If I had three wishes that would really come true

My first one would be to beat dad to the loo.

I’m sure he eats something that’s different from me.

How else could that smell that’s from hell come to be?

Of course ALL poo smells; can’t argue with that

But this smell would pole-axe a sewer-going rat.

Yet dad doesn’t notice; reads the paper in peace

Whilst in the air all about him the toxins increase.

He laughs when mum calls me to go and get my wash

As he flushes the toilet with a deep throated splosh.

He knows I am gagging and that is before

He sets free the bum gas when he opens the door.

Give it ten minutes he says with a wink

And my nose curls with anguish, assailed by the stink.

Throw open the windows and  throw away caution

And spray antiperspirant cans to exhaustion

I breathe through my mouth but to think I’m inhaling

Those vapours of dad’s, my health must be ailing.

Give it ten minutes? Oh don’t make me laugh

The toilet’s off limits for an hour and a half. Steve Blakesley © September 2008

You may have seen the pictures

Of wading cows and sheep

And wondered how a farmer

Can cope with floods that deep

I know some farms diversify

 But now I’ve seen it all

Pigs are learning breast stroke

And chickens the front crawl

Dogs do doggy paddle

And ducks have always swum

But cows don’t seem that streamlined

With horns and bony bum

Yet now it seems they’re learning

With inner tubes, with ease

To overcome the lack of land

And graze like manatees

Like bleating woolly icebergs

The sheep aren’t just surviving

They’re jumping off the shippon roof

They’re really good at diving

Some cows are just amazing

If left unsupervised

They put on hats and nose-clips

They’re swimming synchronised

The ducks are teaching chickens

To waterproof their feathers

And now equipped with flippers

They’re swimming in all weathers

I know it looks for all the world

They’re well and truly trapped

But the animals are not that dumb

They’re learning to adapt.

Steve Blakesley © 2014

You can’t tell them apart

Each a martyr to their art

Manifold sore toes

And muscular torsos

Aspiring learners

Become modest earners

Growing from duckling to swan

Yet ambition’s long gone.

Auditioned  Sylphide

But did not succeed

Also Coppelia

Ended in failure

Never staged alone

She’s always the clone

Her amazing grace

Her identical face

She dismissed the advice

That dancers die twice

She’s learnt  life is harsh

Now she teaches her class

She smiles at the petite

Their tutus so sweet

And the little ones beam

As she conjures their  dream

Steve Blakesley © June 2016

My day is a minefield of temptations.

Breakfast is oatmeal and yoghurt and fruit.

See, I start each day with good intentions

Then, come summer, I will fit my swimsuit

But  Mephistopheles has a biscuit

And I run a Cadbury gauntlet paying for fuel

Try your birthday cake- but dare I risk it?

Each calorific lure is just so cruel

Inevitably, hunger croons sweetly

You’ve done so well but your energy’s low

And that chocky fits your mouth so neatly

Well done, you’ve hung on so hard but now, let go

Yes, eat three in one go- but at what cost?

How goes the battle of wills? The battle is lost.

Steve Blakesley © October 2016

You can’t eat a doughnut delicately.

Sugared lips demand repeated sweeps

Of your pasty sticky tongue.

And thick red nectar squirts or drips

No matter how you turn

This golden speckled feast.

So that, jam stained

As a voracious three year old,

You self consciously

Lick and slurp the errant filling

From embarrassed fingers.

The cheery Aussie border guards insist

You’ve cleaned your worn-out shoes; you have not missed

Some hidden sodden clod from mountain trails

High up in some remoter part of Wales

There are no exceptions; it’s his duty

To ban soil from other lands of natural beauty.

Cambrian hills of peaty purity

Cut no ice with biosecurity

It’s more likely and somewhat less absurd

They’ll find you’ve trodden in a doggy turd.

Steve Blakesley (September 2019)