Charlie

I don’t play golf with Charlie now
We don’t see eye to eye
We had a nasty falling out
Which ended in “Goodbye!”

I didn’t mind the fact that Charlie’s
Jokes were really weak
And even though his swing was sorely
Lacking in technique

That didn’t seem to matter
As we’d play a round or two
But there are some unsporting things
A guy should never do

Like sneezing as you’re teeing off
That isn’t fair at all
And accidentally on purpose
Treading on your ball

And cheating any time he can
And making lame excuses
And crowing when you miss a shot
And sulking when he loses

And handing you a putter
When he knows you need a driver
Would you put up with stunts like that?
No. Charlie wouldn’t either.

Will Hames
March 2009

WISE MAN

On top of Old Smokey, a wise man was perched
Admiring his plants in their pots
When into his vision, there suddenly lurched
A teenager covered in spots

“Oh, hi!” called the youth, “I’ve been looking for you
You’re known as a bit of a sage.
My Mum says I might learn a good thing or two
From one of your wisdom and age.”

The wise man looked up from his fine Busy Lizzie
And said, with a voice dry as hay,
“Please try not to fidget, you’re making me dizzy
Sit down. Better still, go away!”

“Oh no,” cried the youngster, “you’re not being fair
You don’t even know why I’ve come!
I’ve ridden all day on my horse over there
I’m worn out, and I’ve a sore bum!”

“It’s not half as sore as it’s going to be,”
Said the sage, “if you stand there and moan
So either explain why you’re bothering me
Or push off and leave me alone.”

“Thing is,” cried the youngster, “I need some advice
On how to be clever and quick
‘Cause none of the girls ever looks at me twice
They all think I’m dim as a brick!

“Please tell me the secret of wisdom an’ stuff
In words even I’d understand.
I need it made simple and punchy enough
To write on the back of my hand.”

“Be silent, my son,” the old wise man replied,
“And try to go into a trance
Switch off all the chatter that’s boiling inside
And give your poor brain cell a chance

“In silence you’ll find all the wisdom you need
There’s really no reason to fear it
You’ll find inspiration, it whispers indeed
And that’s why you can’t seem to hear it.

“Keep silent, and if they suspect you’re a prat
Believe me, it’s better by far
Than spouting opinions to this one and that
And proving how stupid you are!”



Will Hames

CHAUVINIST LOVE SONG

You’re perfect as you are today
I wouldn’t change a single thing
Or have you any other way
So here is what I’m promising:

Provided you accept my friends
And water my begonias
And work all hours the good Lord sends
To make my life harmonious

And always laugh at all my jokes
Yes, even those you’ve heard before
And never look at other blokes
And give me children, three or four

Provided you don’t deviate
From views I hold traditionally
And never age or put on weight
I’ll love you unconditionally

Will Hames
January 2009

Hypochondriac

You've been at death's door and you nearly went through?
You woke in the mortuary, naked and blue?
You'll always find somebody worse off than you...
My cousin, young Freddie Lafitte
Don't talk of your ailments in front of this lad
No matter what illnesses you've ever had
Our Freddie's been through it, but three times as bad
It's a wonder he stays so up-beat

If your liver's a mess and your pulse so unsteady
That you should be pushing up daisies already
You know you can always rely on our Freddie
To go just that little bit better
Trepanned in an accident somewhere in Spain
Transported to hospital, screaming with pain
His wide-open cranium letting in rain
On the back of a knackered Lambretta

He told us the surgeons were taking his throat away
Mother believed him and gave his old coat away
You've had a bypass? This fool had a motorway
Boy, did he give us a fright!
They know him in resuss so well, it's a farce
He's such an incredible pain in the arse
They made him a Regular Visitor's Pass
To the tunnel of dazzling light

Much as we pity his sad situation
We're tired of him causing us such consternation
I think he's addicted to defibrilation
And that's how he gets all his kicks
But when it's all over, I'm sure that he'll find
That Death is fed up with him changing his mind
He'll take him half way and then leave him behind
On the banks of the old River Styx

Will Hames
January 2009

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
But...
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

ALEXANDER THE PANDA

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

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