Posts aplenty.

I've just put a shed load of rubbish onto my blog. Mainly they're poems about Stationery and friends leaving work. Personal and not a little boring but you never know there may be something in there for everyone...suck it and see I guess.

Poems I have written about people you have never met before (unless you have met them before) leaving the nameless company that I work for. (number 5)

Poem for Julia Roberts who left to have a baby. No, not the film star, this one is much better looking than her.


There's something going on with julia
A belly's turning quite peculiar
It's grown to an enormous size
I think she's eaten all the pies
And just when you start to figure
That it will stop, it then gets bigger.
And even though it still does swell
The fact remains she looks so well
Pardon me if you think it rude
I'll clarify- it's not the food
that's helping to expand her tummy
No, its a baby. She'll be a mummy
Pretty soon You mark my words.

(I always thought that stork like birds
Brought the rugrats to your door
and left them outside on the floor
But then I learned that the creation
of human kids needs incubation
for 9 months or so, or sometimes less
Or even more, I must confess
I've only had an introduction
To human forms of reproduction)

Poems I have written about people you have never met before (unless you have met them before) leaving the nameless company that I work for. (number 4)

For Anna who is Irish and lovely.


Anna Baxter Irish lassie:
Open, friendly, always classy.
Often smiley, never formal
She can be, maybe, sometimes normal
Though I don’t intend to upset her
What I mean is she's much better
Than normal any other time
For further proof consult this rhyme.

Just what to say then 'bout our Anna?
She has a most endearing manner
A manner which leaves us all bereft
Once she's turned away and left.
I don't remember when she came-
For that my studies are to blame-
But when I got here and I saw her
I knew my life would be much poorer
If she decided to depart
And take along her massive heart.
But now that day has come our way
The day when Anna walks away
From her individual and sartorial
Take on all things editorial.
I can't believe it, force a smile
Swimming in Egypt- in denial.

Her hair is dark, the skirts much brighter,
This glamour driven copyrighter
Is the only girl who'll Accessorise
Her skirt and handbag with her eyes,
And brightly coloured knee length socks
You could even say she rocks,
Yet all the while this fashionista
Worked wonders with our humble Vista.
She's oft concerned with mates to boot
Telling all to eat more fruit.
Though to me this doesn't sit quite right
For I have seen her out at night
And when most would come a cropper
There seems no way that drink can stop her.
She's a machine for drinking wine
And come next morning always fine
(Actually that is a White lie
Sometimes she is not so sprightly).

Handbags and Gladrags quite aside
Her reputation far and wide
She's spread around this place called Walker
She is, you see, a superb talker.
Though Anna won't monopolise
She's far too friendly, far too wise.
Not full of ego and nor a flatterer
More a kind of 'What's the matter-er?'
Or a 'how are you?' and 'how's it going?'
'What you doing?', 'What you knowing?'
There always seems a kind of vacuum
When Anna's turned and left the room
To be sure she'll never be replaced
However much we fill the space
And when another is employed
Still there will remain a void
Of Anna-ness willy nilly,
We'll have to get the Picadilly
Line to Knightsbridge where she's embarking
On a career in Handbag Clerking.

One thought occurs to me before I finish
And that regards how to diminish
Anna's overwhelming passion
For anything to do with fashion.
She's a hard worker, rarely shirks
But how will Anna ever work
In Harrods with its many perks?
It'll drive old Al-Fayed berserk
For frankly there will be no stopping
Her dumping work and going shopping!

So a fond farewell, Hasta Manana!
Raise your glasses...Here's to Anna!

Poems I have written about people you have never met before (unless you have met them before) leaving the nameless company that I work for. (number 3)

Poem for Jon Wedderburn who was a typesetter with a pony tail who liked the Libertines. (Some of which information might be helpful in understanding what I have written)


SO in our time what did we learn
From Jonathan of Wedderburn?
I know it seems quite hard to say-
He only joined like yesterday
Or least it seems that's how it feels.
Time you see, as well as wheels,
has feathered wings with which it flies
Something it likes, so say the wise
To do when one is having fun
As was the case once we met Jon.
First thing I noticed was the hair
Tail of pony (Probably mare)
Then the face, a ruddy red;
A smile and that completes the head.
And without wanting to really bore you
The rest of him you see before you.
I just realised that, when I re-read this,
It made him sound like he was headless
I think the passage seen above
Clearly shows the importance of
Jon's hard work on books we've created
Without which we'd end up decapitated

