Welcome to my poetry: 'Just Passin' Through'!

I spotted the words ‘Just Passin’ Through’ on a lorry when out on my travels one day. I thought, ‘Ah, that’s a good title for a poem’, as ya do! And here is the result! A bit of nonsense, which I think we all need in our lives from time to time, especially in these days of ‘austerity measures’ and politicians who haven’t got a clue what the words actually mean!

I hope ‘Just Passin’ Through’ brings just a little smile!

'Just Passin' Through'

 Just Passin’ Through

When I made my entrance

On a cold Winter’s day

All warm, wet and wrinkled

And I’d found my own way

My mother looked down

And cooed, ‘Welcome to you.’

I cried, ‘Don’t get too fond,

‘Cos I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, mum,

          Just passin’ through.’

I progressed through childhood

And then into my teens

Alphabet to A-level

Plus some in-betweens

My teachers sighed fussily

This day you will rue

As I left I retorted,

‘Hey, I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, Teach,

          Just passin’ through.’

Relationships prospered

Then fell badly apart

Leaving splinters of grieving

In a poor broken heart

To the next casual conquest

I resolved to be true

But I heard myself saying

‘Sorry, just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, love,

          Just passin’ through.

In my thirties and forties

I lived life to the full

Going at everything

Like the proverbial bull

Slowing down by the sixties

And by the eighties I knew

That despite what they all say

I was just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, friends,

          Just passin’ through.

When I’ve huffed my last puff

And I’m sailing on high

With those pearly gates looming

In a blue cloudless sky

God will pull back the shutter

And say ‘How do you do?’

Then I’ll answer politely,

‘I hope I’m just passin’ through.

          Just passin’ through, Lord,

          Just passin’ through!’

Thanks for your time!

The Leebotwood Poet xx

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