Despite the lovely Easter break, this week has been a particularly busy week so far. Never has one of my Dad’s favourite phrases “met myself coming back” been more appropriate than it has been this week! So, with this in mind, I was thinking about funny poems and poems that would make me smile with no analysis necessary and there was only one poet that was guaranteed to have the desired effect – Pam Ayres! My better half finds it highly amusing that I like Pam Ayres’ poems as he says that it reminds him of his late mum, who apparently was a fan. I’m not bothered, though. Her poems will always amuse me and are nice, easy reading after a busy day at work. So, for anyone who wants a smile, here are some of Pam Ayres poems to brighten your evening:
‘An Ode to Fifty Shades of Grey’
The missus bought a Paperback
down Shepton, Saturday,
I had a look in her bag;
…T’was “Fifty Shades of Grey”.
Well I just left her to it,
…At ten I went to bed.
An hour later she appeared;
The sight filled me with dread…
In her left hand she held a rope;
And in her right a whip!
She threw them down on the floor,
And then began to strip.
Well fifty years or so ago;
I might have had a peek;
But Mabel hasn’t weathered well;
She’s eighty four next week.
Watching Mabel bump and grind;
Could not have been much grimmer.
Things then went from bad to worse;
She toppled off her Zimmer!
She struggled up upon her feet;
A couple minutes later;
She put her teeth back in and said…
I must dominate her!!
Now if you knew our Mabel,
You’d see just why I spluttered,
I’d spent two months in traction
For the last complaint I’d muttered.
She stood there nude, naked like;
Bent forward just a bit ….
I thought oh well, what the hell,
and stood on her left tit!
Mabel screamed, her teeth shot out;
My god what had I done!?
She moaned and groaned then shouted out:
“Step on the other one!”
Well readers, I can’t tell no more;
About what occurred that day.
Suffice to say my jet black hair,
Turned fifty shades of Grey.
Do You Think Bruce Springsteen Would Fancy Me?
Do you think Bruce Springsteen would fancy me?
I know I’ve just turned forty –three,
And one eye’s gone at a funny angle,
And I have to wear this copper bangle,
As I’ve got arthritis in this left knee,
But d’you think Bruce Springsteen would fancy me?
He might not like an older bird,
Someone not of the common herd,
Old and inhibition free,
Well he need look no further than me,
I’ve lost the looks that I once had,
But then perhaps his eyesight’s bad,
My skin’s quite good, and me teeth – fantastic!
Crafted from the finest plastic,
So next weekend at the NEC,
Do you think Bruce Springsteen would fancy me?
He might like to dance with me,
If I keep the weight off me gammy knee,
But there again, me kneecaps click,
Still, I needn’t take me walking stick.
No, I’d be like a magnet to him,
The sight of me would go straight through him,
One boss eye and me hair gone grey,
Singing ‘Born in the USA’.
Course, Bruce is used to admiration,
He’s idolised in every nation,
Cheered and clapped in every state,
Me? I’m clapped at half past eight.
Me husband says I must be mad,
And didn’t I know Bruce Springsteen had
Teenage bimbos wall to wall,
Young and slim and brown and tall,
They can dance and stay up late,
Their knees don’t click and their eyes go straight,
He says Bruce wants rock and rhythm,
Not some old bird’s rheumatism.
But I don’t care, I know I’m right,
At the NEC next Friday night,
Though there might be thousands there,
Our eyes will meet in a thrilling stare,
I’ll do me slow seductive grin,
I hope to God me teeth stay in,
And in that flash of recognition,
Bruce and I will have … ignition,
Draw the veil on he and I,
Alone against the starlit sky,
The billows pound upon the shore,
And me clicking knee will be heard… no more.
The Neglected Wife’s Valentine
Won’t someone send me a Valentine to make my husband jealous?
Something big and gaudy, altogether over-zealous,
Write upon it ‘Pam, my heart stands still when you walk past…’
And when my husband sees it, he might notice me at last.
Oh write me something torrid, like ‘I’m burning with desire!
Meet me in Mustique before me underclothes catch fire!’
My husband will be staggered, he will read it like a book,
And think ‘Well, someone fancies her, I’ll have another look!’
Go on, write me something saucy, so my husband will be miffed,
Like ‘You won’t need your pyjamas, if you kind of… get my drift.’
I’ll leave it on the mantelpiece and when he rushes through,
He’ll read it and then next year he might think to send one too.
