Welcome to my poetry: Mulder the Poacher!

Mulder (and his sister Scully!) have been with us for ten years! They were so tiny when my daughter fetched them from a local farm they both fit into her hand!

'Who you looking at?'

Over the years Scully has become a stay-at-home-bod whereas Mulder disappears in the morning and we don’t usually see him again till night-time unless he brings home the spoils!

Today’s poem was inspired by T.S.Eliot’s Cat Morgan Introduces Himself from Old Possum’s Book of Practical Cats of which Macavity has to be my favourite!

'No rabbits up here!'

       Mulder the Poacher

I’m Mulder the poacher and rabbit’s me game,

I’m nimble and sleek and I leave little trace,

I’m camouflaged so as to not get the blame,

Though if it turns wet I’m a proper disgrace.

Me shoulders are broad, I’m more brawny than brains,

I avoids them keepers of game and their guns,

You should ‘ear them poor rabbits’ dying refrains

As I nabs ‘em out of their warrens and runs.

They struggles and squeals as I drags ‘em all ‘ome,

Through the briars where goose grass clings to me coat,

I keep to the ‘edges where not many dare roam,

And squeeze through where netting entangles me throat.

I’m silvery grey, with black markings so neat,

Me whiskers they twitches, me eyes misses nowt,

I’m a pacifist Tom, with huge tiger feet, 

To those I encounter, a bit of a lout.

After poaching all day it’s now time to feast,

Me catch is more tasty than meat in a pouch,

Me mistress she says, I’m a bit of a beast,

When I wanders in stuffed and sleeps on the couch.

Them fleas is a bit of a nuisance, a pest,

But itches and scratches, they’m part of me fame,

It’s spring, and the time for a real bunny fest,

I’m Mulder the poacher, and rabbit’s me game!

'I'm whacked!'

 Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx

Welcome to my poetry: Ode to the Staffroom 'Mug'!

 Here’s a little ditty which will probably ring a bell with anyone who works in an environment where numerous people share a staffroom! There’s always the ‘mug’, who ends up washing up everybody else’s!!

My ‘ode’ could be found on the staffroom wall at my place of work (before my retirement). It was situated above the sink! One can but try!! 

A right 'mug'!

Ode to the Staff Room ‘Mug’

I lurk in the bowl,

Neglected, forgotten,

All tea stained, with

Coffee dregs stuck to my bottom,

I long to be clean,

And put neatly away,

Ready for service

Later on in the day.

So, when you’ve consumed

The beverage in me,

I’d be grateful forever

If you’d wash me, and dry me!

Please be thoughtful with every

Mug, spoon and plate,

So that some other ‘mug’,

Doesn’t have to stay late!

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx

Welcome to my poetry: Stretton's Inconvenience!

Stretton’s Inconvenience!

Stretton's Inconvenience!

Church Stretton is my nearest ‘town’! As a school leaver in the sixties I worked in the Mace grocer’s shop. This was when the town still retained some character. It sported a cinema, numerous small grocery shops, butchers, clothes shops and cafes, and the Post Office was in a building of its own, rather than being tucked away in the back of the Spar supermarket where visitors can't find it!

Thursdays were busy. It was the day the ‘country’ people flocked in to pick up their pensions and bought the odds and ends which weren’t delivered weekly to their doors. And it was when the toilets for the visiting hordes were plentiful!

Church Stretton and its surrounding areas are places of outstanding beauty and therefore liable to have humans visiting, often by the coachload!       

‘Stretton’s Inconvenience’ appeared to be just that, as one day, soon after its construction, a coach load of tourists waited with legs crossed on the pavement! And who is head of choosing the ‘water music’ which tinkles away as the dulcet tones of the automaton tells the occupant they will be asked to leave after a certain time one asks? The Sound of Silence, I Did it My Way and wait for it, more recently, A Boy Named Sue just about says it all!

Stretton’s Inconvenience

There once was a loo in Church Stretton,

Its destruction the council was set on,

They knocked it all down

To a heap on the ground,

For a while there was nothing to sit on!

Then up from the rubble it grew,

A convenience, shiny and new,

But being restricted,

With three doors selected,

Now on the pavement we’re having to queue!

One’s only for men, so comply!

The others, for a girl or a guy,

The council don’t care,

We’re having to share,

They’re expecting us not to be shy!

 On entering the stainless steel shell

(Which turns out to some kind of hell!)

A voice from above,

Devoid of all love,

Warns ‘Big Brother is watching this cell!’

Garfunkel and Simon provide

‘The Sound of Silence’ once you’re inside,

You’d better believe,

You’ll be asked to leave,

If strict rulings have all been defied!

You have but a short time to stay,

You can’t loiter about there all day.

The voice from above,

Like a velvety glove,

Gloats ‘Take note of what I have to say!’

Being intimately watched really rankles.

And you’re still fed that song of Garfunkel’s!

You really can’t hide,

When the door opens wide,

And you’re flung out with your knicks round your ankles!

So if it’s Shropshire you’re ambling through,

And in Stretton you pause, for the view,

It’s best not to be caught

In a position that’s ‘short’,

Or it’s red cheeks on the pavement for you!

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx