Befuddling Thoughts in bad poetry, from Inchcock! Part of the Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe series


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I had a thought, the other day,

It would not go away,

But here I am to write it down today,

Huh! I’ve forgotten what it was, Oh, lackaday!


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I was caught laughing on Monday morning,

The Doctor was worried,

To the psychiatrist, I was hurried,

Now I’m no longer able-bodied,

I believe insanity is dawning!

I’ll have parsnip soup tonight, curried!


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I worry a lot nowadays,

Through my mind’s confused haze,

Why am I not confident, there’s a trail to blaze?

I’m old, decrepit and stuck in my ways,

 Life’s a pain, it’s been wretched in recent days,

Freeing yourself of worrying can be done; the Doctor says

Watch an old DVD of Dawson’s ‘Say’s Les’,

Act like Tommy Cooper, and wear a fez,

I worry a lot nowadays!


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Doing the ablutions is not an easy task!

I’ll cut myself daily having a shave,

To ease the pain, I take my hip-flask,

Whoopsiedangleplops committed,

Dizzy Dennis calls, and blood is flittered,

Shaking Shaun, makes me feel all forlorn,

The dropsies fall, sometimes landing on my corn,

Then I droppeth the showerhead,

Though sometimes, the Sock-Glide instead,

The Sock-Glide removes chunks from my finger,

But in the shower, I become a singer,

An older Elvis, I’m a dead-ringer,

Apart from being short and having no hair,

And I can’t sing, to be fair,

Life can be so cruel and unfair, so there!

But there’s help out there somewhere,

I just don’t know where. But do I care?


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Nowadays, and I think it’s a real pity,

Life’s full of astucity, atrocity and a definite caducity,

It’s still easy enough, for me to be friendly and witty,

But sadly, only through a silly internet ditty,

Doing hoovering, hand-washing and other domesticity,

Brings pain, agony in all its ferocity,

Arthur Itis, Anne Gyna, neurotmesis axonotmesisity,

Duodenal Donald, Reflux Roger, with their tenacity,

All combine, to stop the housework,

Someone call saying; ‘Look at this filthy dust. You idle burke!’



But life’s always been depressing,

It started when I was born you know,

Worries were soon rampant, though,

But I had my health,

  Even if, no wealth,

Britain had its Commonwealth,

I got through using cunning and stealth!

This post was formulated while Inchcock was waiting in the Mary Potter Treatment Centre for his ankle-ulcer, and bruised thigh from his falling off of the L9 bus to be treated. During which he had his Peripheral Neuropathy diagnosed.

Just thought I’d mention it, like.

Part of: The Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe Series


4 thoughts on “Befuddling Thoughts in bad poetry, from Inchcock! Part of the Nottingham Lads True Tales of Woe series

  1. When I was a kid, I grew up near Dr. Seuss (Theodore Geisel). I crawled over his fence once hoping to meet him, but sadly failed. This wonderful post reminds me of him. Happy & Peaceful New Year to you my friend.

    • Thank you Cindy, so kind.
      Dr Seuss, I must look him up. Did he have a warped to others mind like I do? Haha!
      Enjoy the new year, and please keep on photographicalising. ♥

  2. That is truly ar great poem of worry and woe. Writing down your tale of worry and woe is perfect for time spent waiting at the Mary Potter Treatment Centre. Maybe you should go to the Harry Potter Treatment Center where they can try some incantations, magic, and whacky witchery to heal your legions of ailments. Or you should hire an exorcist to cast the legion of demon ailments that taunt you into a group of swine cyclists and send them into the sea, or nearest large body of water, to drown (Mark 5:1-18 — .

    • Hahaha! When I thought of Legion, at first Little Inchies fungal lesion came to mind.
      I bet Brother in law Pete will like this comment, Tim.
      Do you think if I nip in the Chapel or Harry Potter treatment centre, I can get some help then? Hahaha!
      Glad you liked it, mate.
      The bloody Tate should be buying my work to go with the leg photographs they haven’t bothered with! (They’ve filled up a bit with fluid this morning)
      Cheers, Sir. TTFNski!

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