Monday, 8 December 2008

King Davey (another one for the kids)

King Davey had a navy and an army of his own
And somebody to fan him as he sat upon his throne
A typist typing letters, a reader reading mail
A jewel-encrusted sunshine lamp, to stop him looking pale

The doctors came a-running if he ever gave a sneeze
In church he knelt on pillows, just in case he bruised his knees
His crown was really pretty and it shone without a speck
And yet it wasn't heavy, so it wouldn't strain his neck

A servant stirred his porridge, another drove his car
(King Davey really wasn't used to walking very far)
To help him get to sleep at night, cathedral choirs would sing
Apart from breathing in and out, he hardly did a thing

Now, you may think King Davey was the happiest of men
But if you really knew him well, you'd have to think again
He'd look out of his window at the children of the town
He'd hear their merry laughter, see them running, falling down

They didn't seem to worry if they had a bump or two
And as for getting dirty, did they panic? No. Would you?
So shortly after Easter, on a warm and sunny day
Without a word of warning, Good King Davey ran away

He found some grubby gardening clothes inside the gardeners' shed
He ripped off all his royal robes and put these on instead
Perhaps he wouldn't prosper, but he really meant to try
One last look at the Palace, then he waved it all goodbye

Then, whistling a merry tune, he strode towards the sun
He hardly dared believe his big adventure had begun
In shoes that let in gravel, smelly clothes that didn't fit
He soon felt hot and tired, but there was nowhere he could sit

His tummy started rumbling. It was nearly time for tea.
Of course, he had no money (kings don't carry it, you see)
He tried to do some begging but it really didn't pay
For people took one look at him then quickly walked away

Or else they looked right through him, made believe he wasn't there
King Davey started crying, but they simply didn't care
They wouldn't give him money, wouldn't talk to him at all
Until he met a little boy who said his name was Paul

"Hello, Your Royal Majesty, what brings you out this far
Without your long red carpet and your great big shiny car?
You're looking really tuckered out. Why don't you come with me?
I'm sure my Mum would gladly set another place for tea...

"Sure, come and put your feet up, have a rest from all your labours
It's only round the corner, and we've very quiet neighbours!"
King Davey was astounded: "Keep it down! I'm on the run!
But first of all, please tell me, how'd you recognise me, son?"

"I've seen you on the stamps and all the money, Sire," he said
"What really gives the game away's that crown there on your head.
I know you're not the same as me, you're quite the perfect toff
But if you're incognito, shouldn't you, like, take it off?"

Too late! The royal car pulled up and sixteen men jumped out
They gathered round the king and every one began to shout
"Thank goodness that we've found you! All the palace is a-riot!"
King Davey raised his hands and said, "For goodness' sake, be quiet"

He turned to Paul, "You've treated me with kindness and respect.
I just can't handle normal life. Well, what did I expect?
You're welcome at the Palace. Come and see where I belong.
I'll treat you to a slap-up meal. Bring all your friends along!"

The Palace is in uproar now, with children running free
They finger all the ornaments and drink the royal tea
They're teaching Davey football in a most un-regal way
He's learned to laugh, and needs a bath at least three times a day

He's jogging in a tracksuit, turning cartwheels on the lawn
He hasn't been so happy since the day that he was born
The old king would be horrified to see his eldest son
But Davey doesn't give a hoot. At last, he's having fun.

Will Hames
December 2008

Friday, 5 December 2008


Alexander was a panda, and he lived in London Zoo
One day, he asked his keeper, “What’s a panda meant to do?”
“My goodness, what a question!” said the keeper in dismay
“I’ve never been a panda, so I really couldn’t say.”

“But all the other animals” said Alex, “have a job
While I’m as good as useless, just a great big hairy blob
The others sing, or jump, or swim, and don’t they do it well?
And all I ever seem to do is sit around and smell!”

“Hey, someone’s got to sit around and smell,” the keeper said
“But if you’re so unhappy, just do something else instead
Try chattering at sparrows, like our tubby tabby cat
Or grab a bunch of bamboo shoots and weave yourself a hat

“Or, if that doesn’t seem like fun, then tell me what you’d like.”
“I think,” said Alexander, “I could learn to ride a bike.”

