Revenge Shit

All day he sleeps

Anywhere except his bed

Bites you when you try

To pat him on the head

He’s a grumpy old sod

But loveable in his way

Except when it comes

To the end of the day

Into bed

Settle down with the wife

And that’s when he chooses

To spring to life

He demands attention

A carry on

But we’re too tired

And can’t take him on

He becomes unreasonable

His eyes become black

He squeaks and

Folds his ears back

He lashes out

Blood is spilled

We’d have rather he’d

Sat with us and chilled

Out he’s sent

Into the hall

Door firmly closed

He begins to yawl

Thundering up and down

The length of the flat

Such unearthly sounds

He continually spat

Then before we know it

The scrape in a tray

Lined with litter

No egg does he lay

But something abhorrant

With a powerful odour

The nightly present

From our dear friend Gozer

He knows what he’s doing

He’s not daft

You have to admire

How swiftly it wafts

Hold your nose

From this powerful stun

Humans nil

Gozer one

The Poem Poem

‘The Poem Poem’

Most words I write have already been writ

I’m pretty prepared to admit

not every poem that rhymes is shit

that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it,

sometimes it’s like they’re built from a kit

sticking it together bit by bit

sometimes the pieces refuse to fit

so on forgotten pages they resignedly sit,

some write like a dream and are bursting with wit

if they were singles they would be a hit

or if they were villains your throat they would slit

and from their mouths evil laughs emit,

they’re never so long that they have to be split

before then I would surely have quit

like a hypocrite who learned to knit

whilst stuck in a pit that was filled with grit 😉

Anna Bru

I’ve been working on this off and on for a couple of months now but finally finished it last week. Even found time to make a wee video for it too so that if you’d rather not read it you can watch it instead!

So here’s my tribute to Scotlands other national drink 🙂

‘Anna Bru’

Going to change my name to Anna Bru

The Secret Poet will no longer do

Such is my love for Irn Bru

– my downfall in a can,

I crave it in the morning after breaking my fast

Sometimes I think I glug it too fast

Besotted doesn’t cover it ya bass!

I’ll share it with no one,

Like nectar it’s sublime

It makes me love it more every time

Like an elegant but rusty sunrise

Dancing playfully on my tongue,

Glass bottle is best but it’s got to be freezing

The hit’s more intense is my reason

My poor teeth may disagree over time

And perhaps my belly will too,

It has to be ‘Barrs’ it must be said

None if this own brand shite instead

The one with the secret recipe

That only a few people know,

Sadly you no longer get your 30 pence back

So these days I stick to the multipacks

May the girders ever support my world

And maintain an exciting fizz!