Dementia might be a blessing in disguise
concealing the progress of her sad demise.
Unknowing, there's no need to tell her lies
and surely better being happy than wise.

My personal opinion is, he said,
school discipline has gone to pot.
Too many bleeding hearts in charge.
Too many people lost the plot.
Of course kids like the feeling of power
that comes from getting their own way.
If you take away the threat of force
"Don't you dare touch me" they say.
Detentions aren't a quick enough answer.
A clip round the ear is what they need.
Expulsions are an admission of failure.
You've got to make them take some heed.
I got caned when I was at school.
Six of the best across the bum.
It didn't do me any harm at all.
A bit of pain never hurt anyone.

The old Two Ronnies class-ic sketch

was visual and verbal

from posh through proper to poor wretch

light-hearted more than hurtful.

But words alone could make a dour

social rapper into a star

joking the names we use for our

grand-dad, grandpa or papa.

Old age

We have to accept dying;

we hope to avoid pain.

Optimist or Pessimist ?

Is the glass half full or is it half empty ?
It depends of course on how well you cope.
Even one third full and two thirds empty
leaves the optimist plenty of scope.
But a quarter full or, worse, one tenth ?
The staunchest optimist still has hope !
But even he must be less than hopeful
when the glass is totally unfull.

Tired I rest at the top of the plots

above the roofs of the bordering houses

and watch the crowded clouds slide by.

A straggled flight of starlings dots

the sky and wheeling lower rouses

unseen others from nearby

to flutter up and join the display.

More birds appear out of nowhere,

from trees and bushes soaring high

to join the swirling corps de ballet,

all swooping left and right together,

dancing the curtained backdrop sky.

But soon the choreography palls

whether from boredom or fatigue

no way of humans knowing why.

And gradually the outline falls

as more and more begin to leave

until like clouds the last slide by.

Then time for me also to depart

joyed with a fresh uplifted heart.

I wish I could play an instrument,
piano preferably,
but I've been too busy trying to write
eternal poetry.
With a smidgeon of musical skill I might
previously, who knows,
have given up penning verse so trite
in order to compose

instead of this boring doggerel shite
an eternal melody.