Friday, 28 October 2011



The most comfortably fat
Old black witch’s cat
Is often known to take a nap
In her black pointed hat


At the Witching hour
The Zombies walk
The Banshees scream
And the Ravens squawk
The Witches’ fly
The familiar’s talk
The Vampires bite
And the Demons stalk


Little monsters in costumes
Looking for candy treats
Terrorizing the neighbours
All along the street

They prey on young or old
To satisfy their appetites
Treats are handed over
To creatures of the night

With their goody bags
Full of every candy treat
They can’t wait to get home
Before they start to eat

Then when the bags are empty
They realise their mistake
They’ve eaten so much candy
They’ve all got stomach ache


On her broomstick she swoops
And into her arms she scoops
A poor unsuspecting young man
Because as a witch she can
And carries him off through the night
Then uses him for her delight
In the light of the cauldrons fire
She indulges her every desire


She is a little bewitcher
The little servant of Wicca
Who has ensnared my heart
Which I opposed from the start
I was happy being single
But she has made my senses tingle
And she used her Wiccan ways
Against all resistance raised
It is not some fanciful notion
To blame an exotic potion
Or the casting of a spell
To bewitch me quite so well
Now she bends me too her will
And gently holds me still
Then this little Wiccan miss
Captures my soul with her kiss


My little wicked witch and I
Love to fly across the night sky
And travel to special places
Where no one knows our faces
Where door with bolt and lock
Ensures, Witch and Warlock
Can scratch their every itch
And a Warlock and a Witch
Can safely enjoy a little sin
Without familiars listening in


There is a witch of whom I’m fond
Who could carry me off beyond
And we’d do magic with my wand

We would quaff her special brew
Fly on a broomstick made for two
And do things naughty witches do

But alas our special tandem flight
Full of wicked and delicious delight
Is but a dream I dream each night


On All Hallows Eve take special care
You may not see them but they are there
And as they mix up their witches brew
They’ll have their witchy eyes on you


In the blackness of the night
Performing their satanic rite
Satan’s followers incite
To every Demons delight


Demons walk the earth
On All Hallows Eve
And will snatch away
Your soul at their ease


What is that ghostly apparition?
Is that ghostly figure a Phantasm?
Come to haunt and terrorise us?
No it’s the kid from next door, Adam


The old black witch’s cat
Has nothing much to do
He’s a sleepy old familiar
Oddly named Witchitypoo
He is quite partial to a mouse
Should one happen into view
But he doesn’t stir himself
For he never has to pursue
There is no thought of chasing
And no need to bite and chew
For with a flick of his paw
A spell is cast by Witchitypoo
And then he leisurely dines
On a tasty mouse stew

Saturday, 15 October 2011


On the whole,
No pun intended,
It was a pleasant day
On the Golf course
The sun was warm
The wind was light
The golf was
A mixture of the sublime
And the ridiculous
A day of ups and downs
As my scorecard testified
But the par 4 15th
Was a different story
I had hit a crisp drive
From the elevated tee
And away it flew
Straight down the middle
As Bing once sang
It landed just short of the dog leg
Kicked to the right
And rolled perfectly round the turn
After such a shot
You feel ten feet tall
As you stride down the fairway
And I felt every inch of it
When I reached my ball
I found it sitting up invitingly
And with an unhindered path to the green
I had a birdie chance.
Slightly ahead and to the right
A rather large Rabbit,
Was enjoying the afternoon sun
Blissfully unaware of what was to come
I selected my club
And addressed the ball
“Just hit it straight”
I told myself
I swung the club towards the ball
In a perfect ark
But I must have lifted my head
Because there was and ugly contact
And the ball sliced away
In the direction of the Rabbit
Now had he just stayed still
He would have lived
But alas at the sound of the sliced contact
The Rabbit leapt vertically in the air
Straight into the path of the ball
And died instantly
Now looking back I could have claimed
That the Rabbit put me off
But it didn’t really
If the ball had followed its path
I would have been out of bounds
So the Rabbit sacrificed himself
To save my par


She looks like the girl next door,
Well my interpretation anyway,
And for me she literally is
The girl next door
The studious Rebecca
Full of cleverness
The only child of the Coopers
Now the studious orphan Rebecca
The bookish girl next door
A homely girl though
In the unpretentious sense
Certainly not plain,
But rather understated
She is unworldly
In as much as the temporal world
Holds no sway for her
Rebecca is an attractive girl
Though not in any obvious way
Dressed casually, always
Mousy hair worn indistinctly
She has never been flash, quirky
Or groundbreaking
No its homespun sweaters
And supermarket jeans
Not exactly the height of fashion
But not dowdy nor frumpy
Unlike most of the world
I look beneath the homespun
As I have all my life
But no one else sees Rebecca
Alas she does not see me
The bookish girl next door
She has her heroes of fiction
How could I compete?
With Ahab or Hornblower
Copperfield or Darcy


I saw you this morning
As I walked to work
You were a little in front of me,
For part of the way,
And you fell beneath my gaze.
I noticed your feet first,
Clad in sporting wear
Your shoes were sexless,
Indeterminate in gender
The only distinguishing feature
Was that they were small, But that was all.
Your black trousers were baggy
And gave nothing away
As was your sweatshirt
Which was large, long and grey,
Reaching down to cover your bum
Your brown hair was medium length
Of no particular style
So could have been masculine or feminine.
Had the necessity not arisen
For you to reach into your back pocket
I would not have noticed
The shape of your buttocks
The movement of which,
As you walked, gave you away
You were most definitely a girl
As I got closer the wind moved your hair
And through the fine brunette strands
I glimpsed in the delicate lobe
A simple feminine stud in your ear.
You continued walking head down
Watching your sexless feet
Afraid to look the world in the eye
Or afraid the world would notice you?
Either one might be true
I was level with you as we reached the kerb
And you looked up in my direction
To check if the road was clear
And I glimpsed your face,
A pretty face, a lovely face,
Briefly our eyes met
Beautiful soft blue eyes
But I could not hold your gaze
And you looked back at your feet
Withdrawing again into your shell
But I know you’re in there now
So tomorrow morning
I will look for you again