Next day, the kindly keeper brought a shiny white and black
Amazing little bicycle, with “L” plates front and back
The other creatures laughed so hard, they nearly had a pain
To see poor Alex climbing on and falling off again

They all had quite a giggle, even Alexander’s Mum
That tiny little saddle! That big, round, hairy tum!
Soon people came from miles around to shout, “What are you like?”
At Alexander Panda as he tumbled off his bike

If Alex was embarrassed, well, he never let it show
He’d pick himself up off the ground and have another go

Until at last, his mother said, “My darling, this is true
To ride a bike is something that a panda cannot do
We just don’t have the legs for it, we’re built like hairy plums
Can’t even hold the handlebars, we haven’t any thumbs

“You know, I’m very proud of you for following your dream
But now it’s time you gave it up. Try something less extreme
Please listen to your mother, and I’m sure you’ll see I’m right”
But Alex couldn’t hear her, for he’d pedalled out of sight!

He whizzed around the walrus pool, he belted round the block
As all the other animals looked on in total shock
The monkeys didn’t gibber and the lions didn’t roar
And absolutely nobody was laughing any more

Then everybody shouted in amazed astonishment,
“It’s Alexander Panda! Here he comes! Wow! There he went!”

If you should hear a tinkling bell one dark and stormy night
And hurry to your window, you may see an eerie sight
Behold, a blur of black-white fur, in purple cycle pants
It’s Alexander Panda, training for the Tour de France!

Will Hames, November 2008

Tuesday, 2 December 2008

Violet Brown

Violet Brown was known in this town
For the tartar that tainted her teeth
Her hobby, of late, was directing her hate
At the folk in the flat underneath

Clues there were none, as to what they had done
To make her so bitter and twisted
But she'd fume and she'd squint at the tiniest hint
That the people downstairs still existed

They didn't deserve all the loathing she'd serve up
Each day at the drop of a hat
But Violet Brown had a need to look down
On somebody, the nasty old bat

She was ugly as sin, without and within
This evil-intentioned old harpy
With a stoop and a hump and a face like the rump
Of a recently-rogered okapi

She'd hated her Mum, 'til the Reaper had come
The loss made her bile even stronger
And her husband, it's said, had preferred to be dead
Than to live with old Vi any longer

He'd worked like a slave to make her behave
But that hadn't done any good
So, shouting "Oh, f*** it!" he'd gone to the bucket
And kicked it as hard as he could

Now lone and aloof, she'd stand on the roof
Surveying the pavement below
And screeching, "Just die!" as the neighbours went by
It was her way of saying, "Hello"

One day, letting loose with more verbal abuse
She'd picked up her tomcat's excreta
To throw at their car, but she leaned out too far
And the pavement came rushing to meet her

Now, up in the sky, I'd swear I could spy
A cloud with old Violet Brown on
She'll be happy at last, with her pain in the past
And the rest of the world to look down on

Will Hames, December 2008

Sunday, 30 November 2008

The Song of Sally Silverstein

To say that Sally Silverstein was lacking in attraction
Severely underestimates the negative reaction
Of men who looked her way and clearly wished that they had not
A second glance was something Sorry Sally never got

But as she sat and meditated on her situation
The answer to her problem came, a blinding revelation
If Sally wanted loving, she was absolutely sure
She’d have to find a man who’d never seen a girl before

Now, fortunately, Sally knew exactly where to look
She even knew his name, because she’d seen him in a book
She’d stake her future happiness upon this firm conviction:
There really was a Tarzan, but his Jane was purely fiction

She took out all her money and she booked herself a plane
She bought a fur bikini, and a mac in case of rain
She fixed her hair with Superhold and superglued her denture
Then off she went to Africa, to find her great adventure

The road out from the airport was a mass of bikes and carts
The air as hot and sticky as a sauna full of farts
Then, climbing from a taxi cab whose doors were off their hinges
She found herself abandoned on the jungle’s outer fringes

