My Beautiful Phantasmagorian Dragon

My Beautiful Phantasmagorian Dragon

There came in the night, a dragon to see me,
At first, it fritted me… made me want to pee,
It settled down, landing on my chest,
I smiled and wished it all the best,
It was puzzled by this, I could see.

I spoke gently to her, told her an anecdote,
As her claws tore away at my throat,
I gave her obvious beauty much praise,
Told her how she could change her violent ways,
She said earlier she had eaten a stoat?

She released her grip on my bloodied head,
When I gave her food, pork knuckle and Scottish bread,
Hoping she’d like it, and not get diahorrea,
She was the prettiest thing in my phantasmagoria,
Best of all I thought, as she drank my blood,
Someone to talk to, and that is good!

The Mysteries of Inchcocks Mini-Ottoman

I can store stuff in there, like nibbles, out of site,

To retrieve them later, when I want a bite,

Usually, they are out of date by then, a mite,

Sell-by-date of Aug 1999, I found on the jar of Marmite!

_ _ _ _ _

I hid some cash in there once, but retrieved the fivers a little late,

By the time I remembered them, they were out-of-date,

I forgot some mandarins once, boy what a state,

Touched them and they crumbled, I had to wait…

While the flying dust landed and did abate,

I sneezed for ages without respite,

The dried mandarin dust flew, it gave me a fright,

I tripped over the Ottoman falling on the reading-light,

The injuries were painful, and the bleeding great,

The room looked like a flipping Bombsight!

 _ _ _ _ _

I went to retrieve a bottle of pop, the next night,

Dandelion & Burdock, if I remember right,

I struggled, but got it out of the Ottoman alright,

Then the cap shot off, hitting me in the eye,

I put on some antiseptic that made me cry,

I wondered how this happened, and why?

Then saw the price, that on the label did lie,

It didn’t really make any sense,

I/6d, yes, one and sixpence!

 _ _ _ _ _

But what does occur and almost every day or more often,

Is stubbing the toes on this Ottoman,

When I do this, my language is not like that of a churchman,

These words of warning of wot I’ve written,

If you have a mini-Ottoman

Sell it, throw it or give it to Oxfam,

Cause you’ll get yourself injured and fritten,

More painful than getting frostbitten!

 

It’s so hard to find steel-toe-capped slippers innit?

Just thought I’d mention it!

Written in Support of Suzies Podiatrist Services

Who I am currently Financing until I get rid of the Mini-Ottoman!

Words of Wisdom from Algernoon Epaphroditus Inchcock 1894 (Gerry’s great great Grandfather) In Rhyme (Of sorts)

Go fortheth with caution as you begin life,

It’ll be full of hum-drumness, with trouble and strive,

Keep yourself fit for your maidens, perhaps soon, your wife,

But getteth as much rump-pumpy and nightlife,

And sexual encounters aplenty, nightly or twice,

No work tommorow? them make it thrice!

If you seek the young flesh of a buxom lass,

Gereth in there, be as bold as brass,

Treat her reet, and fill her wineglass,

Don’t rush the removal of her girdle,

Caress her as you manipulate her petticoat,

If it’s the bosses lasseth though, beware,

Do not let him catcheth you both sweaty and bare!

No keyhole peeping at the bosses maiden,

Whetheress she’s big, little, celibate or even single,

Cause ifeth the chief catches you, with passion ladened,

And the pair of you about to comingle,

You’ll getteth the sack for your intermingle,

They’ve been know to kill servants and bury them in the dingle!

If you show your remorse, throw yourself in the Master’s lake,

Then beggeth his forgiveness for heaven’s sake,

You show you are regretful and afternoonified,

A smile and gigglemug you should adopteth,

Or he may have you flogged, or even toppethed,

Quoteth the Bible, mention forgiveness and Jepheth,

Offer to take lower wage, 3 pence a week down to a peneth!

Afore you join the other servants to be at mirth, it must be agreed,

Make sure you can handle botheth the wacky-baccy and Mead!

Before ale intake makething sure, you have pee’d,

Enjoy your yearly dayeth off, and Godspeed.

If you getteth ill, visit the local apothecary.

 

He Talks to himself, you know!

Insanity is his guiding light – Sad I know, but there you are!

I talk to and chastise myself,

How did I lose all of my wealth?

However, did I get like this, pale, achromaticity?

Memory has gone to pot, it’s such a pity,

I’ve lost my guile, drive and stealth.

_ _ _

My once slim body, now a flobby monstrosity,

Sometimes I find it hard to breathe,

At times I think it best if I pass-on with fugacity

I’d have liked to learn how to sew and weave,

I’ve always had too much sensuosity.

_ _ _

Life is getting filled with struggles and tortuosity,

I’ve never had sufficient tenacity or ferocity,

Now I’m losing my logic and synchronicity,

To be a good man, I have ever striven,

Passionate about nothing, never driven,

Alway tended towards showing sequacity.

_ _ _

Fell in love and lost her, a crying shame,

Heartbroken, but who should I blame,

Never again for me, the romance game,

Anyway, the ailment stopped that in its tracks,

Even tried fishing, but just caught sticklebacks,

Nothing left now to set me aflame!

