Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth,
And spotted the perils beneath,
All the toffees I chewed,
And the sweet sticky food.
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth…
When I think of the lollies I licked,
And the liquorice allsorts I picked,
Sherbet dabs, big and little,
And that hard peanut brittle,
My conscience gets horribly pricked…
So I lay in the old dentist’s chair,
And I gaze up his nose in despair,
And his drill it do whine,
In these molars of mine,
‘Two amalgam,’ he’ll say, ‘for in there’
How I laughed at my mother’s false teeth,
As they foamed in the waters beneath,
But now comes the reckonin’
It’s me they are beckonin’
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth.
I am fond
Of our Pond
Of the superfine gloss
On its moss,
Its pink lilies and things
And the wings
Of its duck.
I am keen
On the Green
Soupy Surface of some
Of its scum,
Its water waved weeds,
Its three reeds
And its muck.
As I lay
And admired its thick skin,
I fell in;
I went walloping down
Till I stuck.
I am fond
Of our pond,
But I like it much more
From the shore.
It was quite out of place
On my face,
Where it stuck.
By Daniel Pettiward
Though you may disappear, you’re not forgotten here
And I will say to you, I will do what I can do
Peter Gabriel, ‘Wallflower’
A colleague came to work with a blanket.
They wore it all the time, like a uniform. Meetings, during lunch, even on the way home.
Sometimes you would see them curled up in the corner with the blanket, completely wrapped up in it, sucking on their thumb.
Sometimes the colleague said things from behind the blanket that were hostile about other people. ‘That’s so out of character,’ we would mutter, never really stopping to wonder how such a thing could have happened.
On other days the blanket became a plaything: a rolled up ball, a parachute, or a cave where bears had made their home.
Sometimes the colleague came to work wearing nothing but the blanket, even in the depths of winter (some said especially then)…
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Happy as something unimportant
and free as a thing unimportant.
As something no one prizes
and which does not prize itself.
As something mocked by all
and which mocks at their mockery.
As laughter without serious reason.
As a yell able to outyell itself.
Happy as no matter what,
as any no matter what.
as a dog’s tail.
Happy is England! I could be content
To see no other verdure than its own;
To feel no other breezes than are blown
Through its tall woods with high romances blent:
Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment
For skies Italian, and an inward groan
To sit upon an Alp as on a throne,
And half forget what world or worldling meant.
Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters;
Enough their simple loveliness for me,
Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging:
Yet do I often warmly burn to see
Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing,
And float with them about the summer waters.
Whenever you’re feeling down
Don’t always come with a frown
Come look like a happy clown
Though of course you can’t hide it
At least try a bit
But there are people around
Where your happiness is found
by Paramount Pawn
I saw a jolly hunter
With a jolly gun
Walking in the country
In the jolly sun.
In the jolly meadow
Sat a jolly hare.
Saw the jolly hunter.
Took jolly care.
Hunter jolly eager-
Sight of jolly prey.
Forgot gun pointing
Wrong jolly way.
Jolly hunter jolly head
Over heels gone.
Jolly old safety catch
Not jolly on.
Bang went the jolly gun.
Hunter jolly dead.
Jolly hare got clean away.
Jolly good, I said.
by Charles Causley