To help her find a man who had no reason to expect her
She’d thoughtfully invested in a pheromone detector
So, twiddling the knobs and dials, and choking back her dread
She set it to “testosterone” and followed where it led

The noises from the undergrowth, they shook her to the core
A howl, a growl, a gibber and occasionally a roar
She feared they might attack her soon, but nothing ever did
For every creature, spotting Sally, ran away and hid

Then, deep inside the jungle, where the undergrowth grew thicker
She heard a certain sound that made her virgin heart beat quicker
She knew that it was Tarzan, you could hear the man for miles
Roaring through the treetops, like an elephant with piles

He landed right in front of her, and as their gazes locked
They both knew this was Destiny, and neither one was shocked
For Tarzan was a super hunk, a proper ladykiller
And Sally wasn’t bad at all, compared to a gorilla

He took her to his treehouse, where she quickly settled in
They had no need for language, just a gesture and a grin
Though Tarzan was quite messy, she was tidy for them both
He loved her beetleburgers and her fricassee of sloth

He’d come on home to Sally as the darkness fell about
And even though he’d always be completely tuckered out
From thwarting evil men with guns and swinging from lianas
She’d fiddle with his loincloth, while he dreamed about bananas

So that’s how Sally found her fate, her mate, her life’s direction
Although she knew that she was not alone in his affection
His second-favourite female had a red and blue behind
But that’s the sort of competition Sally didn’t mind

Will Hames, November 2008

Saturday, 29 November 2008

One Phone Call

I never meant to be so late, last evening
I had in mind to be with you by six
But the stupid car broke down, near a bar just out of town
And I had to use their phone to get it fixed

Well, the man at the garage said he was sorry
His one and only tow-truck had a flat
He'd have me on my way, but there'd be a slight delay
And the phone went out of order after that

The batt'ry needed charging on my cellphone
So there's no way I could tell you what was wrong
And I couldn't stray too far from that lousy little bar
Until the freakin' tow-truck came along

I thought of you, alone there in the kitchen
I couldn't bear to let you down again
I was choking back a tear, when the barman sidled near
And offered me a drink to ease the pain

Then some fool put a record on the juke box
That song you had for walking down the aisle
Well, the tears came flooding back, so I had a double Jack
But it took another ten to make me smile

Well, the man came with the tow-truck 'round eleven
And pretty soon he had it all in hand
Seems the widgets were to near to the differential gear...
Nah, you'd have to be a guy to understand

'Course, there's no way I could drive in my condition
So I had a pot of coffee, strong and black
Then I took off like a demon, with the tyres and engine screamin'
'Cos I knew how glad you'd be when I got back

I took a little short-cut through the playground
It's naughty, but it's never known to fail
And I would have been all right, if I hadn't jumped a light
And the coppers hadn't thrown me into jail

They've got me in a cell, down at the station
Together with a fella name of Paul
He's big and blond and German, and he sings like Ethel Merman
So I'm sleeping with my back against the wall

I never meant for all of this to happen
My penitence is pitiful to see
I'll give up drinking beer if you'll get me out of here
And, oh yeah... Happy Anniversary

Will Hames, November 2008

Friday, 21 November 2008


I'll tell you a story you might not believe
But you may find it good for a laugh
The terrible tale of a fellow called Steve
Who was known as Don Juan-and-a-half

Now Steve, who arrived in the middle of winter
Was born in the house next to mine
I'd watched him grow up from a baby and into
A man, and I hated the swine

He looked at the world like he owned the damn' place
He swaggered where other men walked
He lived with a permanent smirk on his face
And he wobbled his head when he talked

He left only sadness wherever he'd been
He never took any precautions
He was vicious and greedy, obtuse and obscene
And as tight as a duck's nether portions

Well, if it's a fact that you are what you eat
It's no wonder he wasn't so pleasant
He lived on a diet of figs and raw meat
And Viagra and anti-depressant

But long was the list of the ladies he'd kissed
And the girlies who never forgot him
He said, "I'm going out with your sister tonight!"
I said, "Don't!" but he did, so I shot him