_ _ _

That’s another thing, setting the cooker on fire,

Lifes desires are sinking into the Grimpen Mire,

Ah, Sherlock Holmes, his books were good,

I suppose I’ve become a Stuck-in-the-mud?

Ever since poor health and I did retire?

_ _ _

Even my thoughts confuse me, so much now,

Leaving me frustrated, baffled somehow,

Depression I used to disallow and disavow,

But not anymore, and that’s for sure,

No desire for wealth or pleasure to store,

But I still like my mug of tea and chow.

Now the blank spells have taken a grip,

Nae doubt for me it’ll soon be Toodle-pip,

Still, it’ll free me from the pains in the hip,

Arthur Itis, Anne Gyna, and the Enoxaparin,

I’ll no worry about me being fat and flabby, not thin,

Yes, I welcome the end, not to worry about losing my grip,

No fretting over the level of heparin!

_ _ _

Oh, hang on though, the A-Teams on telly tonight,

Now that’s put my mind in a plight,

I’d better take me tablets after all, whatever,

I love it when a plan comes together!

_ _ _

Hehehe! Cheers all!

 

“It’s amazing how a stubbed toe can turn everything around!”

I awoke, feeling blood coming from my proboscis,

The tummy rumbling and grumbling with cryptosporidiosis,

Anne Gyna pangs, Duodenal Donald stabbing away,

Hernia Harry giving grief, a new boil on my bum, oh, alack a day,

The blood so thin, I anticipate another growth of Sepsis,

Standing up was hampered by Arthur Itis.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The Trotskies sent me to the Porcelain Throne,

A messy session had to clean up the bile,

Don’t want to snuff it here, all alone,

Felt depressed after struggling for a while,

To clean the room up, painfully I did groan,

So many tablets to take, made me revile,

My mind confused, on and on it did drone.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Was I going bonkers, losing my grip?

Would I ever get my new hip?

Things annoyed me, the tap did drip,

Hit my head on cupboard door, just another blip,

Putting the trousers on, and I broke the zip,

Then I laughed, seeing the funny side, and took a trip,

Stubbed my toe, painful, but no hardship.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

For this made me forget the ailments that were present,

As I laughed aloud, and to massage it, I bent,

But Hilda Hips, didn’t give her assent,

So down to the floor I tumbled and went,

Getting back up, a lot of energy was spent,

Th result was very munificent.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

All the ailments, apart from the stubbed toe,

Departed, left me for a while, off they did go,

Want to be free of several pains, now you know,

Want to be free, of all ailments, and impetigo?

Cheer yourself up, your heart again to glow?

You just have to stub your poor big toe!

 

Written in support of ‘The Old Fogeys with too Many Pains’ Association

Inspired by a comment from:

Orbbs Fashion

Life is but a Daily Competition – A guide for those of you who are not yet senile

Forgive this little ditty; I know it’s not got class or erudition,

I know it’s a bit of an uneducated disquisition,

So this is the position of my exposition.

Entitled: Life is but a Daily Competition

The fight to extract my mass from the chair each morning,

The £300 second-hand recliner, it dangerous take-warning,

It’s a bit of a gamble, will be dead or functioning,

Will I get out in time for my ablutionising?

Usually not, so follows medicationalising and sanitising!

Take the tablets, do the medical checks too,

Important this, when one’s decrepit and seventy-two,

BP, temperature, pulse, just a few you have to do,

Creams, lotions, pain gel and new aches for you,

Hospital, doctors, clinic and chiropodist appointment due?

Check what day it is, or you won’t have a clue!

There’ll be plenty of things for you to misconstrue,

Things to forget, not remember, it makes you feel blue,

Getting things wrong is easy like you’re on Autocue,

Leave the tap running, heater or lights, there’s more than a few!

From decision making, you will find you eschew,

The red Gas Bill demand will be overdue,

What day and time is your next health assessment interview?

Singing to yourself, ‘Jealousy’ and  ‘A Boy named Sue’,

Knowing the words surprises you,

But you won’t remember, what’s needed next to do,

The name of your neighbour or grandnephew,

The number bus you need or when it is due,

Or, where you put the letter from the Inland Revenue.

Try to find your hearing aids, pen or glasses, but you cannot,

Get people’s names wrong and feel a right clot,

Forgetting where you were going, you’ll do that a lot,

Or getting there, no idea why and lose the plot,

Dropping things all the time like the teapot,

Bottles, coins, medicines and anything hot,

Arriving at the surgery, and wondering for what?

Repeatedly telling folks the same thing like a parrot,

Most of what you utter will be complete tommyrot.

Falling asleep anywhere or time without any fuss,

Often in a waiting room or on the bus,

Waking up at the depot, feeling ridiculous,

You’ll find your hands and fingers less dexterous,

Delicate parts of your body become fugacious,

Redundant, saggy and then none exitatious,

You’ll lose the urge to be flirtatious,

But gain the urge, to be grumpy and vexatious!

Exit mobile version
%%footer%%