Having a bath
Lovely bubbles thick and creamy,
Water deep and room all steamy,
World shut out and I'm all dreamy,
Guess what? I'm having a bath.
Door is locked, I'm on my own,
Don't need T.V. or telephone,
I lie there like a block of stone,
I'm happy, having a bath.
Wash my hair and scrub my toes,
Scratch my back and rub my nose,
Think of things that I propose
To do... after my bath.
Then I hear the sound of thunder
As it seems, when my head's under,
It's just a dream, a mental blunder,
I'm only having a bath!
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poem by John Carter Brown
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The Char
It really is ridiculous
The lady's so meticulous
There's nothing that she misses
When she comes to clean the house;
She has the fastest duster
That anyone could muster
It's faster than a tom-cat
Who pursues a juicy mouse.
She's smart and very punctual
Fit and fully functional
At mopping I would swear
She has no equal in the land;
Attendance very steady
And always at the ready
Just why she chose to be a char
I do not understand.
Her talents are incredible
Her meals so very edible
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poem by John Carter Brown
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Not Romantic
My wife says I'm not romantic,
I don't suppose I am
I think I'm just an average bloke
Doing the best I can;
I think about my lady
And not just now and then
I tell her that I love her
As much as other men.
But this is NOT romantic
It's just not good enough!
She wants the constant flattery
She wants the gooey stuff;
Not just every weekend
Or even days between
She wants the flowers hourly
And treating like a queen.
If truth be told, I'm lazy
And think it doesn't matter
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poem by John Carter Brown
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Picture Of A Little Boy
I have a lovely picture
Set in a golden frame;
A picture of a little boy,
I do not know his name.
He's sitting by a waggon,
Upon an old car-tyre;
To know just what he's thinking
Would be my heart's desire.
He seems so small and helpless,
And troubled in his mind;
But one, more cute than he,
I doubt that you could ever find.
His hair is blonde and beautiful,
His eyes the deepest blue;
He sits there like 'The thinker'
Debating what to do.
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poem by John Carter Brown
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Innocent
Without hesitation she opened her hand,
Her father looked into her eyes;
He saw not a sign there of fear or guilt,
He knew she was not telling lies.
The thought of deceit
Had no place in her mind,
She was innocent right from the start;
Her hand opened wide
For her daddy to see,
Her eyes opened wide as her heart.
'I don't know where it is,
I've not seen it at all, '
Small defence from her lips, but it's true
That this innocent child
Made her father repent,
His apologies now, she was due.
'Please forgive my suspicions,
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poem by John Carter Brown
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Toast
Take a loaf of thick white
From out of the fridge,
Undo it, and take out two slices;
Lay both of them gently
Inside the machine,
It's morning, the toaster entices.
Take a second or two
To savour the scene,
Forget every thought of that porridge;
You know in your heart
What you really prefer,
To your loved ones it's just common knowledge.
Now all is set out
On the dining room table,
The marmalade jar is a calling;
The spread is awaited,
The toast has popped up,
Now to linger would just be appaling.
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poem by John Carter Brown
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Ironing
I like the smell of ironing
It makes me think of home,
Of when I was a youngster
Long before I'd writ' a poem.
That sense of real security
Remembered as a dream,
Embedded in mum's ironing-board
And floating in the steam.
The swishing, easy movement
Was always just the same,
It lulled me to the edge of sleep
While whispering my name.
The pile of clothes was endless
It must have been a chore
To have us kids supplying it,
Not one or two, but FOUR.
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poem by John Carter Brown
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Ken Bruce
If ever you're feeling downcast
And thinking it's no use,
Tune in, you'll feel much better
When listening to Ken Bruce.
A jovial sort of chappie
And Scottish through and through;
Working for the B.B.C.
Each day on radio 2.
I used to think that Wogan
Was really very good;
But Kenneth is far better,
It must be in his blood.
He loves a sparring partner
On whom to hone his tongue;
And couldn't find a better one
Than good old Jimmy Young.
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poem by John Carter Brown
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The Sailor and the Market Man
'I ask you to see reason'
Says the sailor who is stern;
'You know full well that from the sea
A living I must earn;
I'll bother you to shake on it,
I haven't got all day;
Come on now make your mind up,
It ain't a lot to pay! '
'My friend, your price is far too high'
The market-man declares,
'Go find another buyer now
Who'll rid you of your wares.
I know the fish you bring to sell
Are fat and fresh and sound,
But I must make a living too
By watching every pound.'
The sailor and the market-man
They argue every day,
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poem by John Carter Brown
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Death of a Phone
I ought to beware: my wife is back
The phone is now under transistor-attack;
It won't be a quick or an easy death
She'll kill it by sheer bombardment of breath.
All was so quiet while she was away;
The phone was relaxed... I had nothing to say;
But now the darned thing is flaming-red-hot
I think that my wife is now losing the plot.
The battery is failing, I fear for it's health
I doubt I could save it - even by stealth;
It's time the poor phone was back on it's base
Instead of contacting the whole human race.
Oh no, she's angry - it's fate is now sealed;
The battery is dead - it cannot be healed;
A look of disgust as it's thrown to one side,
A clear-cut case of... Phoneicide!
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poem by John Carter Brown
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