Will Hames, November 2008

Sunday, 16 November 2008


"There's more to me than meets the eye," I used to say, and yet
Just lately that's not true, and what you see is what you get
It wasn't always like this, but since early yesterday
It seems I'm stuck with acting in a mildly-mannered way

I'd like to be the dashing super-hero that I am
But when I whirl around six times and say the word, "Shazzam!"
Instead of turning into Dynaman The Celebrated
I just feel rather silly and a wee bit nauseated

No longer can I chase the bad guys, giving 'em what-for
My puny alter ego just won't alter any more
I rip my shirt and glasses off, and you can watch me grow in... a skinny little baldie man who can't see where he's goin'

Whatever wrongs there are to right, I simply shake my head
And mutter, "What a pity," as I go on back to bed
Perhaps I've used my powers up by flying round so fast
Or maybe it's my medication kicking in at last.

Will Hames, November 2008

Wednesday, 12 November 2008


Dolphins make bad poetry
Their verses fall down flat
For dolphins say, "i!i!i!i!"
And nothing rhymes with that

Will Hames, November 2008

The Limpet

The limpet has a good, firm seat
He'd make a super jockey
But having neither hands nor feet
He'd really suck at hockey

Will Hames, November 2008

Tuesday, 11 November 2008


“For those who gave their lives and fell…”
The words we’ve heard so many times before
We know them all too very well
“For those who gave their lives and fell in war”

But as we stand, heads bowed and hushed
How wrong it is to think they gave it all
Their lives were taken, they were pushed
Before they even had a chance to fall

Will Hames, November 11, 2008


My girlfriend, Michelle... "gorgeous" isn't the word!
Well, let me describe her to you
The face of an angel, the voice of a bird
And a nice little, low-cut IQ

She does as she's told and she'll never complain
And she looks really hot in a basque
And as for those questions that drive men insane...
Well, she wouldn't know what to ask

I've trained her quite well. Look around, you can tell
She keeps this place up to the mark
The cooking, the cleaning, that's down to Michelle
Hey, why keep a doggie and bark?

But where is she? She's always been waiting before
Whenever I've come home at night
Ah look, there's a note from her, pinned to the door
Wow, I didn't know she could write!

I haven't had time to decipher it yet
It's in crayon, that's why it's so big
"Goodbey and good ridence, you..." just look at that!
The way she's spelt "showvinist pigg"!

Will Hames, November 2008


I found a Thing the other day and wondered what to do
Dad said, "That's fine, but it's not mine, 'cos mine's a sparkly blue."
"It's not mine either," said my Mum, "don't bring it in the house...
You see those marks? They tell you it's been nibbled by a mouse."
"It looks like one I used to have," said little Freddie Gibbs
"Oh yes?" we cried, and rolled our eyes. He tells such awful fibs
My teacher wasn't too impressed. She took the Thing away
She locked it in her cupboard and she kept it there, all day.
I'll show it to you, if you like. I'm sure you'll say, "Gee whiz!"
But just remember it's all mine. I wonder what it is?

Monday, 10 November 2008

Ugly Bug

Do you know what's three inches long and hairy
With goggle eyes and funny, goofy teeth?
Its odour is quite extra-ordinary
It's feared from Timbukhtu to Haywards Heath

There may be things more ugly, but I doubt it
Its legs are green, its body's dirty black
And normally I wouldn't talk about it
It's just that there's one crawling up your back

Sunday, 9 November 2008

I Could...

I could eat an elephant on toast, for just a snack
I could climb an oak tree with both hands behind my back
I could whistle "Dixie" while I drink a glass of milk
I could comb a coconut until it's smooth as silk

I could spell "chrysanthemum" without a calculator
I could build a house from two short planks and a potater
I could do most anything, and I could show you how
I could tell the truth, but I'm not in the mood right now

Will Hames, November 2008

Thursday, 6 November 2008


I'm trying not to think about a gherkin
The reason isn't difficult to see
That naughty little veggie tends to make me rather edgy
With a feeling of inferiority

But trying not to think about... whatever...
Is really very difficult to do
Perhaps determination can suppress imagination
But I can never manage it. Can you?

