Mass migration

I was inspired to write a second piece on things I feel strongly about, this time with a bit more humour:

What springs to mind if I mention mass migrations? The great wildebeest stampede across the plains of the Serengeti? The movement of Atlantic salmon from sea to spawning ground and back? The march of the Emperor Penguins? I think of none of these wondrous feats but instead of something a little closer to home; a little more human in scale. Let me set the scene and see if you can work it out.

Something funny?! II

As I was on my way home from the group, I was suddenly struck by an idea for another funny poem.

Hospital Food

The hospital menu arrives and as I skim through,
A cold fear descends; my face turns blue.
I must place my order of food for the week
And I have to admit it sure does look bleak.
Unfortunately now I know all the dishes
And they fall so far short of my deepest wishes.

Monday’s chicken, pale and grey,
Probably reconstituted for dinner today.
A salad with leaves so limp and brown,
They must have been fished from the docks in town.
Then cornflake tart so sickly and sweet,
Or the rice pudding – hangs wallpaper a treat.

Tuesday’s curry will be most lacking in spice,
With a nice side order of congealed rice.
Or it’s a pie – pastry tough as a shoe
And filling so indistinguishable, it might well be you!
Chocolate concrete a jackhammer couldn’t crack;
Why oh why does chef not get the sack?

Wednesday’s fish pie; you play hunt the prawn
And the mash topping is a patchy lawn.
The vegetable medley always carrots and peas
Or cabbage stewed in all seven seas.
Then sponge so heavy you’re likely to drown
And dry to boot – you can barely get it down.

Thursday’s the pasta; claggy and boring,
With a cheese crust so hard, you can practice your sawing.
Or it’s cremated pork to seal your mouth like glue
Is there no end to what this chef can do?
Dessert – two hard pears or a black banana,
Or bread and butter pudding with a token sultana?

Friday is fish day, a special treat,
‘Cos at least we avoid the crined up meat.
But the unbattered fish, overbaked in the sun
Is served with assorted veg shot from a gun.
Whilst the battered version leaves an oil slick,
With chips lovely and raw because they’re so thick.

Saturday’s stir fry served with no sauce at all
And dry noodles you could use to build a wall.
There’s banoffee pie that slides off your plate;
Enough whipped cream to fill a container in freight.
Or of course there comes the unfruity fruit fool.
This chef must be a total tool!

Today it’s Sunday so time for a roast;
Their crowning glory, their chance to boast?
No of course not, we can’t be so lucky;
This is the time you have to be plucky;
To face soggy roast potatoes and gravy so thin
And Yorkshire’s so hard they will bounce off the bin.

Here’s not a menu filled with love and care,
Or food of a standard I’d be proud to share.
It barely nourishes the soul or steadies the mind
And that’s only thanks to the lemon meringue pie.
This is mass catering in all its prime,
Prepared by a chef always racing the time.

Something funny?!

Task for this week: to write about a funny incident. Of course recalling something funny when you’re put on the spot always seems easier said than done, but here’s my attempt.

The Shriek

One day whilst out walking
There came an almighty shriek
It startled me so much
I nearly let out my own small “eek!”.

What could this be I wondered
From what massive, scary beast
It must be from a lion
Or similar sized animal at least.

Whilst I tried to mull it over
There was yet another scream.
I debated if it sounded more human
Or was that a wishful dream?

Suddenly a familiar yell came from the rear
“Wait up” (my mother’s voice)
“Did you not hear me squealing?”
“I felt I had no choice”

‘Twas then I turned around to see
Her plastered head to toe in mud
“I slipped upon a stone back there
And went down with a thud”.

Now when we’re out walking
The shriek’s become her trademark call
When she finds a slippery rock
And is worried she might fall.

Christmas II

Further inspired by the Christmas theme for this week:

Christmas Lights

This Christmas on our street there’s a battle of light
Each neighbour trying to trump the other night on night.

First off were the Pilkingtons down at thirty-three
With a string of icicles along their balcony.
This was replicated up and down the street
But the Pilkingtons unhappy that they were looking beat
Added lights along the soffit and to their four trees
– They clearly thought themselves the real bees’ knees.
But it didn’t last long because later that week
Those at number three – a Mr and Mrs Creek –
Installed neon lights in their twenty foot Spruce
And that seemed to call a truce
Until the Adkin-Walkers put up a reindeer just last week
Which, whilst very tasteful, looked rather meek,
When compared to the Watsons who’ve got a deer and sleigh
With Santa on the back, flashing away.
The Tandys have got a snowman, six foot high,
Which draws your eye towards the sky
Where writ across the roof is “Santa please stop here”
– I’m sure he already knows that they’ve not been good this year.

But this Christmas it’ll be me that has the most fun
As whilst it might cost me a small fortune to run
I’ve got a full size flashing nativity scene
– Enough to make me the lighting queen!

Christmas

Task for this week: to write a poem about either Christmas or winter.

Christmas Shopping Trip

Car to defrost this morning
After another icy weather warning.
Carols on the radio once again
As I’m driving through the pouring rain
But thankfully not snow – thick and deep –
As then you’re best under the duvet – asleep.
I’m off on a shopping trip today
For “just the essentials” as you would say
But people are cramming the store, so mad,
Barging in, all elbows, to save a tad.
Fighting over the toys, turkey or sprouts
“It’s mine, it’s mine” somebody shouts.
The aisles packed with tat you don’t need;
It’s nothing more than abject greed
As people swarm with trolleys piled high
With stuff they’ll never use or eat: why oh why?
‘Cos it’s the silly season once more
And I hate it, of that I’m sure.

“The Rosie Project”: book review

This week was a book review of “The Rosie Project” by Graeme Simsion. This was a light, easy read. It was billed as being “laugh out loud funny” although I can’t say I agree with that, even though some parts did make me smile. I found myself empathising with the inflexible and obsessive traits of Don (the protagonist, who has undiagnosed Aspergers) and it really made me question what it is that makes a human relationship. The ending felt a bit disappointing and predictable, but otherwise a good read. If we’re looking at books with characters with Aspergers, I have to say that it doesn’t, for me, top “The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time” by Mark Haddon.