It looks extremely lovely,
It looks quite tasty too,
But I’m not sure I can stomach,
A raspberry that is blue!
The theory is entirely sound,
There’s nothing wrong with that,
But blue food is a no no,
I’d rather eat my hat!

Fears unbound, I bought a hound,
To frighten every foe,
A Doberman, all Black and Tan,
Muscle from head to toe,
But yesterday, having been away,
I returned home to my house,
I found her six feet up, a frightened pup,
Terrified by a mouse!

Let’s sit and pass the time of day,
With a gentle cup of tea,
We’ll warn the pot in the right way,
With a ritual ceremony.
I love Darjeeling, love Pu ‘Err,
Love my Oolongs too,
So pop some Keemun in the pot,
Let’s have the perfect brew.

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Crawled on 2013-10-12

A young man longed to travel,
So he signed up to go to sea,
He’d let the world unravel,
By joining the Queen’s Navy.

And away they sailed,
And the globe unveiled,
As they crossed an emerald sea.

He returned with tales of derring-do,
Of exotic foreign lands.
And his sisters all longed to john his crew,
And become true and willing deckhands.

So away they sailed,
Disguised and veiled,
As they crossed those emerald seas.

One by one his sisters fell,
For men they met overseas.
They all jumped ship, as I’ve heard tell,
And wed African, French and Chinese.

Overseas they stayed,
New lives they made,
Across the emerald seas.

Photo: Levent Islek

I’m a sucker for a really good book,
I am not someone who can just take one look.
I am that person who spends hour after hour,
Buried in print, it’s just a medium I devour!
A library is an Aladdin’s Cave to me,
Full of tradition, of culture, and history,
Full of laughter and sorrow, and humour and wit,
Of plays and of novels, of the latest big ‘hit’.
I love a good carrell in which I can sit,
And scan the great work to which I’ve thought to commit.

There is no if or maybe,
About whether I sit for hours,
I’m called the garden baby,
Because I love smelling flowers.
I dig my feet deep in the earth,
Have soil between my toes,
To get my serious penny’s worth,
Of the perfume of a rose.
Oh, I’m the garden baby,
Of that there is no doubt,
No ifs, no buts no maybe,
A horticulturalist inside out!

Lie still, my dear,
This kind of art,
Requires a steady hand.
My intention’s very clear,
I use my heart,
And all the skill at my command.
I’ll paint you with a tiger print,
To give your purr a roar,
And all your foes will get the hint,
And bother you no more.
Lie still my dear,
My brushes are,
Spokesmen for my craft,
These strokes breed fear,
In near and far,
And breathe a sure witchcraft.

I took a small step forwards,
And the sand fell down the hill,
So to prevent more slippage,
I’m standing very still.
This place is lacking colour,
The sky and sand’s the same,
It’s barren and it’s desolate,
This landscape has no name….

I’m not sure where the sofa ends,
Or where your body starts,
The truth is we’re connected,
By a meeting of our hearts
,
You are my protector,
You’re my leading light,
You greet me in the morning,
You’re at my side at night.

You and me are buddies,
You’re my bestest friend,
Our mutual trust’s enormous,
Our love will never end.

There’s nothing like a puddle of glorious mud,
To make our young hearts sing with joy!
There simply isn’t a place or a thing,
More fun for a small, rambunctious boy!
It’s cool, it’s wet, it’s a glorious mess,
It’s a given we’re going to indulge!
But if you think we will tell you this mud pool ‘s address’,’
It’s something we’ll never divulge