Last of the Shenanigans!

There’s a hole in my head

Where thoughts come in

And a machine that whirls them around.

There’s a route from my brain to my pen

On page

And on the paper they’re found.

 

I wonder where the thoughts came from

And how

From ether’s cosmic flotsam,

They find a way to penetrate

My mind

And then I have to jot some

 

Notes to take, a word or few,

Flowing ink, that’s how they grew

So fast and so erratic.

Sort them out,

Place just so.

Bloody hell, ecstatic

 

It feels to me

When out they pour,

Knocking, pushing at my door.

Let me out, they seem to say,

We’re stuck. Your brain’s no place to play.

Put us, black upon the white,

We’ll dance around

And so, take flight

Until we’re tired

And rest, just right.

Sleep and Work Shenanigans

Dizzy with sleep, he wakes at two.

Breakfast and some irn bru

To chase the sandman from his eyes.

Then on the couch, a little lie

To gather strength to start the day

That’s almost done and gone away.

A shake or two, he’s feeling better,

Opens mail, for him, a letter.

A job, you say, to start at nine?

Oh God, you moan, well, that’s not fine,

Awaking with the birds at dawn,

Not something you can depend upon.

A night-shift would be better, true.

Teenage biorhythms grew

To such extent that day is night

And night is when your mind takes flight.

So, what’s the choice? There isn’t one.

Welcome to my world, my son.

Up in the morning, work all day,

Then off to bed, take time to pray.

Set alarm and don’t be late,

Bosses don’t appreciate

Sleepy headed, idle teens

Who float through day in slumber’s dreams.

A little while and you’ll adjust.

It’s called growing up and so you must

Arise and work and earn your way.

Just think, some effort, then they pay

A pound, a few, it’s not a lot

But that’s the way life chose the plot,

Work and sleep and play some too,

Work some more, to plan and do.

Such a message to take in.

Don’t put that letter in the bin!

You start it, when? Oh, late next week.

Well, off to bed, a shock needs sleep.

When later you are full awake,

Your mind’s had time to assimilate

The hardest fact that life will give;

You have to work to earn to live.

Money Shenanigans

There’s a concert I’d like to go to,

The group’s only here for one night.

If I miss this one, it could be years

Before they’re back on a flight.

 

I’ve seen a top and trousers too.

They’re class and such a bargain.

The sale’s soon over, won’t be long

Till the price goes up again.

 

My teacher says I need a thing –

A scientific calculator.

They’ll sell them in the school tomorrow.

I need it now, not later.

 

These shoes have holes, look, right there.

You were right, they’re much too thin.

I need some dosh for another pair

And I’ll put these in the bin.

 

The latest film has just come out.

I know I have my pass,

But bus fare and McDonald’s

Requires a little cash.

 

Money’s tight,

I’m not being mean.

 

Well, go to that

Automatic machine.

You know the one, it’s in the wall,

Near the bank, outside tha mall.

The one where you insert the card

And someone throws you money.

Come on, Mum, we know you’re rich,

You have millions. Don’t be funny.

 

I’m goggle-eyed at innocence,

Such splendid fiscal ignorance.

A leaf I’m taking from their book.

I’ve purchased something. Have a look.

It’s planted there for all to see,

My magic growing money tree!

Shenanigans With Chores

 ‘I walked him last,

It’s your turn now!’

‘I dusted and I hoovered!’

‘Stop hiding in your bedroom.

I know all these manoeuvres.’

 

You have a chore, just do it,

Or do you like my voice,

Nagging at you, picking faults,

Like, ‘Clean up all you toys.’

Or, ‘Why is there a banana skin

Lying on your floor?

‘There’s mould in that there tea cup,

Sat behind your door.’

 

A sigh escapes their pursed up lips,

Tiny hands on narrow hips.

‘We forgot. We’ll do it now.’

Then thinks. I see the cogs

Turning swiftly, pistons up and down,

Like lily jumping frogs.

‘Could we finish this game first?

We have to save our place,

We’ve almost captured all the zombies.

Don’t want to restart the race.’

 

I sigh too. Well, childhood’s fast

And gone in too short time.

‘Well, get that zombie if you can.

Five minutes more is fine.

But, after that, pick up your room,

Grab a duster and a broom,

For my broomstick has quite an itch,

You know me, I’m quite a witch.

Five minutes more, or maybe ten,

Then I’ll fly up here once again

And use my magic on your butts

And on your pairs of feet.

You’ll hop and skip till all is done.

And then we’ll have a treat….

A trip to town,

Or to the park.

We’ll have some fun,

You know, a lark.

Some outdoor time

When chores are done…..

What’s that you say?

Your game can wait?

You’ll pick up now,

It’s getting late?’

 

‘Let’s get done, Mum,

Don’t delay.

There’s work first, then

We get to play.’

 

Still standing there, with mouth agape,

I barely see them zoom,

Hither, thither, seconds later,

The tidiest of rooms.

 

‘Well, come on, Mum, our hands are full

With rubbish and a cup.

Have you done yours yet?

We’re all ready.’

Well, blow me down

And, f***!

 

A tiny bribe,

A trip outside,

Mummy’s company.

A little glow

Begins to grow.

I’ll make pizza for our tea.

 

Well, it’s the little things that mean so much,

Tiny hands in mine,

Skipping through some pleasant days.

And the house? Ach, it’s just fine.

Shenanigans With Food

There’s one likes bread and butter,

One likes jam the most,

Another abhors buttered anything,

Preferring driest toast.

One discovered Oreos,

Now, all crave this little treat,

Making breakfast, lunch and dinner,

Is, for me, a feat

Of remembering little quirks they have

Then ignoring most of them.

I don’t have time for faddy eaters,

It makes me count to ten.

Shenanigans with food’s a pain,

I remind my little people,

There’s your breakfast, pack your lunch,

No Oreos, an apple.

‘There’s children starving in this world,’

I sometimes say, to blame,

Their answers vary. One has said,

‘Can you send my sprouts to them?’

Fluff And Stuff

Once upon a time there lived a…

Gang called Mensa,

Hailing members

That remember

 

The stratified and rarest rock,

Their brains a dock

Of useful stuff

Not bits of fluff

 

Like who is in or who is not,

What’s cool, what’s hot.

Open season

For great reason.

 

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