On Comparing my Husband to Robbie Burns
Oh oft I think of Robbie Burns,
Striding through the heather,
All manly clad in tartan plaid
To spurn the Highland weather,
O’er loch and glen, that man of men,
His black eyes all a-flashing
Could any heart not leap, and start,
Or fail to find him dashing?
Oh oft I think of Robbie Burns,
His dirk thrust in his gaiters,
And then I think of you dear,
And go home and peel the taters.
Oh No, I Got a Cold
I am sitting on the sofa
By the fire and staying in,
Me head is free of comfort
And me nose is free of skin.
Me friends have run for cover,
They have left me pale and sick
With me pockets full of tissues
And me nostrils full of Vick.
That bloke in the telly adverts,
He’s supposed to have a cold.
He has a swig of whatnot
And he drops off, good as gold,
His face like snowing harvest
Slips into sweet repose,
Well, I bet this tortured breathing
Never whistled down his nose.
I burnt me bit of dinner
‘Cause I’ve lost me sense of smell,
But then, I couldn’t taste it,
So that worked out very well.
I’d buy some, down the cafe
But I know that at the till
A voice from work will softly say,
‘I thought that you were ill.’
So I’m wrapped up in a blanket
With me feet upon a stool,
I’ve watched the telly programmes
And the kids come home from school.
But what I haven’t watched for
Is any sympathy,
‘Cause all you ever get is:
‘Oh no, keep away from me!’
It moves in mighty leaps,
It leapt straight past the common cold
And gave it us for keeps.
I’m not a fussy woman,
There’s no malice in me eye,
But I wish that they could cure
the common cold. That’s all. Goodbye.
Once I was a Looker and so was my Spouse
Once I was a looker and so was my spouse
I recall when we first came to live in this house
He was young, optimistic and fresh in the face
With never the twang of a hernia brace.
He said he would die if he could not be mine
He wooed me with words more addictive than wine
The monastery beckoned, he wanted no other
But now he troops in and he says ‘Ulloo Mother’.
He’d bound through the door with a laugh and a slap
And I used to think ‘My, there’s a handsome young chap
Thank Heavens I’m wed to a red-blooded man’
But now I get pecks like you’d give your old Gran.
He used to take pains with the look of his hair
The top London salons, they all knew him there
No end ever split and no high standard slid
Now he goes round to George who’ll oblige for a quid.
But when he first courted me, wasn’t I proud
His gay repartee had me laughing out loud
But now he reclines in his jersey and socks
And in my direction grunts ‘What’s on the box?’
I used to look on as he walked down the street
A picture of style from his head to his feet
But now there’s a cap where the tresses have thinned
And faded old trousers that flap in the wind.
Mind I’m not blameless, I know very well
That the strain of maternity’s starting to tell
I do what I can but there’s one thing for sure
The mirror is no friend of mine anymore.
He used to admire my refinement and poise
I’d turn up my nose at a smell or a noise
But now when I’m shouting he ducks with the rest
As I go haring past with a po and a vest.
Oh yes he admired the cut of my jib
And wasn’t I thin? You could see every rib
But now in the chrome at the top of the cooker
I see many things, but I don’t see a looker.
Well Mother, did I make a fool of myself,
Last night on the bathroom floor,
I’m so out of shape so I put on the tape
That I sent to the TV for,
Well on came the voice of the expert,
With advice to be careful and slow,
But I thought I knew best, I flung off me vest,
And I thought ‘Right-O Mother’, let’s go!’
I bought my John McEnroe trainers,
My how expensive they’ve grown,
But the thing with this pair, is if I’m not there,
They can run round the block on their own,
I did buy my husband some Reeboks,
I’m afraid they’re too high-tech for me,
You pump up the slack, flames shoot out the back,
And you slow down this side of Dundee.
Then I did bicycling exercises,
By Golly, I gave it what for,
Flat on me back with me knees going ‘crack’,
As the draught whistled under the door,
I borrowed your leotard Mother,
The one that enhances me charms,
Thanks very much but it went at the crutch
When I started rotating me arms.
I bought my dear husband a tracksuit,
He said terry towelling is best,
With a curl of his lip, he did up the zip,
And took all the hair off his chest,
And I bought him an exercise cycle,
The price would have made a man wince,
He never got off for a fortnight,
And he’s never been on the thing since!
We thought we might go on a fun run,
We went with a very nice friend,
He’d not run before and he won’t any more,
No, they stretchered him off in the end.
I have had a dabble at tennis,
I jog now and then and I swim,
And I’ve just met this yoga instructor…
I’m off for a dabble with him!
Hope you are smiling!!! 🙂