My Favourite Number

I suppose I should like two hundred and ten
Or something lower, like eleven.
Some people I know love seventy two
And some desire sixteen, but only a few.
I have heard a rumour of those who chase number three,
And rarer still, number sixty-nine fetishists you’ll see.
But I have to admit to my fave
Something more dramatic I crave
For my favourite number, if you care
Is Pythagoras’ pie-r-squared.

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

Light & Life

I see flatblocks of lights
And imagine the fights
Husbands and wives
Leading interesting lives
Places of work
Where dark denizens lurk
And places of play
Where safe children stay

I see through the windows
And see what is on show
Into kitchens and bathrooms
With cleaners and fast brooms
I stare at the couples
Entwined with their cupfuls
Of cocoa or Horlicks
Curled up on the carpet

Or snuggled together
Sofa cushions of feather
And now I see more
As I race by I'm sure
Tenements and tenements
Divided by means of fence
Their appearance so familiar
Their contents so very near

These people together
Couples living forever
Safe in their universe
Of loneliness a banished curse
But now my train speeds me on
Past happy couples by the million
Very soon I'll be back at home
And unlike them, once more alone.

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

Where's My Nose?

I looked behind the fridge for an entire morning,
And then I spent the afternoon searching through the awning.
I hunted through the loft and eves,
And then behind the Yucca plant’s leaves.
I called my mate Pete and asked for a hand
He arrived with Dave and Chris who were in a band.
Between us we laboured to search the house
And all we found was a heavily inebriated mouse.
“For Jake’s sake,” decried Pete “we’ll never find it!”
“Where was it last,” asked Chris,
“can you recall even that wee bit?”
I thought long and hard, about the past day
Where I’d been and with who, those I dare say,
Could have seen me with it, or at least have an idea
Not originating from their rear!

And then I remembered the chap on the train,
Short and fat, lean and crisp and certainly under strain.
He’d told me a sorry tale about some cats
Alone and bored and terrorising several flats.
I’d sat and listened through his sorry tale
And when he’d finished I asked what could be done to curtail
These annoying pussies, all noisy and wet
Surely take them to some home for wayward pets.
“No,” he’d explained. “They require a human nose,
For payment to their masters, the Mafia Crows;
can I have yours?” he then asked with aplomb.
“WHAT?” I exploded, with vim, vigour and somewhat like a bomb.
“My nose, dear sir, is mine and mine alone”
And with that I closed my eyes and ears, clearly stating “No one home”.

When I awoke at East Croydon station the chap was missing
Along with my briefcase, my kebab and my Riesling.
But what shocked me most as it goes,
Was the fact that the cad had removed my nose.
Quite painlessly and with some style
And he’d left me cash in payment, quite a pile.
Pete and Chris and Dave looked shocked
Their mouths wide open their jaws firmly locked.
“So my nose isn’t lost, it’s a trophy for some Mafia Crows
A peace offering from wet pussies in flats like those,”
I pointed through the window across the road
In time to see a dark bird fly past under some nasal load,
Straight into a hellfire of bullets and lead
The damp pussies tired of paying homage shot off his head

And my nose now fell many feet to the ground
Where it lay there for a moment safe and sound,
Until an artic driven by killer Pandas ran it over
On their way to help give the pussies extra cover.
“Another damn animal war, it looks like,”
“Yup. Never seem happy those guys, hey it’s Mike!”
The leader of the local Tong Marmosets strolled by
All cool and calm and no-one shot, nor even try
And Mike picked up my flat nose and walked this way
Like Steve Tyler in fur he confidently called out to say,
“Neil, here’s your nose, we no need it no more, OK”
And that was that, the shooting stopped and all was well.

Nice.

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

A Gal With...

When I was at school, all I desired
Was the girl with large breasts the others admired.
I'd sit there in class, with a grin on my chops
Alone with my thoughts of her fab golden tops!

And then as the years passed, I looked deeper still,
A gal with large breasts and a "need" I could fill.
Emotional longings, and urges as well,
My gal with large breasts came out of her shell.

And then came my teen years, all acne and smells,
My gal with large breasts was a beast come from hell.
Our love grew like ulcers, all cankerous sores,
I found it a turn on to lick clean her pores.

But now we've both grown up, our urges quite tame.
I look at her breasts and she puts me to shame.
For after the teen years and some time in jail,
My gal with large breasts is actually...MALE!

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

The Cat

Here comes the cat,
Watch him pad across the floor,
Disdain written across his face.
Just wait till I shut his head in a door!

(Don’t try it at home kids!)

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

Butter…and then some more!

I enjoyed my stay in the farmhouse,
Just me, and Bertie and Lisa and her pet mouse.
We’d play by the old mill-pond
Bertie was Blowfeld and I’d be Bond.

Lisa kept to herself up in the farmhouse,
She’d sit around and play with her pet mouse.
Meanwhile outside beside the old gravel pit
Bertie and I would lay on our backs and spit.

As the summer ground on and the farmhouse got warm
Lisa appeared from out of our dorm.
Her pet mouse, his name was something like Clover
Was quickly eaten up by the old farm-dog Rover.

I enjoyed my stay in the farmhouse,
Just me, and Bertie and Lisa and her dead pet mouse.
I’d be the vicar, Bertie was Yul Brinner
Lisa mourned as Clover became Rover’s Sunday dinner.

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

Tempting Timmy

“Go on Timmy. Try it, it’s fun.”
But Timmy knew better.

“Go on Timmy. Take it for a run.”
But Timmy was no go-getter.

“Go on Timmy. See if it’ll fit.”
But Timmy was a real toff.

“Go on Timmy. See if it’s still lit.”
And Timmy had his stupid face blown off.

Idiot!

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

A Quick Word From Our Sponsors

“We’ll be right back…”
Quick, switch the channel
Too late! Now, don’t crack,
As they speak a load of old flannel.

Blah blah blah blah…

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“ONLY £19.99 PLUS POSTAGE AND PACKING!”

Blah blah blah blah…

………………………………………

Oh, look, the show’s back on,
Sponsor credits always seem so long.

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

Light & Life

I see flatblocks of lights
And imagine the fights
Husbands and wives
Leading interesting lives
Places of work
Where dark denizens lurk
And places of play
Where safe children stay

I see through the windows
And see what is on show
Into kitchens and bathrooms
With cleaners and fast brooms
I stare at the couples
Entwined with their cupfuls
Of cocoa or Horlicks
Curled up on the carpet

Or snuggled together
Sofa cushions of feather
And now I see more
As I race by I'm sure
Tenements and tenements
Divided by means of fence
Their appearance so familiar
Their contents so very near

These people together
Couples living forever
Safe in their universe
Of loneliness a banished curse
But now my train speeds me on
Past happy couples by the million
Very soon I'll be back at home
And unlike them, once more alone.

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner

The Lost Little Town

Oh where are you, lost little town?
What’s going through your mind?
Why did you run away?
I only asked you the time.

Oh where have you gone to, lost little town?
Have I said something upsetting?
Or maybe I accidentally trod on your foot?
Sorry.

Oh come back to us, lost little town.
We miss your witty comments about the footy.
The local gals want to see your party tricks again.
And me and Steve want our cricket bat back.
Thanks.

Oh, lost little town.

Oh, little lost town.

Oh town…so lost and so little.

Don’t be shy…or scared.
Give us a call and we’ll pick you up at the station;
Reverse the charges if you need to.
Come back lost little town.
Just stop eyeing up my sister.
All right?!

(c) 2007, Neil Gardner