And though he left us apathetic
With talk of charlton Athletic
The rest of his pub conversation
filled us all with quiet elation-
I remember once more specifically
Talking with him quite politically
About: "One man's power one mans vote
How we should try to promote
A unified settled society
A happy Caring community
where we can live full free of fear...
Oh, you're at the bar? I'll have a beer".
Or how could we ever forget
His fondness for a cigarette
Frequently and through the gloom
You'd find him in the smoking room
I'm sure now that he is leaving
The smokers certain will be grieving
Though in their hearts they must be feeling
A little piece of them is healing.
(I've heard it said- it harms you massively
to inhale smoke, even just passively).
When it came time to host the quiz
There was little question the role was his
Deftly handled like a dancer
While Richard nosed around for answers.
No matter how he poked and jibed
Jon would not, could not be bribed
He was quite aware of the situation
And coupled with clear enunciation
and immunity to foul suggestion
He cruised the role of posing questions.
There he was then, our colleague Jon,
Now he's announced that he will be gone
And though we've barely met him
There's no chance that we'll forget him.
So To sum it up without confusion
All in all and in conclusion:
Thanks to you, our workmate Jon
Fare thee well, good luck, so long.
We hope one day we'll meet again
Just remember until then:
For this type of type you'll find no better
Type of guy to be typesetter.

Poems I have written about people you have never met before (unless you have met them before) leaving the nameless company that I work for. (number 2)

For Kirsti who went off to study French, and film, and French Film.

On the 29th day of the 8th month, in the year of our Lord 2003
A sadness will befall us all from Alan and Paul to me.
When we were told there were floods of tears
We quite simply could not believe our ears
It was the sum of all our fears:
KIRSTI HAS DECIDED TO LEAVE!

So we begged and we pleaded for her to remain
To give us a reason, we said:'please Kirsti explain
Give us some kind of justification'
She said in response, as her explanation
'I needs must write my dissertation,
So I have decided to leave.'

We found it quite hard to take that she wants to go
And leave us for Frenchmen- Godard and Cocteau
If she's going to reject us
For a bunch of Directors
Surely she must (at the very least) expect us
To, without a fight, not let her leave.

So we planned and we hatched and we schemed and we plotted
On our notepads we scribbled, On our blueprints we jotted
'Til we came up with a scheme that was wicked and dirty
Meet downstairs for drinks, this Friday, 5.30.
If that's not enough, there's no need to get shirty,
As after for the Lav we will leave.

So we looked and we saw with some self-satisfaction
That what we had made was a great plan of action
So if you're feeling thirsty
Come say Goodbye to Kirsti!
(That's Friday, not on Thursday)
And perhaps she'll decide not to leave.

Poems I have written about people you have never met before (unless you have met them before) leaving the nameless company that I work for. (number 1)

For Natalie who worked her ass off for no thanks at all. (thanks by the way)


There once was a girl who worked in Production
Who made the mistake 'pon her introduction
Of giving her name in all its entirety
To interested members of production society.
"Hullo!" she said as she strode through the door
"I'm here to help you, I'm Natalie - Moore."
And whether the pause, or through some tonal texture
Her colleagues thought "Moore" meant "Please give me extra!"
(It's a terrible thing we made such a glitch
We don't after all give Avril more "Litch"
Julian's not constantly having a Ball
And sometimes [not often] Fiona's just not Wright at all).

When he misheard this the canny John Shaw
Thought to himself surely I'll give Nat more
(Without writing it down then how could he know
That Natalie's surname had more than one 'O'?)
So he piled on the PRAFs with hundreds of orders
From Candlewick, Walker (and 7 from Borders)
And just as she thought he'd start to refrain
Four score or more would come through again.
So the orders came through and up grew the piles
Of film, books and paper, of proofs and new files
Until one Monday morning I just couldn't find her
Under the mountain of books and ring binders.
I said to Fiona: "Just where is our Natalie
I have to confess to not seeing her latterly.
I must say I fear, though I cannot be sure
That good natured Natalie must be no More"

But Natalie Moore was More and Moreover
It was not long before she began to recover.
Inside her cave of paper and stuff
She'd decided that frankly she'd had quite enough.
So from inside the mountain she started to work
'Til she reached such a pace as to go quite beserk.
The mountain it trembled and BLAM! it exploded
In showers of files date and colour coded.
I covered my head from this avalanche of paper
But she tamed it with the aid of some clips and a stapler
And as I trembled with fear and whined so pathetically
She weeded and filed them all alphabetically.
So even though we made such an error
Somehow Natalie coped with the terror

So Natalie apologies for being demanding
We hope you'll forgive us this misunderstanding
Personally I reckon old Shakespeare's to blame
What with his twaddle 'bout "What's in a name?"
A rose may remain always sweet smelling
But much more important is care with your spelling
And that's the Moore-al I suppose of this story
To do things correctly you shouldn't spell poory.

Now 6 months are covered and we have discovered
That though Nat's been covered she somehow recovered
In time to leave a clear desk behind her
She's done a good job...no...more like a blinder.
I think we should realise how much we owe her
What a privilege to work with and get to know her.
But later I guess she'll walk out that door
And our Sad department will be left with no Moore.
(That's Moore with 2 "O"s, not more with just one
As there's definitely more work for us now to be done).

On Losing a Friend

Losing a friend is like losing an arm
You lack their grace and style and charm
Your mind becomes an altered vessel
and it gets much harder to have a wrestle.

Resolutions

Here Is My List of Resolutions

Here's my list of resolutions:
To fight for peace, to stop pollution,
To lose two stone and give up on drinking,
When I see pretty girls- to hold back from winking,
To give up smoking- at last kick the habit,
To see opportunity and learn how to grab it.
Make sure I do a great deal more exercise
And still find the time to rest both my eyes
From the extra books that I will be reading
Whilst I'm out in the garden doing my weeding.
I'll paint my house from the top to the middle,
I'll learn the flute, the guitar and the fiddle.
I'll spread the word we should love one another
Remembering as well, to not wind-up my brother.
I'll split the dang atom, I'll walk on the moon,
I'll make a big effort to tidy my room.
I'll keep my lawn tidy with nothing but tweezers,
I'll fly up to Iceland and swim in hot geysers.
I'll eat soup with chopsticks, I'll write a bestseller-
A satirical thriller about David Mellor.
I'll be on TV before watershed
And not give two hoots ‘bout the swearwords I've said.
I'll feed all the needy, the sick will be healed.
I'll start making crop circles with rope in a field.
I'll learn four new languages including some French,
Play footy for England (well, I'll be on the bench).
I'll start making sculptures out of blue cheese,
I'll join demonstrations about top-up fees.
To eat lots more takeaways like Indian curry.
To once and for all learn how to say sorry.
To admit when I'm wrong- would it be such a crime?
Even though I'm obviously right all the time.
To break free of arrogance learn some humility
But to prove all those wrong who doubt my ability.
To strive to become the best person I can
And carry on learning just who I am.
All these decisions of which I have spoken
Will definitely happen, and never be broken

Oh hang on a second, what was I thinking?
Not a chance in the world that I'll give up on drinking.

Time (cor...isn't it profound...man)

An abstract collection of seconds and minutes
that has no connection to life as we live it
but binds us and ties us and holds us within it
and blinds us from seeing there is no infinite.
Hours contain no rhyme and no reason
They cannot restrain the change of the season
Sunlight is daytime until the night falls
The watch on my wrist tells me nothing at all.
To prove how useless time is as conception
Take a step back and change your perception
And remember forever the lack of its worth:
For at anytime it's everytime all over the earth.

A Poem about my friend Spike (and his hair).

Now the other day when my hair was shortened
I came to realise just how important
Hair dressers are in their pursuit
of maintaining always those hirsuite
unshaven, bobbed and hairy
members of our society.

Now I know you all mock me because i may harbour
Strong and sure feelings towards the good barber
I'll try to convince you, though it may be no use
to love and respect the man with the mousse
So here's a tale about a guy they called spike
Or A shaggy dog story, if thats what you'd like.

As you can guess Spikes name was his nature
And clearly his barnet was his best feature.
It rose from his head like some stalagtite
a beautious barnet, a hair raising sight
But then problems beset this poor spikey fella
that couldn't be solved with clairol or Wella.

One day when he woke and he looked in the mirror
he saw something frightful, his quiff gave a quiver
the quiver it slowly gave way to despair
Poor Spike he was losing all of his hair
He searched on the pillow, looked under his chair
But he couldn't find it anywhere
He pulled up his floorboards and looked out of the window
Oh where Oh where did all of his hair go?

