The Crocodile that ate Spaghetti

I came across a crocodile
Who nibbled noodles by the Nile.
I wondered why this weirdo wished
To favour food not flavoured fish
Or flesh, but something soft to savour.
What was behind this bad behaviour?
I asked him why he hated hake;
He answered he'd lived by a lake
Which dried out in the desert drought
So rotting rancid fish ran out
And, faced with this dead-fish disaster,
He chose to chew on plates of pasta.
I felt at first this croc was crazed
But I was left shocked and amazed
Since he'd got sick of smelly stuff
Whose nasty niffs were quite enough
To put him off from fish for ever.
This croc's not crazed; he's clearly clever!

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Have Courage

Have courage, for you face a fight
And it is time for you to go
Before the fading of the light.
Though it may rarely read quite right,
And seems too soon for such a blow,
Have courage, for you face a fight.
Keep this in mind; keep this in sight:
That God is watching; this you know
Before the fading of the light.
And though the future is not bright
He will be with you always, so
Have courage, for you face a fight
So struggle on with all your might,
Not heeding any fearsome foe
Before the fading of the light.
Keep marching, marching to the height
Of heaven above from earth below;
Have courage, for you face a fight
Before the fading of the light.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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False Teeth - A Children's Poem

Our teacher had false teeth;
She kept them in a box
Inside the classroom cupboard
Which she forgot to lock,
So we broke in at break-time
And took them out to play.
They fell into a puddle
And turned a muddy grey.

We gave them back to teacher;
She had to grit her teeth
Or, rather, to de-grit them
For grit was underneath
Under the muddy covering
Mixed with her chewing gum.
This made her gums quite tender;
She didn’t find it fun.

But later we regretted
The mischief that we’d made;

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poem by C. Richard Miles
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Farewell Woolies

So farewell, wonderful Woolies
Once High Street’s essential shop
For all those bits and pieces
That we had gone and plain forgot.

Though you’re a commercial dinosaur
You’re still loved, unlike T-rex;
We’d love to ring the blooming banks
Or even wring their scrawny necks.

For they, your administrators:
Have they no nostalgic respect?
Your forthcoming centenary,
Do they just ignore and reject?

What other merchandiser
Has become such a household name?
Though other shops supply the same stuff,
It won’t ever feel just the same.

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poem by C. Richard Miles
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A Palimpsest For Peace

Cross words cross across crossed wires.
Cross-purposes cross reconciliation off the list
As, crosswise, clockwise and counter-clockwise
Fight for costly cross-border dominance.
Cross voices cross between cross and crescent.
Quiescent sense lessens strength and ends
In senselessness as curses crush courtesy.
Cross-eyed viewpoints squint crossly
As cross-cultural conferences collapse.
Yet, crucially, crossed-fingers aloft,
If antagonists acquiesced in crossing over
To foster lost respect and tolerance,
We could cross off the past of bitterness,
Gross antipathy and once-crossed swords,
As cross-cooperation is consummated
As effortlessly as simply casting away
An anachronistic acrostic cryptic crossword.

poem by C. Richard Miles
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Gordale’s Raven King

On Gordale’s lofty, craggy heights
Which, riven, grasp heavens in their maw
The royal raven claimed his rights
In croaking, harsh, imperious caw.

In regal pomp he sat, surveyed
And scanned his limestone-pillared hall
Anthracite plumage bright displayed
Yet still a speck on cliff so tall.

Then, stretching wide his gloss-black wings,
He plunged, his feathered flight to forge
And, emulating mighty kings,
He viewed the empire of his gorge.

But, as he soared towards the sun,
Subduing subjects ’neath crowned head,
A poacher raised his mortal gun
And shot the cackling monarch dead.

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poem by C. Richard Miles
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Stopping Shopping

Aren’t we ever satisfied by shopping?
Just the thought of popping
Or, as some do, bopping
To the supermarket gets me hopping
Mad. Since my bag burst, popping,
When I was struggling, clopping
Home with the shopping
And distinctly dropping
And predictably plopping
Food on floors, with milk slopping
And smashed eggs dropping,
Making everywhere sopping
So it needed mopping
For, if I didn’t, they’d be stopping
There, where they’d be copping
Some unprintable whopping
Rude words that were popping
Out of my mouth. I’m lopping
Some out of this, not to offend topping,
Polite folk like you. And I’m chopping

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poem by C. Richard Miles
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Moaning about the Weather

The sky above is grim and grey;
They say that snow is on its way
But first, the frost will kill the flowers
And rain will pour for hours and hours
Just when we have to walk the dog.
Then planes get grounded by the fog
And after that come wind and gales
And hail and sleet on hills and dales.

The British weather, we complain,
So changeable, is such a pain.
We long for sultry summer sun
But then, again, there's not much fun
When there's too much and we get drought
That's something to complain about
And sunburn, sunstroke, water rations
Start to be the latest fashion.

I wonder if we Brits will ever
Cease to whinge about the weather

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poem by C. Richard Miles
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The Tiger On The Nineteenth Floor

Just watch out for the tiger on our block’s nineteenth floor
As its picture leaps at you through the wood of the door,
For it aims to devour you as it bears painted claws,
Gnashing synthetic teeth in its red, lifelike jaws.
Though it’s only a poster, it is frightening enough
As the lift door wide opens, for the lighting is duff,
Since it gleams through the dullness in its fierce, threatening way
As it makes its appearance taking breath clean away.

It replaces the soldier in his pressed uniform,
Standing stiff to attention, with his locks neatly shorn.
Did I happen to mention that my neighbour named John
Is a bit of a joker, and so he sticks on
The front of his door, in a good-humoured way
A designed life-sized image to brighten the day.
If the tiger won’t make you run scared for your life,
The doormat will do so: “Beware of the wife! ”

poem by C. Richard Miles
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A Single Tribute

And there is just
A single floral tribute
On that lamppost now
On this, the latest
Anniversary of loss,
Where there were many
Those few years ago
When kith and kin
And sundry strangers
Felt unbounded cost
As life’s young dream
Was roughly wrenched
Out from their grasp
When cruel knife
Performed its task.
Now, there is only one
Memorial to your life
From whom, I do not know.
Is it a sister, lover, wife
Or grieving mother

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poem by C. Richard Miles
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