I think I need a powerful diversion
To shift my thinking to a higher plane
And raise it to a level far above the grimy devil
And never let it sink so low again

I know, I'll think about "The Sound of Music"
The story of the family von Trapp
How Salzburg and its province fell in love with Mary Poppins
Who was climbing every gherkin. What?! Oh, crap!

Will Hames, November 2008


I wish I had a wishing stone
I’d hold it in my hand
And every time I wanted something
Wonderful and grand
I’d find a quiet corner where,
Unnoticed by the crowd,
I’d rub my little wishing stone
And speak my wish aloud
And then, as if by magic
Something special would occur
There’s no such thing as wishing stones
Oh, how I wish there were

Will Hames, November 2008


My sister won’t thank me for telling you how
She grew up the way that she did
For reasons I’m not going into right now
We called her the Cucumber Kid
But that was before she took up with young Dan
So dashing and daring and bold
He was all that my sister could want in a man
And he’d do anything he was told

It was easy to tell he was under her spell
He shared all her strange predilections
And, secure in the knowledge that Dan had the courage
Of all of my sister’s convictions
They’d stroll arm-in-arm round museums and zoos
The picture of heady romance
They wore matching sweaters, had matching tattoos
And sometimes they wore the same pants

Then after a while she became rather bored
He wasn’t the Dan that she’d known
She looked up old friends that she’d lately ignored
And left him at home on his own
For he’d lost all his spark and his wild enterprise
He was even more dozy than most men
So you can imagine my sister’s surprise
When she found he’d run off with the postman

He left her a note which she found when she came
Rolling in from a night on the prom
It didn’t say much, but he’d signed his full name
To make sure she knew who it was from
Now, given the chance, at the drop of a hat
She’ll tell you what Dirty Dan didagain
She lives all alone with her budgie and cat
And we call her the Cucumber Kidagain

Will Hames, November 2008


Tomorrow I’ll stop shirking and get down to steady working
It’s a nice idea of course, and yet I doubt it
My domestic life is just about to crumble into dust
But I can’t be arsed to do a thing about it

Looking round me in despair, I’m convinced this isn’t fair
And it’s nothing like the life I’d been expecting
It’s a terrible debacle, ‘cos for every job I’d tackle
There’s a hundred other things I’d be neglecting

I’m surrounded by a host of things I ought to treasure most
They require an awful lot of TLC
I can feel my spirits sinking as I sit here, sadly thinking
Shouldn’t someone else be doing this, not me?

Shouldn’t someone sympathetic, organised and energetic
Come and boldly take the line of most resistance?
I’m a poet and a thinker, born to dream and not to tinker
With the nuts and bolts of everyday existence

Yes, it leaves a nasty taste, it’s a dreadful, shocking waste
Of the talent that’s been given me by God
Am I right to feel a grudge at this unrelenting drudgery
Or am I just a lazy little sod?

Will Hames, November 2008


It started with the elephant, as things so often do
He’d called around to see if we could spare an egg or two
Because of course, your elephant, as everybody knows
Will never go out shopping ‘til he’s painted all his toes

And polished up the ivory, and waxed his hairy legs
But anyway, we didn’t mind, ‘cos we had lots of eggs
So off he went, back down the path and through our garden gate
With two nice free-range mediums upon a paper plate

But when he reached the pavement, well, I’m very sad to say
An aardvark on a skateboard snatched his eggs and rode away.
Now please don’t think me prejudiced, I’ve quite an open mind
But aardvarks are, it must be said, all crimin’lly inclined

So shouting, “Stop that aardvark!” we gave chase, the way you do
Determined that he shouldn’t reach the safety of the zoo
We chased him through the market place and down a twisty lane
Then half way into Mothercare and half way out again

We lunged at him in unison, which never helps a bit
As anyone who’s tried to catch an aardvark will admit
A wheel came off his skateboard, so he picked it up and ran
Creating fear and petulance as only aardvarks can

But when he threw the board aside to make his burden lighter
And bolted into Morrisons, I knew we had the blighter
‘Cos now that it’s not Safeway and they’ve changed it all inside
There’s only one way out of there, and nowhere you can hide

So, moving surreptitiously to take him unawares
We cornered him between the Pringles and the prickly pears.
Well, after it was over and we’d got our breath and legs back
The elephant was overcome, so glad to have his eggs back

He took a piece of paper as he shed a grateful tear
He wiped his eyes and blew his trunk, and then he said, “Oh dear!
There’s writing on this paper. I can just make out a title.
Your name’s there in the corner. Was it something really vital?”

