Better than Hegley

Nursery Rhymes For The Mobile Phone Generation

2011-03-13T13:54:00.000-07:00

Mary had a little phone
It fleeced her mum and dad
And everywhere that Mary went
Her phone drove people mad.

Jack and Jill went up the hill
Because reception’s better
Jack was vexed, he’d missed a text
But Jill prefers a letter.

The King was in his counting-house, calling about money
The Queen was in the parlour, texting to her honey
The maid was in the garden playing Snake cos she was bored
When down came a blackbird and found himself ignored.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Got a text and had a great fall
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men
Couldn’t get ‘vibrate’ mode working again.

There was an Old Woman who lived in a shoe,
She had so many children she didn’t know what to do
Until she borrowed an iphone, from her neighbour who lived in a hat:
“Too many kids and not enough space? We’ve got an app for that!”

Little Bo Peep she lost her sheep
And didn’t know where to find them
Until she discovered her phone’s GPS
Now she’s never too far behind them.

Georgie Porgie pudding and pie
Kissed the girls and made them cry
If only he’d hit them and filmed it instead
Cos happyslappers get lots more cred!

Gareth Cook March 2011

A Kind Of Magic

2011-03-13T13:52:00.000-07:00

I’m quite the cunning conjurer, with my bonza box of tricks

There’s not a problem large or small my magic cannot fix

I’ll make a tenner disappear before your very eyes

Then find it right behind an ear, to everyone’s surprise

Turn parakeets to handkerchiefs and sausages to flowers

You’d never guess my methods if you racked your brains for hours

My sleight of hand is dazzling, my banter makes you laugh

And if you don’t applaud enough, I’ll saw you all in half!

Gareth Cook March 2011

How to make people think you're mad

2011-02-26T05:05:00.000-08:00

If you'd like folk to think your mind has gone
Smile sincerely at everyone
Listen when people talk to you
Rather than give them your point of view.

If you're happy for others to think you're insane
Try saying 'Good morning' when boarding a train
Or when you're out walking: you'll get no replies
Just a quickening of pace and a lowering of eyes.

If you're keen to convince a teen you're bonkers
Take his PSP in exchange for conkers
Explain it's a game that you played for hours
And flash him a grin when he moans and glowers.

Start every sentence "When I was a lad"
And it won't take long 'til they think you're mad
With your tales of trust and of doors left unlocked
You can guarantee you'll be roundly mocked.

These are good ideas, but if none of them yields
You can always shout "This was all just fields!"
But when nobody values the life you've led
Who are the ones that are wrong in the head?

Gareth Cook March 2010

Miss taken

2007-08-19T09:26:00.000-07:00

I recently attracted a poetry groupie

My rhythm and rhyming had driven her loopy

At a reading she lingered and fingered

A volume of Hegley she begged me to sign

“That’s not mine!” I protest. “I’m impressed” she replied

“that you haven’t just lied and adopted his name

to sequester some fame for yourself, when the shelf clearly looks

quite bereft of your books”.

I said “Why are you trying to sound like a poet

when clearly you’re not and you probably owe it

yourself to stop stalking and randomly talking

in amateur verse or a doggerel worse

than that peddled by he you’ve mistaken for me?

The reason I quickly denied the connection

is based on the fact that I strive for perfection

in rhyme unlike that doppelganger

who, challenged to couplets would soon drop a clanger

and trying to better my verbal gymnastics

resort to a feeble and desperately drastic

example of wordplay or second-rate pun

ending up with a poem that’s only half done.

His books are a rip-off, short verses and drawing

And often a story so numbingly boring

you never quite read but skip past in a rage

his average poem’s a third of a page

and yet he is published and happy and wealthy

it’s scant consolation he looks so unhealthy

so as a result I won’t sign if you beg me

the bottom line is I’m much better than Hegley.”

And now that my ranting was over I saw

My groupie was no longer there anymore

And left all alone at the scene of the crime

I said “Excellent. Works like a dream every time”.

Copyright Gareth Cook June 2004

A mental aquarium

2007-08-19T09:25:00.000-07:00

I’m craving a mental aquarium,

where my thoughts can swim happy and free.

Where my dreams and ideas can escape from my fears

and bask in their personal sea.

I’m craving a mental aquarium,

Where the temperature’s always just right.

And thoughts come and go with a sweet ebb and flow

Regardless of daytime or night.

I’m craving a mental aquarium,

A coral reef seascape of thought.

Where creation is rife and just teeming with life,

With a freedom that cannot be bought.

I’m craving a mental aquarium,

That inspires so invention can’t flag.

But instead of that ocean, weighed down by emotion,

I’m left with a fish in a bag.

Copyright Gareth Cook April 2005

I think my next-door neighbour is an Uruk-Hai

2007-08-19T09:16:00.000-07:00

I think my next-door neighbour is an Uruk-Hai.

I know it sounds unlikely but I have been wondering why

There’s a growing pile of Elf-bones in the middle of his lawn

And occasionally I’m woken by a blaring Orc-like horn

And then there’s all the bellowing and roaring and the like,

And making gruesome weapons from what’s left of my old bike.

My disappearing cat and his brand-new furry scarf

His disembowelling squirrels and a magpie ‘for a laugh’

It’s all a bit unusual to say the very least,

But doesn’t prove conclusively my neighbour is a beast.

I’ve often thought of saying something then decided ‘no’

It could be a coincidence for all I really know.

But then I get those nagging doubts, whenever I see he’s

Rampaging through the gardens and demolishing our trees

Or melting down the lampposts and the railings to make arms

Or hurling spiky maces at the burglar alarms

I got a bit more suspicious when Saruman came for tea –

I’m convinced my neighbour’s Uruk-Hai, but maybe it’s just me.

Copyright Gareth Cook March 2004

Uruk-Haiku

2007-08-19T09:14:00.000-07:00

Uncompromising

Hideous ferocious thing

With bellowing roar

Copyright Gareth Cook March 2004

Very first Haiku

2007-08-19T09:12:00.000-07:00

Apparently I

Inadvertently just ran

Out of syllables

Copyright Gareth Cook March 2004

Intense

2007-08-19T09:11:00.000-07:00

How are you meant to sleep in a tent

When there’s hundreds of people around?

Surrounded by snores and zipping up doors,

A regular torrent of sound

Electronic games and shouting of names

That sound like they’re right by your ear

Bongos and guitars, occasional cars:

Are you gonna sleep soundly? No fear!

Instead you’re awake, aware that you ache

And uncomfortably close to the ground

Eyes sting from the light, because by now it’s bright

And there aren’t many sleepers around

In fact they’re all up, enjoying a cup

Of freshly brewed coffee or tea

You’d love to indulge, but instead you’ve a bulge,

Cos you’re dying to go for a pee!

You drag yourself out, and then comes the shout

Of ‘Morning!’ or ‘Good Afternoon!’

You’re too tired to speak, but tempted to freak

Or at least pull a petulant moon!

Why are they so loud? And happy?

And proud of having cooked breakfast outdoors?

You know they’ll have scoffed, washed up and

Gone off for the day, by the time you have yours.

You head for the showers, and could wait for hours

But decide to stay dirty instead

Worn out by your labours, you dash past your neighbours

Dive in and flop back on your bed!

If this doesn’t ring true, then bully for you!

You obviously stay B & B

As you contemplate slumber in your cushy number

Just please spare a brief thought for me!

Copyright Gareth Cook August 2002

BBQ

2007-08-19T09:09:00.000-07:00

Barbecue, aaaah barbecue!

No, not a line of fellas who

Are waiting to have their haircuts done

I’m talking about the other one,

The one involving food and fun

(and if in Britain, lack of sun).

Once again it’s ‘Barbie’ season

Giving us the perfect reason

To hoard briquettes and lighting cubes

And endless quantities of tubes

Of Pringles and that salsa dip

Or Kettle Chips for the ultra-hip.

And various carcasses soaked in sauce

The label says pork but it could be horse

For all you can see underneath that gunk

But the guests won’t care as they’ll soon be drunk

On tens of miniature bottles of beer -

The one that’s on offer but we all fear

Will cost more next week so we’ve all bought six cases

It’s worth it to see the content on the faces

Of all of those choking on billowing smoke

That pours from a fire clearly built by a bloke

Who’s really in his element

In charge of half an elephant

Or weight-wise the equivalent -

The species is irrelevant

His primal streak is prevalent

Intentions now malevolent

Armed only with his trusty tongs

And whistling dodgy reggae songs

He lords it over charring flesh

And stokes the coals beneath the mesh

But girls are not without their malady

Always bringing something salady

Hardly the stuff that you’ll be needing

If it’s mainly men you’re feeding

Cos girls don’t eat at barbecues

They compensate by guzzling booze

As if it’s going out of fashion

Wine by the bottle, Pimms with a passion

Rarely seen outside a party

But as for eating something hearty

Carrot dips are de rigeur

Meat for him but veg for her

And then the after-dinner show

With dancing on the patio

Later when the lights go lower

Out will come the feather boa

And the bamboo cane for limbo

Bellies out and legs akimbo

When the air’s no longer smoky

Clear the decks for karaoke.

Eventually the guests depart

And then the clearing up must start

When all except the cat bemoans

the garden’s full of chicken bones

The midnight garbage hunt begins

Armed with Maglite, tongs and bins

Making progress steadily, slowly

Avoiding the puddle of guacamole

You secretly didn’t regret was spilt

Until it snottily splashed the quilt

That was hanging drying on the line

Picking up so many bottles of wine

It’s hard to believe they’ve not been breeding

Or that five thousand folk were feeding

Rather than just the twenty one –

it’s total carnage now they’ve gone.

You scrape the last sausages from the grill

the layer of grease now makes you ill

The garden is clear so you tackle the kitchen

Tired and emotional, soon you start bitchin’

How now that you need them all, where are your mates?

And which prat decided against paper plates

As you somehow dispose of what’s left of a cow

You sigh, grit your teeth and then silently vow

To not spend another night, rushed off your feet

Smelling strongly of charcoal and staring at meat.

It may soothe you to sleep, which is long overdue

To know all of your neighbours have promised that too!

Copyright Gareth Cook June 2004

Instant Barbecue

2007-08-19T09:08:00.000-07:00

Sizzle sizzle sizzle sizzle sizzle

Sizzle sizzle

Drizzle

Copyright Gareth Cook June 2004

Bobby, what’s the French for ‘annoying’?

2007-08-19T09:07:00.000-07:00

I won’t be applauding Thierry Henry

On his PFA Player of the Year victory.

He’s an elegant graceful goalscoring machine,

He’s quicker and better than ever he’s been.

Each goal is a masterpiece, never a tap in

Instinctively spotting the tiniest gap in

The other team’s back line

He strides through majestic

And perfectly balanced he pulls off balletic

defence-throwing shimmies and finds the top corner -

turns every opposing fan into a mourner.

But the bloke’s just too good, and what’s more he is French,

He even looks stylish just sat on the bench

And wearing a tracksuit – it just isn’t fair,

Thierry just oozes more than his fair share

Of talent, athleticism, sex appeal

Let’s face it, he even looks cool at the wheel

Of a Renault. With va va blinkin’ voom

When the advert comes on any girl in the room

Is soon drooling. And that’s just the last straw

Adding insult to all of the injuries before.

He can’t stop scoring goals, and I’m glad that’s the case

But I’m sick of that grin on his good-looking face

Every time one goes in. He began as a winger!

Redressing the balance he should be a minger

Like Merson or Beardsley, Chadwick or Keown

A player who celebrates goals on his own.

And never gets kisses or even a hug

On account of his ‘only a mum could love’ mug.

But instead he’s Adonis. He’s hip and he’s cool

He’s probably even a champion at Boules.

So I can’t help resenting him, feeling so green

As he struts in slow-motion, all moody and mean.

I’m hoping at Euro 2004 the headlines are full of his failure to score

Against England, Croatia or even at all

This high-flying Frog’s overdue for a fall

It isn’t sour grapes, I’m not that kind of man

I just can’t stand Henry, and ‘je ne regrette rien’!

Copyright Gareth Cook May 2004

Josiah kicks ass

2007-08-19T09:05:00.000-07:00

In any list of Judah’s Kings, Josiah is a Great;

Not least because he got the job when he was only eight.

And from the start he followed God and wasn’t like his Dad,

Or Grandad King Manasseh, who’d excelled at being bad.

The pair of them had worshipped idols – stars and moon and sun,

and gods called Baal and Asherah – that simply wasn’t done.

Their actions really angered God who promised they would pay:

For Jerusalem and Judah there would be a judgement day.

But after those two evil Kings, Josiah took the throne

And even at his tender age he worshipped God alone.

The Book of the Law was found when he’d been King for 18 years,

But when Josiah heard it read he couldn’t believe his ears.

He tore his clothes and sent the priests to go and seek the Lord

He realised God was angry that his rules had been ignored.

The prophetess had better news: Josiah would be spared

God had seen his humble heart and realised that he cared.

Josiah knew that everyone must change and worship God

So he asked them all to meet him, even though it sounded odd.

‘What? Go up to the temple, for a meeting with the King?

The people all agreed they’d never heard of such a thing.

‘He wants to speak to everyone? Not just important folk?’

But everybody came, and all were silent as he spoke.

The King renewed the covenant, the promise to the Lord

To always follow his commands, according to his word.

The people gathered listening all agreed to do the same;

They recognised that they had sinned and shared a sense of shame.

Josiah hadn’t finished though, he had a bigger plan.

He went a few steps better than an idol worship ban.

The man went on the rampage, with a statue burning spree

And an altar smashing contest that was furious and free.

The Asherah poles were smashed to bits and later they were burned,

And pagan priests were made redundant; spiritists were spurned.

He got rid of altars everywhere, they all got kicked to rubble

His enthusiasm knew no bounds: it really was no trouble.

Josiah’s actions proved his words and Judah was restored

Idolatry was banished and the people feared the Lord.

Their king’s dynamic acts of faith had influenced the nation,

They celebrated Passover, which showed their transformation.

No King before or after turned to God like King Josiah

For a daring model man of faith we couldn’t aim much higher!

Copyright Gareth Cook August 2007

A star is born

2007-08-19T09:04:00.000-07:00

Way out East, we’re enjoying a feast

When suddenly out of the blue

‘Telescopes out!’ comes the high-pitched shout

‘There’s a star up there that’s new!’

At this sudden surprise, we roll our eyes

Cos it’s usually a false alarm

The amateur throng get co-ordinates wrong

Though they never mean to cause harm.

As astronomers go, we’re the ones in the know

They dub us ‘The three who are wise’.

So, being polite, we step into the night

To check what’s been seen in the skies.

And lo and behold! There’s a big blob of gold

As plain as the nose on your face

Though we’re taken aback, we all carefully track

its dimensions, the time and the place.

That it hangs in the sky we all cannot deny

But we haven’t a clue why it’s there

The next comet’s not due for a century or two -

There’s no doubt that this sighting is rare.

So we stand on the plains, all racking our brains

About why this new star has appeared

If that wasn’t enough, it then starts to move off!

This evening is just getting weird!

Although a bit scared, we’re all quite prepared

To set off and follow that star

So up we each jump on our steed with a hump

Cos no-one’s invented the car!

Then after a while, I started to smile

“This star’s for a king, I declare!”

My head had been reeling, but this sudden feeling

Was clearly an answer to prayer.

We followed for days, and were all quite amazed

That the star kept on moving ahead

After several days more we’re at Herod’s front door

As that’s where its guidance had led.

[Or Melchior’s advice, to be more precise:

He suggested we took a diversion

“If a new king’s been born, he’s Jerusalem’s spawn”

It seemed quite a decent assertion.]

But clearly not true. There was quite a to-do

As Herod swore blind we’re mistaken

He consulted advisors and bared his incisors

And yelled as his anger awakened.

His crew were more calm, despite the alarm

And gave us some useful advice:

“The prophets all warn the king’s Bethlehem born”

They gently explained. Which was nice.

But before we could leave, Herod said “I believe

That your star will lead straight to the boy.

When you find the cute chap, please return with a map

And I’ll pay my respects with a toy.”

All three of us winced – we were hardly convinced

But promised to do as he’d bidden.

Then resuming our ride, with the star as our guide

We set off to find what was hidden.

By the end of the week, we were too tired to speak

As we reached little Bethlehem town

We knew we’d arrived, as the star now contrived

To stop moving and shined like a crown.

