Saturday, May 29, 2010

Wasting energy

I don't get many commissions, apart from family occasions, so when my supervisor in work asked me to do him "a funny poem on energy conservation in the home," I though I'd give it a lash. No idea what he wants it for, though. Should really have asked him.

You’d come down in fine fettle
And fill up the kettle
To make one cup of tea for yourself.
With a nonchalant skill,
You’d throw bread on the grill,
With the toaster unused on the shelf.
The fridge door, then, sloppily,
Would not be shut properly
And the motor would quicken its pace,
Then you’d hit the dishwasher
And hear the suds slosh a-
-Round all of the wide open space.

You’d think it amazing
You’d no double-glazing
As the heat escaped out through the cracks.
Your electrical heater
Put pounds on the meter,
Not to mention the twelve per cent tax.
A good lagging jacket
Did not cost a packet
But your boiler stood naked and numb,
And you’d stand in the shower
For nearly an hour
And dream of the good times to come.

On standby, the telly
Still gave the grid welly
At night while you slept in your bed.
And the CFL lighting,
You did not find exciting
And you’d stick with the old bulbs, you said.
Your letter-box rattled
And fruitlessly battled
With the wind that blew up our drive way.
And I found it quite stunning
You’d leave the tap running
When brushing your teeth night and day.

You knew that your attic
Was quite problematic
With the heat seeping out through the roof.
But you simply said ‘Shag it,
Its too hard to lag it,’
And waited till you had more proof.
Oh mother, you’re old now
And feeling the cold now
And complain you’re alone and bereft.
But you know that its true, mam,
Its all down to you, mam,
That the world has no energy left.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

On holidays in Galway 1999

(I was going through my folders of family history files today when I came across this, presumably written during our holiday in Spiddal in 1999!)
With nowhere special left to go,
We drove around to Carraroe.
We didn’t see the waterfalls,
Just rocks and rain and lakes and walls.

Gortumna Island our next stop
To try and find an ice-cream shop.
Instead of ice-cream cones and flakes,
We’d walls and rocks and rain and lakes.

Then we drove on to Rosmuck,
Just, I said, to have a look,
But all we found there once again
Were lakes and walls and rocks and rain.

Exasperated at the wheel,
I headed back to Rossaveal
But all we saw, down round the docks
Were rain and lakes and walls and rocks.

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

A close shave

I hit her quite squarely on the N34,
She came down awful hard on my bonnet.
I slammed on the brakes most determinedly for
I could not see a thing with her on it.

She lay in a puddle, her fur coat around her,
Like a bruised and a battered ham sandwich.
I was sorry to learn that the water had drowned her
But at least my car suffered no damage.