Indeed it was, and this is what my story’s all about
He’d turned my homework into mush. I’m hoping you won’t shout.
The ink had run incurably, no way could I retrieve it,
And that’s what really happened, Teacher.
Surely you’ll believe it?

Will Hames, November 2008


I wish to make a serious complaint
And don’t think I’m a loony, ‘cos I ain’t
You’ll have to hear me out, because
I’m getting sick of Santa Claus
He’s acting really strangely, for a saint

Now here’s the thing that drives me round the bend
Whilst shopping in the wonderful West End
I walk in any major store
And Santa’s got there just before…
He’s stalking me, the swine! This has to end!

The blighter’s with me everywhere I go
And now I dread the sound of “Ho Ho Ho!”
He accosted me in Hennes
With a bucket full of pennies
And a shaker full of artificial snow!

He always has a different disguise;
His height, his voice, the colour of his eyes
But that beard of snowy grey
Is a proper give-away
And the suit! He isn’t hard to recognise

Now I won’t have Santa laughing up his sleeve
A restraining order’s due, I do believe
You can tell that awful rotter
That he’s absolutely gotta
Keep away from me, (at least ‘til Christmas Eve)

Will Hames, November 2008

Saturday, 11 October 2008


Zibdab the Grook was an odd little fellow
His hair was bright orange, his ears were both yellow
His nose was as red as a box for the mail
His eyes were on stalks, like the eyes of a snail

His smile was the strangest thing you ever saw
Most people have two lips, but Zibdab had four!
His body was round, and his arms were so long
That his hands touched the ground as he ambled along

On feet like an elephant’s, chunky and flat
He couldn’t wear shoes, but he did wear a hat
A big one, so big he could pull it right down
To cover his face when he went into town

So there we have Zibdab, and as you’ll agree
He wasn’t the prettiest sight you could see
But animals loved him, each dog and each cat
Would beg to be stroked by this Grook in a hat

They’d wag and they’d purr and not leave him alone
He’d give them a cuddle, some fish or a bone
He’d tell them how loved and how lovely they were
And talk of his dreams as he ruffled their fur

But people… oh, people! They seemed to know less
Than the animals Zibdab would comfort and bless
They jeered at him, sneered at him, pointed and mocked
Still, Zibdab kept smiling. He couldn’t be shocked.

He could have been angry, this Grook in a hat
He could have just sulked, but he didn’t do that
He’d look in the mirror and laugh, and agree
That he wasn’t the prettiest sight you could see

One cold winter’s night, when the world was asleep
The snow fell and fell, and grew ever so deep
And early next morning, by Zibdab’s front door
Stood thirty five children… it could have been more

Determined to wait for as long as it took
They’d come to throw snowballs at Zibdab the Grook
They called through his letterbox, “Zibdab, come on!”
There was no reply. It appeared he was gone.

Then one of the children cried, “Look what I’ve found!”
And pointed excitedly down at the ground
For there, in the snow, were the chunky and flat
Unmistakeable tracks of a Grook in a hat

They followed the footprints and chanted with glee
‘Til they came to the cornfield of Farmer McFee
Where, off in a corner, beside a small brook
Building a snowman, stood Zibdab the Grook

Thirty five children… it may have been more…
Chanting much louder than ever before
Ran towards Zibdab, their hands full of snow
They gathered around him and let it all go

He laughed as a snowball knocked off his big hat
Smiled as six children then trampled it flat
Giggled as snow landed, “Splunk!” in his hair
Then everything stopped as a noise filled the air

Up in the sky, coming down to the ground
Was a huge flying saucer, all shiny and round
With purple lamps flashing a twinkly glow
It landed beside them, just touching the snow

Then out stepped a robot with lights in his head
He looked at the children and solemnly said
“I’ve come to give someone a lovely surprise,
A ride in our space ship, way up to the skies.