But the place where it stopped caught us all on the hop

It just looked like an ordinary stable

Well, we’d trusted this far and as my dear old pa

Said “You can’t judge a scroll by its label”.

Excitement took over – we screamed “Praise Jehovah!”

And popped our three heads round the door

The babe lay in a manger, which struck us as stranger

Than all that had happened before.

It just seemed out of place, not the tiniest trace

That suggested the birth of a King

His parents weren’t posh and the barn was awash

With incumbents who’d started to ming.

Guess it wasn’t their fault – just a mare and its colt

Several cattle and wall-to-wall sheep.

With the smell and the noise it’s amazing the boy’s

Not complaining. In fact he’s asleep!

After all those long days we at last gave our praise

And the gifts that we’d bought on the way

Without making much noise we explained they weren’t toys

But they looked pretty good in the hay.

Just a small pot of gold and some myrrh that they sold

By the ephah at Old Farouk’s store

And some frankincense too – well we hoped it would do

But I started to wish we’d brought more.

“Sirs, that’s more than enough” – well, his parents seemed chuffed

And insisted we stayed for a Barbie

Though it made us feel edgy we explained we were veggie

And happier munching kohl rabi.

As the babe slept some more we admired him with awe

Then decided we’d best take our leave

Without even a cabbage – we proved the old adage

It’s better to give than receive.

On the outskirts of town we made camp and lay down

For a long due appointment with bed

Herod haunted my dreams – he’s not all that he seems

And he wants the new king we found dead.

This new revelation caused quite a sensation

As I shared with the others, come morning

On our homeward excursion we made a diversion -

I’m glad that we heeded the warning.

Once back East, we had many a feast

Dining out on our story for years

And thanks to the saga the others go ga-ga

Whenever a new star appears.

But often I think, chilling out with a drink

As I peer through my telescope’s rim

‘That boy that we saw had some future in store,

I wonder what happened to him’?

Copyright Gareth Cook June 2004

Project Ark

2007-08-19T09:01:00.000-07:00

My neighbours all thought that I was a nutter,

But not because my clothes were made of butter

Or cos I trained sealions to knit me a coat

It’s all to do with building this massive boat

Well boats aren’t mad mate, I hear you shout

In fact they’re pretty popular for messing about

In if you’re floating down a river or on the ocean wave

It’s not a very bonkers way for people to behave

I wouldn’t disagree with you, they can be very pleasant

But may seem more unusual if you’re living in the desert!

My house was many hundred miles from the nearest ocean

So trying to build a boat was really bound to cause commotion

I didn’t do it on a whim, or just cause I was bored

The scheme for ‘Project Ark’ was given to me by the Lord.

He spoke to me one day and told me how he had a plan

To flood the earth as punishment for all the sins of man

My family would be spared though because I’d earned his favour

I found it quite surprising, though I’d never been a raver

Or acted really selfishly like all my neighbours did

I guess I’d followed God’s way ever since I was a kid

And now he’d gone and chosen me to do this special task

I said I’d do my best although it seemed a lot to ask

I wasn’t trained in carpentry, I hadn’t any wood

But out of love for God I’d just do everything I could

I ordered all the gopher wood – they laughed at B and Q

Especially when I told them what it was I planned to do

They delivered it by camel and it took about a week

The neighbours took one look and all declared I was a freak!

I carried on regardless though and started on the boat

I must admit I wondered how we’d get the thing to float

The design was very long - four hundred feet or more

And high as well it measured forty five feet from the floor

That’s taller than two houses balanced one upon the other

And wider than a row of four or five you will discover

It’s just as well my garden was ridiculously large

There’s nowhere else we’d have the room to build so big a barge

I didn’t have to work alone, I had help from my boys

So Ham and Shem and Japheth and myself made lots of noise

The hammering and banging, the drilling and the sawing

That only stopped occasionally so we could check the drawing

We had to build three decks and then a big door on the side

To cater for the passengers who were coming for the ride

God wanted us to take on board a rather special crew

Of every type of animal, who’d turn up, two by two.

When the neighbours asked me ‘what’s it for?’ I said ‘the answer’s plain,

I know you won’t believe it but the Lord is sending rain

He’s had enough of everybody doing as they please

And spoiling his creation with sin’s miserable disease’

Of course my explanation just provoked their laughs and jeers

They said ‘We’re in the desert man! It hasn’t rained for years!

