Sycamore

The tree became sick
When the wind became raw.
And when snow lay thick,
It was sicker more.

Budapest Limerick Competition

There was a young woman from Budapest,
A naturist, proud when folk viewed her chest.
But on the shores of Lough Swilly,
She declared ’twas too chilly,
(As those who stroll there in the nude attest)
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Yet another unsuccessful Drivetime competition entry - this time to compose a Limerick based on the first line above but with an Irish theme

Gamla Stan

I’ve travelled all around the globe,
New Delhi to New York.
A great long-stepping claustrophobe,
I’ve walked the rover’s walk.

But no more do I choose to roam
From Cyprus to Saigon
For I have gone and made my home
In dear old Gamla Stan.

Gamla Stan, where the haughty seagull perches.
Gamla Stan, that the Baltic breaks upon.
Gamla Stan, you have snared me,
Gamla Stan, you have spared me,
Now I’ll be yours forever, Gamla Stan.

For there I met a raven lass
With skin as fair as ice.
Her eyes laughed o’er her bubbling glass,
I gladly paid the price.

The blackened clouds soon parted
And the sun in wonder shone
When my engine was re-started
In the heart of Gamla Stan.

Gamla Stan, where the winter’s never bitter,
Gamla Stan, you will take me when I’m gone.
Gamla Stan, your meandering
And cobbled lanes still pandering
To the romance within me, Gamla Stan.

They wanted ten kronor for a wee-wee

They wanted ten kronor for a wee-wee,
A price that I declared a sin.
And so, I sipped my rum and kiwi
And tenaciously I held my wee-wee in.

There’s no way I’d give them the satisfaction
Of getting my ten kronor for a pee.
Their urinals (sad) did not see any action,
At least, not from a stingy sod like me.
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10Kr. for a pee in Stockholm's T-Centrale station!

The classic Swedish beauty

There’s a classic Swedish beauty,
Eyes of blue and hear of blonde.
This fair damsel is a cutie
Of which many men are fond.
But in Stockholm I was taken
By another of the race
And in truth I was quite shaken
When I gazed upon her face.

Oh those black-haired girls of Sweden
Made me think that we’ve returned
To the flow’ring shrubs of Eden,
And the apple has been spurned.
They’re as black as any raven
With complexions clear and fair
And the country is a haven
For those girls with jet black hair

The Board

We sit ‘round the table, well-dressed and clean-shaven,
Discussing the business, our aims loud and craven.
The MD presents an array of large figures
And tries to suppress what the warning bell triggers.
We sit around doodling and shuffling papers,
While dreaming of sexual liaisons and capers,
Wasting long hours we can scarcely afford.
Oh, we’re the head honchos, lads,
We are the Bored.

Considering lilies

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; (Matthew 6: 28)
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There they hang upon the line,
Ten pairs of homespun knickers.
Some plain, some with a flowered design
And lo! How each pair flickers.
Yes, Lily has her washing out
And it gives me the willies
That Jesus preached that souls devout
Should aye consider Lily’s.
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As the train pulled out the station

As the train pulled out the station
She leaned out to wave goodbye.
‘Twas a sorry situation
And a tear came to my eye.
Oh, she cut a forlorn figure
On that last train to the coast
But I couldn’t help but snigger
When her head smacked off a post.

I miss that old tree

I miss that old tree at the end of the street,
Which afforded us shade in the dull summer heat,
That flung its leaves gaily when autumn did blow
And shivered when branches were laden with snow.

I miss that old tree, where we once carved our names
And hid from each other in long, childhood games.
And sat in the branches and secretly smoked,
The wisps of tobacco so cleverly cloaked.

I miss that old tree, where I’d meet my first love
As sparrows and chaffinches twittered above,
Where night time goodbyes lasted almost till dawn
And sexual awakening was clumsily born.

‘Twas a terrible storm on the night it came down,
The lightning forked wildly o’er this part of town.
The crash was heard widely, we all rushed outside
To witness the moment that tree of ours died.

Beneath its great trunk, my poor, flattened wife lay,
Crushed at the wheel of her Honda Coupé.
Oh yes, ‘twas a terrible moment for me
And still, two years later, I miss that old tree.

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Mary Elizabeth (spelt with a zed)

Mary Elizabeth (spelt with a zed)
Was saying her prayers at the foot of the bed,
When under the mattress there came a loud roar
And before she could jump up and run to the door,
She was pulled by the bogeyman under the bed
Poor Mary Elizabeth (spelt with a zed)

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