“The treat of a lifetime, it’s bound to be fun
But, sorry to say, we can only take one.
I know it’s all snowy, but take off your shoes
And I’ll try to work out which one I should choose

“Sit down, all the children who shout and complain
Who laugh to see others in trouble or pain.
Sit down, all the children who try to be boss
And think it’s okay to be grumpy and cross.”

The children all sniggered and shuffled with shame
‘Til one squatted down, and two more did the same
Then so many sat that the ground fairly shook
And the only one standing was Zibdab the Grook

He walked to the space ship, and what was inside?
A hundred big Grooks, with their arms open wide
They cuddled him close as their ship left the ground
Where thirty five children sat huddled around

The Grooks all discussed it and had to agree
Zibdab was the prettiest sight you could see
They flew over London
Then Paris
Then Rome
Then shot into space
Taking Zibdab

© Will Hames 2008

Monday, 6 October 2008

Being Nice

I was listening to Tom Lehrer's wonderfully acid song, "National Brotherhood Week" and the thought occurred to me: what if we did away with special occasions for being nice to each other, such as Christmas and birthdays, and just acted decently the whole year round? Then I thought, being human we'd need some kind of outlet for all the negative stuff, so I'd propose that we have one day a year when we're all free to be as vile and obnoxious as we can to each other. And from that came the following poem.

It's National Fear 'n' Loathing Day next Wednesday
A day I always love to celebrate
From Skid Row to the Palace, we're united in our malice
As disaffection blossoms into hate

It's National Fear 'n' Loathing Day next Wednesday
The day to tell you boss that he's a swine
When "UP YOURS!" cards are sent, each one sincerely meant
The antidote to ev'ry Valentine

The time for letting rip
At the folk who get your pip
Is concentrated on this special day
So rally to the cause
You kiss mine and I'll kick yours
I never really liked you anyway

It's National Fear 'n' Loathing Day next Wednesday
But if you can't find anyone to shock
An acceptable corrective for your bottled-up invective
Is to verbally abuse the speaking clock

It's National Fear 'n' Loathing Day next Wednesday
So drain your poisoned chalice to the dregs
Pour scorn on all your foes, in vitriolic prose
All neatly iced on stale old Easter eggs

It's bound to be intense
No sitting on the fence
And soon we'll have the whole world joining in
But if you disagree
It's all the same to me
Just play along or sit on that* and spin!
(*gesture required)

It's National Fear 'n' Loathing Day next Wednesday
When ev'rybody gets his just desserts
Let's revel in revealing all the rancour that we're feeling
And tell the truth, especially if it hurts

It's National Fear 'n' Loathing Day next Wednesday
This honesty could well prove quite a strain
So our relief will be profound
When next Thursday rolls around
And we can all be hypocrites again!

Will Hames


Tomorrow, I'll be Superman
Tomorrow, I'll be sound
Oh yes I will, and leap tall buildings in a single bound

Tomorrow I'll be dynamite
I'll take your breath away
And then I bet you'll soon forget
I've done zip-all, today

Will Hames

Return to Ignorance

Oh, take me back to ignorance, the days when all was clear
When trust was easy, hope was bright, and love was ever near
When life was so forgiving of an innocent mistake
And truth was never hobbled for expediency’s sake

Oh, let me close my eyes again, pretend I’d never seen
The naked pain the world conceals from boys of seventeen
The petty, shallow callousness of those who should be bigger
Who seem to think that might is right, and fairness doesn’t figure

Oh, give me back those firm beliefs I used to speak aloud
Before I sought the safety of the acquiescent crowd
Perhaps I’d do as badly if I had my time again
But take me back to ignorance
I knew it all, back then

Will Hames

Saturday, 4 October 2008


Your farewell note, so small and neat, it helps to reassure me
So I wouldn’t dream of throwing it away
And when I pass you in the street, you pointedly ignore me
No, you won’t be coming back to me some day
No tears are in my eyes, and yet there’s part of me that can’t forget
The magic of the times I used to share
With your multiple personae and the things that used to wander through your hair

