Satirical

 Poems

If I'd Picked Up A Snooker Cue

 

If I’d picked up a snooker cue, when I picked up a pen;

and then gone on to build a break of eight or nine or ten.

 

If I had only listened more to those who understand;

who told me not to play the game by using just one hand.

 

If I’d just watched Big Break much more, instead of writing rhyme;

and studied Thorne and Knowles instead of Byron all the time.

 

If I’d just gone and bought more chalk, and even used a tip,

upon my cue, then thought perhaps to practice just a bit.

 

If I had researched Virgo’s words instead of Wilfred Owen;

and written many papers on ‘Where’s the cue ball going?’

 

If I had only listened more to whispering Ted Lowe,

instead of sometimes listening to Pam Ayres in full flow.

 

If I had studied Parrott’s wit and Alex Higgins flair

instead of Larkin, Betjeman, Wordsworth or John Clare.

 

If only I’d heard Snooker Loopy played a little more,

Instead of writing verses that sometimes never rhyme!

 

If I had just stayed up all night to watch the grinder ‘Cliff’,

and not penned many rewrites of Kipling’s poem ‘If!’

 

If I'd just see the final frame in nineteen eighty five,

and had a longer tape cassette which didn't then rewind.

 

If I'd thought of a funky name like Jimmy 'Whirlwind' White,

or 'Scarface' or 'The Rocket'; one which would excite.

 

If I had done these things I've said; I'm sure, oh yes, I know it!

I would have been a snooker star, and not an unknown poet!

I’m Not Vain,But I Seem To Think This Poem’s About Me

 

Now Government’s need revenue,

that really is a fact;

to pay for schools, and hospitals,

or moats, and things like that.

But how they raise that revenue

is really of concern,

now that I’ve turned 42

and my body’s on the turn.

 

I hope they don't tax all big noses,

H-Pylori, halitosis.

Tax the handsome, tax the vain!

Tax Piers Morgan twice again!

 

I hope they don't tax grim verruca's,

piles, and those that have large hooters.

Don’t tax warts, arthritis, sores.

Tax those with no ailments more!

Please don’t ever tax big noses,

flatulence and halitosis.

Tax the handsome, tax the vain!

Tax John Terry twice again!

 

Tax the healthy, tax the well.

Tax all those that never smell.

Tax the one’s in perfect health.
Tax all those who aren’t myself.


Tax the swimmers, tax the sun,

tax all those that like to run!

Don’t tax chips or Cadbury’s Roses...

and NEVER those with larger noses!

Sometimes Love Strikes When

It Isn't Expected

You lived by yourself and felt so dejected

that your dating requests were always rejected.

You got to the point where pain was accepted.

Sadness and shame is all you projected.

You felt you were one that romance neglected.

You went out for cheese when fate intercepted.

A 'Clover' sign fell, and letters defected.

Sometimes 'love' strikes when it isn't expected!

The Worst Poet Ever

 

There once was a poet called Lee

who said that he always wrote three

lines in his limericks.