And even if it pours a bit, a brolly keeps you dry

You hardly need a wooden boat that’s forty five feet high!’

But once again I trusted God and carried on the work

My faith and blatant optimism drove them all berserk

Then finally we finished it, the Ark had taken shape

I knew that when the rain came we’d be ready to escape

And soon enough God spoke again and told me to prepare

To welcome all the animals on board and take great care

That there were two of every kind, a female and a male

So when the flood was over every species would prevail

And out of nowhere they arrived, in every shape and size

It’s fair to say the neighbourhood could not believe their eyes!

They never tried to interfere – I guess they didn’t dare

When face to face with lion, tiger, wolf and grizzly bear!

The elephants and hippos were the hardest to get on

We pushed for hours and really wished that they’d come one by one!

The monkeys tested patience too – with constant noisy swinging

The only thing that drowned them out was when the whales were singing!

The hyenas had a giggle as the boys ticked off the list

I had a final check as well to make sure none were missed

It’s easy counting tortoises, but cheetahs are more tricky

They run around so fast you end up feeling rather sicky

From aardvarks through to zebras, we now had our final crew

Which meant there wasn’t much more for the family to do

Except to gather all the food and store it safe away:

We set the precedent for saving for a rainy day!

We got on board and closed the door as quickly as we could

And waited in the warm and dry for God to send the flood

And soon it came! Such heavy rain, it washed our town away

The neighbours who had laughed at me had seen their final day

It rained so hard and for so long we soon began to float

And all my family prayed to God to thank him for our boat

It rained for weeks, and soon the peaks of mountains disappeared

And still the wooden boat survived! It did seem pretty weird

But God was keeping to his word, we knew that much was clear

And though the storm went on for weeks we didn’t need to fear

The family had enough to eat, the animals behaved

And after forty days and nights we finally were saved

The rain had stopped and soon the waters started to recede

We just sat tight and waited for the Lord to take the lead

He sent a wind to blow the water back into the sky

And then we saw the Ark had stopped on top of something high

We’d landed on Mount Ararat, we found out later on

But couldn’t leave the Ark yet as the water hadn’t gone

I opened up the window though and let a raven go

To see if he could spot dry land, then come and let us know.

And later on I sent a dove out on a spying mission

The second time of asking this plan came to its fruition

He carried back an olive leaf he’d taken from a tree

And now we knew the time had come for God to set us free

He told us we could leave the Ark and bring the creatures too

And so we gladly left behind the world’s first floating zoo!

The animals were free to roam, to thrive and multiply

And then we saw a brightly coloured arc up in the sky

God said it was a rainbow and a sign for future men

That he would keep his promise not to flood the earth again

Ham reckoned it was pretty which made Mrs Noah laugh

She promised for his birthday she would knit a rainbow scarf!

So that’s about the end of the adventure that we had

I hope that you’ll agree I wasn’t ever really mad

Trusting and obeying God was just plain common sense

And choosing to ignore his will? Well surely that’s just dense!

Copyright Gareth Cook November 2004

Hammock

2007-08-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

A single stretch of stripeyness hung between two trees:

Enticing invitation to embrace a life of ease.

Like a big squat bug on a brightly-coloured leaf,

I’m part of the environment, enjoying sweet relief.

Dappled by the sunshine, tickled by the breeze,

I nestle horizontal on a danger-free trapeze.

No dreams of lazy palm trees, blue breakers or white sand

Just happy in the garden with comforts close at hand.

Relaxed in an instant, on canvas cloud I’m floating,

I’m smiling with contentment. Or could it be I’m gloating?

Copyright Gareth Cook September 2002

Figurine Panini

2007-08-19T08:58:00.000-07:00

Forget the now historic Yellow Polka Dot Bikini

My T shirt is emblazoned with Figurine Panini

It’s a retro classic number, depicting quite a few

Of Brazil’s majestic World Cup squad from 1982

OK, a few are missing – no Falcao or Socrates

But Zico’s there, and Roberto’s hair makes up for lack of these

The detail’s not important, it’s what it represents:

All those packs of stickers bought for ten or twenty pence

The best since 1970 was this Brazilian posse

But got knocked out by Italy and that git Paolo Rossi

That Italy went on to win’s forgotten in a minute

As I display the greatest World Cup team to never win it.

