Bumf's Birthday Poem.

Saturday was my birthday.

I have one every year.

People send me cards and gifts

and wish me merry cheer.


But it seems they just don't know me well

because I'm a proper old git.

There's something about a birthday card

that, to me, just doesn't fit.


A mass manufactured piece of paper

with picture of a train.

Says more about them than it does about me.

It drives me quite insane.


I have no love of public transport.

It does nothing at all for me.

Nor do cats or birthdays cakes

Or jokes that just aren't wi-tty.


I think they are a waste of money.

I'd rather have the cash.

Because cards just get thrown away

with the rest of the recycling trash.


Birthday cards are lazy.

They are full of someone elses words.

I suppose it's better than when the postman delivers

A box of steaming turds*



* I don't think it's the postman doing himself, but rather a jealous ex or an unknown nemesis - further investigation is required..

Rude Awakenings

Here is poem told to me by my dad many moons ago.

It goes a little something like this... Ahem..

Stop singing you plum!

As I awoke one morning,
When things bright are born.
A Robin perched upon my sill,
to greet the coming morn.
Its voice was sweet fragile and gay,
And softly did it sing.
And untold joy unto my heart di bring.

So lifting my head from my pillow,
and leaping from my bed.
I sharply closed the window,
And smashed the bastards head.




Dedicated to Lilly and anyone who has trouble getting to sleep/waking up in the morning like I do.

Ima squash you dead you robin!

Anal Nits

 I may have already put this little ditty up on the internet somewhere in one form or another. But this is the first time you will have seen the full version.
You lucky people.

I wrote it in 2002 at around 3am one tuesday morning.




ANAL NITS.
Anal Nits are a problem.
They can get you any time.
So keep your bottom nice and clean,
and I think You'll be just fine.

"Hurrah I am a muse."

Be careful where you leave your bum,
When you fall asleep.
You never know just where or when,
Those Anal nits will creep.

They itch and scratch and bite your bum,
and live by eating poo.
But they are Gods little creatures,
And they have feelings too.

So spare a thought for Anal nits,
Incase of reincarnation.
'Cos you may come back in your next life,
As part of an infestation.

Thanks for reading.

A September Monologue

To awake on the 1^st of September

 With your breathe hanging loose in the air

Is not the most welcoming thing I can think of

I really do think it’s not fair

The coldness that surrounded my body

From forehead to tip of my nose

Is a notice to all and to sundry

‘Tis the end of the summer I suppose.

But the cold it soon evaporates

Replaced by warm September air

So I brush my teeth and wash my face

Get dressed and ruffle my hair

The morning turns to afternoon

And the sunshine warms my heart.

I breathe a sigh of contentment

And let out a little fart.

Careful am I not to follow through

Of clean undies these are my last ones

And I’m not quite ready to slip myself into

A pair of my winter long johns.

Soon I know I will have to.

But not from the mess I have made

But I’m saving my long johns for when it gets colder

And I’m shovelling the snow with my spade.