smile for you.

I showed this to my family

It went round and round

One said that it was funny

One said it was profound

So I’ve earned immortality

An atheist underground.

-ends-

Angela Lansbury, May 2nd 2016. Copyright.

Author’s note: The last word underground is slightly pessimistic, but by happy chance it is humorously ambiguous as it could be taken to mean subversive.

I hope this poem will please believers as well as atheists and agnostics. It might even be used as a witty and consoling funeral poem.

I was inspired by a BBC article about an Italian poet.  The theme of the article was how atheists may work against or with religion, seen like myths as providing comfort and common culture.

The translations convey the meaning but miss the emphasis. In the original, as is often the case in English, as should be the case in the translation, the last word of the sentence is the one emphasised by the writer and left most remembered in every listener's mind, as well as anticipated by some readers with a knowledge of that languages words which rhyme.