Category Archives: humour

The bells, the bells….

Church bells have many voices
joyous peals clamour across Saturday weddings
bellow for Sunday attendance
toll sonorous to the dead
but at Wednesday evening practice
the tonal song and dance differs
depends who is pulling the rope
sometimes tempestuous
sometimes a quivering drone
other times the bells
(and the seething listener)
may beseech release
from an idiot beginner

Copyright © 2022 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Today,  dVerse asks us to celebrate thesaurus day and write a poem that includes at least one word from each of the categories below:

  • bellow; clink; drone; jingle; quiver;
  • clamour; dissonant; rip-roaring; tempestuous; vociferous;
  • dulcet; honeyed; poetic; sonorous; tonal;
  • blabber; cackle; dribble; gurgle; seethe;
  • beseech; chant; drawl; embellish; intone

Pears, a limerick

Someone is eating my pears
He sits on the branches and stares
He’s a very pretty pidgeon
Who should take only a smidgeon
But takes as much as he dares

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

A Quick limerick for you today. Normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Hubby and I are feeling rather poorly at present.

Ann Arbor Business Trip

So we came off the plane
and they met us with a car
took us hungry and tired
to a huge Sushi bar

Two girls they thought us
tried to phase us with raw fish
but we were Londoners
we could devour any dish

Next night they tried Rogan Josh
after a long day of negotiation
Grinning, we upped the chilli
scoffed it down without hesitation

Then there was the brewery where
they planned to drink us under the table
but we were women of the world
always ready and able

To match them beer for beer
and whiskey for whiskey
and then when they were plastered
one of the idiots tried to get frisky

We threw them out the door
turned up in the office next morning
clinched the deal at cost price
while they were hungover and yawning

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

My Marketing Manager & I went to Ann Arbor in the late 1990s to secure a software deal for a coalition of the worlds airlines. The American negotiators tried all sort of tricks to put us “girls” (as they kept calling us) on the back foot. But expecting to out curry or out drink Londoners is simply naive. :)

This poem is a true story — although I’ve missed out the Mexican Chilli house and the Greek restaurant. Did they really think Greek was strange foreign food to a Londoner????? We led the dancing and plate throwing that night!

I was inspired by an excellent poem over at Jims blog: High Plains Sushi

Old

When you are old you
don’t understand
the plot of any Avengers film
but do understand
personal comfort is important
hence the clothes you are wearing

Gladly point out that nobody
really knows what a blockchain is
start to ask things like
“Who needs that many tattoos?”
find you are saving everything
and wasting nothing
particularly stale leftovers
expect to have at least one ache or pain at all times.

Being old is a state of mind
when you are old
you don’t have to pretend anymore.

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

Friday Poem: Mr Nobody

I know a funny little man,
As quiet as a mouse,
Who does the mischief that is done
In everybody’s house.
There’s no one ever sees his face,
And yet we all agree
That every plate we break was cracked
By Mr., Nobody

‘Tis he who always tears our books,
who leaves our doors ajar;
he pulls the buttons from our shirts,
and scatters pins afar,
that squeaking door will always squeak,
because of this you see:
we leave the oiling to be done
by Mr Nobody.

He puts damp wood upon the fire,
So kettles cannot boil;
His are the feet that bring in mud
And all the carpets soil.
The papers always are mislaid,
Who had them last but he?
There’s no one tosses them about
But Mr. Nobody

by Walter de la Mare

The Rescue Chicken

She’s a rescue chicken
no rest for her
half her feathers missing
she’s one tough bird

Small, brown, determined
she plans to sneak back in
wirecutters in beak
to cut free the other chickens

Who says a rescue chicken
needs tender care?
This one’s for the liberation
of battery hens everywhere

Copyright © 2021 Kim Whysall-Hammond

This poem sprung into my head upon reading Jim Feeneys wonderful poem Oprah Among the Chickens, where he asks:

Is a rescue chicken
a chicken that has been rescued by people
or is it a chicken that rescues people?

Well, I had a different idea………

The photo comes from the excellent British Hens Welfare Trust.

The Teenage Years

All bets are off in the teenage years
You still share your child’s hopes and fears
But they are a child no more –Can you hear that slammed door?
It’s a bumpy ride–Sometimes Jekyll, sometimes Hyde
You love them to bits, you can’t stand them anymore
And there again is that slamming door
You glimpse a young woman, you glimpse a young man –Try to catch them if you can
Sometimes it seems they’re a toddler again –Needing to share some of the pain
Do you remember when this was you?
Now you know what your parents went through……

Copyright © 2015 Kim Whysall-Hammond

I thought this would resonate with all those living with Teeenagers in Lockdown…..