After a while he gave up all hope
and for weeks and weeks later proceeded to mope
Until one day when just as he feared
All of his hair had gone; disappeared.
Then he thought, 'well why should I care
I can get by without all my hair
I was born without hair, and now I have none
Life it continues just as it begun'

But after a while it started to grate
When everyone mocked Spike's Shiny bald pate
And just like his hair, Spike's patience grew thin
So he sat down one day and had a good think.

Months went by, then perhaps years
unshaven spike grew 15 foot hairs
only this time from out of his chin did they bristle
Til at last Spike spoke 'Eureka!' and let out a whistle.
He Rang up his Barber and Made an appointment
Only this time he didn't need hair growing ointment.

The barber he chopped and he wove and he sculpted
One scary moment he even looked like he'd pulped it
But then at last when it was all ready
He placed the rug upon Spikes balden heady

Now Spike walks with his head held high
With great hairy locks pointed straight at the sky
Slaphead and spam he was once called
but that was then when he used to be bald
For now Spikes hair is larger than big
(except that of course he now wears a wig)

And the moral of this long and epic story
is if you're bald there's no need to worry
and if your hair it starts to get thin
then look no further than down on your chin.
A hair piece woven from your bristly beard
will cure all at once what once had been feared.

Do you like stationery? I do. Another poem about it.

Bad Stationery Poem.

This is not a very good stationery poem
the lines change length
and it has no rythm
to speak of.
It only Rhymes
Some of the time.
At other times the rhymes just aren't very good,
but to keep you glued
to the poem i've decided to
surprise you
sometime before the end.
In the meantime
whilst there's still time
i must remind
you all that if there's anything you
want or need,
need or want
(change of font)
then let me know.
That's just about all I have to say
but i understand that since I was away
last week
Stocks are probably running pretty low
so let me know.
Time to...
BOO!
(did that surprise you?)

Another poem about a Heatwave

We're in the middle of a wave of heat
When it all started it felt like a treat
But now we've had about a week without rain
everybody's starting to go quite insane.
Us Brits we can't handle the sunshine
if its out for too long you'll start to find
we start to complain and moan and whine
until there comes such a time
that it rains again
and releases us from the strain of the pain of having to complain about the
slow moving trains
tube like a sauna
dying flora and fauna
Ice cream stains
Wasp sting pains
the Bees and the Flies
the sun in my eyes
the sand in my wiches
mosquito bite itches
the posession of fans
sunburn and tans
overcrowded beaches
britain beseeches
you up there in control of the weather for the heatwave to end
(but please try and leave it nice for the weekend)
If we had wanted some sun and not lots of rain
We would not live in london, but move out to Spain.
(But long may it last anyhow...we've got to compain about something)

A Poem about Stationery

I've been away but now i'm back
From Glastonbury in a plastic mac
To sicily with worn rucksack,
on highways and byways and less beaten tracks
But all the while one thing I lacked
Stationery.

I searched up high, and looked down low
From etna's peak all capped with snow
then In the sea, through currents flow
But to no avail, and now I know
that without these things life feels so
Stationary.

I looked up questioningly at the sky
I beat my chest and asked it WHY?
Though I might break down and Cry
but without tissues realised I
would have nothing with which to dry my eyes
what i needed ironic-ly
I came to realise with a sigh
was Stationery

And so at last I have returned
Into my head one thought was burned
And in my gut one feeling churned
Throughout my travels one thing I learned
(and this goes out to all concerned):
If you want to get by without being spurned
Or write up minutes of meetings adjourned
Or total up the cash you've earned
Or make a decision you have discerned
Or even get your Hair blue permed
You'll need stationery!

(The last was a lie if you hadn't guessed
But I promise i was truthful about the rest.)

Heatwave Poem

Shall i compare thee to a summer's Day,
since that is what you are
You're at the beach? I'm on my way
I'll just pack up my car.
Picnic basket
thermos flask- it
holds the tea
for you and me.
sausage rolls and scotchy eggs
speedos shorts and hairy legs
tie a hankie- kiss me quick
forget the prafs from Candlewick.
Now we're packed its time to go
Start the engine so-and....So...
it's once more unto the beach dear friends
After all it's the weekend
There is a spot on brighton pier
I always visit this time of year
Ours is not to wonder why
the sun is bright in the light blue sky,
ours is but to burn and fry
like sardines on crowded beaches
the most contented of God's creatures
Forget the lessons that life teaches-
the Sartres, Platos, nagging Niezches
It's hard to think 'bout philosophies
when its nigh on 30 degrees
So forget about philosophising
After all the heat is rising
Just take one word of sage advice-
Don't forget to pack the ICE.