Romantic dinners out for two, the stars, a violin and you
Were far less hazardous than eating in
I knew that I could always trust you not to rearrange the dust
You generated with your flaky skin
Now looking back, it’s hard to see what loving you was giving me
I wonder how I ever came to care
For your multiple personae and the things that used to wander through your hair

Those heady days of living free from thoughts of domesticity
The very notion put you in a coma
Resisting, as you’d always done, the slightest thing that wasn’t fun
And all attempts to limit your aroma
I’ve thrown your toothbrush in the bin, your flannel quickly followed in
Though both of them were still as good as new
And though I thought I’d never miss you half as much as syphilis
I do

Will Hames

Wednesday, 1 October 2008

Insurance Proposal

Oh marry me, do, you incredible girl
I'll give you the stars from the sky
And be faithful to you 'til the end of the world
(Terms and conditions apply)

Monday, 29 September 2008

Good Food Guy

I'm not very taken with liver and bacon
Asparagus isn't sublime
I couldn't care less for mustard & cress
It's just a complete waste of time
I don't have much fun with a burger and bun
And fries that are skinny or fat
You must be delirious, you cannot be serious,
How can a person eat that?

Fingers of fish don't make a good dish
They're not worth their space on the table
I'm not cock-a-hoop for vegetable soup
No matter how fancy the label
Forget about seafood... well, how can that be food?
Those cockles and mussels and crabs!
Curry and rice isn't terribly nice
And I can't see the point of kebabs

Italian? Greek? We had it last week
And I didn't think it was great
All olives and cheese, and as for Chinese
I won't touch a thing on the plate
Bread? It's okay in a dull sort of way
Though I hate it all smothered with jam
Don't walk off! That's not fair! You just don't seem to care
How terribly hungry I am!

Will Hames

Saturday, 27 September 2008

Open Mic Pose(u)r

Please misunderstand me, I’m a poet
Plain English really doesn’t play the game
I have a point to make, but my meaning’s quite opaque
If you work it out, I’ll hang my head in shame

I’m hoping you’ll be dazzled as I’m reading
The phrases no one sane could memorise
What I expect of you is to listen ‘til I’m through
And nod when I say words you recognise

Of course I’m philosophical and earnest
That has to be completely understood
But it’s way beneath my station to give clear communication
I wouldn’t do it, even if I could

I weightily intone my magnum opus
It rhymes and scans, and so it must be true
I artfully pretend that it’s almost at the end
But no such luck, I’m only halfway through

Just let the words wash over you and marvel
To think one man could be so wise and deep
And when my poem’s done, I’ll say, “Thank you, everyone”
Well, those of you who didn’t fall asleep

Will Hames

Piggy John

He'd spot me in the playground and his piggy eyes would gleam
I was his special victim, someone small that he could cream
He'd take my dinner money, tread my school cap in the mud
He'd pinch me in assembly, wouldn't stop 'til he drew blood

He had a little gang of other boys he called his mates
They'd laugh at all his nasty jokes and hang around the gates
To pick on kids he singled out for ridicule and pain
So glad they weren't the targets of his bullying campaign

When it was time for second'ry, we did a little show
And teachers stood in line to say, "How sad to see you go!"
The other kids were tearful at the thought of moving on
But I just thought, thank God I've seen the last of Piggy John

Well, years went by and I grew up, and everyone I'd meet
Compared to Piggy John, would seem adorable and sweet
He faded in my memory, a ghost of way back when
But yesterday, I came across old Piggy once again

The years had not been kind to him, I couldn't help but feel
The rain poured down his collar as he crouched and changed a wheel
With hopelessness and desperation in his weary eyes
It seemed to me the guy had shrunk to half his former size

He looked the soul of misery and bitter, deep frustration
I couldn't bear to leav him in this awful situation
I quickly wound the window downwards in my brand-new Rover
Then called, "Hi, John! Remember me?"
And ran the fucker over

Will Hames