Copyright Gareth Cook 2002

Ikea

2007-08-19T08:56:00.000-07:00

Ikeas - diahorrea of ideas

Flatpack claptrap with names like flapjack

Niknak, toona and brikka brak

Cram-packed car parks on the weekend warpath

Warehouses supersized jammed with droves of drones

Shuffling swede-pace down the groaning aisles

Handling ugly objects like they’re artefacts of artisans

Checkout queues an hour long but still nobody moans

Copyright Gareth Cook March 2002

Community Service

2007-08-19T08:54:00.000-07:00

I’ve got the latest issue here, of Street! magazine

You’ll soon hear all about it, love, if you know what I mean.

Who hates who! And why? The cover headline screams

Think I’m gonna tell you more? You’re living in your dreams!

Well, alright, a little bit then, seeing as how you’re asking

There’s ninety-seven pages’ worth of secrets need unmasking.

Her at number eight can’t stand him at number ten

And no, I swear, it isn’t cos she’s had enough of men.

She caught him doing you-know-what with her at number four

It’s bad enough he’s married, but against her garage door?

And Mrs Roberts further down, she hates that Mrs Carey

For flirting with her husband on the night he got all lairy

At the Walshs’ Anniversary bash. She swore that she’d get even.

Then sang “Who let the dogs out?” as she walked past with her Steven!!!

And then there’s all the Murray clan embroiled in car boot scandal

With Glenn their youngest ‘bang to rights’ with goods ‘too hot to handle’

His mother claims it’s all a set up, blaming Jimmy Grishon

Who planted stolen merchandise to frame the competition.

But Old Ma Grishon’s fighting back and circulating rumours

That Murray’s latest husband’s at death’s door and full of tumours.

You’re right, it does seem juvenile, but still, it’s lots of fun

This street’s more full of gossip than a week’s worth of The Sun!

And don’t pretend to rise above it, act like you don’t care

You’re dying for a proper read, deny it if you dare.

Feign disinterest all you want, but now I know you’re hooked

And if you try to cross me I’ll ensure your goose is cooked.

Don’t think I haven’t seen you love, it’s not as if I’m blind

And anyway, what’s out of sight’s not always out of mind

Occasionally I make things up, like all good tabloids do

It doesn’t really matter, folk aren’t bothered if it’s true.

You’d love to dig the dirt on me, I’m sure you’d have a blast,

But I’m in Witness Protection, so I haven’t got a past!

I am not a public menace, that’s a rumour I must scotch

I just provide a service and it’s called ‘Neighbourhood Watch’.

Copyright Gareth Cook October 2004

In the Rainforest

2007-08-19T08:52:00.000-07:00

The Rainforest’s lush

Sssshush!! What was that rushed underneath the bush?

Was it a ssssnake ssssearching for its tea?

The Rainforest’s dark

Hark!! What was that bark, was it a macaque?

Or could it be a Howler Monkey hiding up a tree?

The Rainforest’s hot

What? I know there are a lot of mosquitos here to swat

But I don’t understand why they’re only bugging me!

The Rainforest’s wet

Sweat? Listen mate, you bet!! How I could I forget

When my clothes are sticking to me like I’d soaked them in the sea?

The Rainforest’s immense

Hence, it would make you rather tense if you tried to build a fence

To go around it! It would stretch even further than the sharpest eye could see.

The Rainforest’s loud

How’d you find peace in a crowd of parrots that have vowed

To shriek and squawk their beaks off just to wake the Chimpanzees?

The Rainforest’s great

Wait! I hope it’s not too late – I couldn’t contemplate

That the fact it might soon vanish is a possibility.

Gareth Cook March 2004

Still life

2007-08-19T08:51:00.000-07:00

Be still in the flowing moments

don’t go with the undertow

stay quiet in the listening minutes

relax as the breeze caresses you.

Don’t wait for the slower day:

you’ll never control the clock.

Make a stand, and sit down,

incubate yourself from babble

stop everything except being

and wait.

Longer than that.

Ignore the mocking voice and nagging doubts.

Keep seeing and hearing but don’t let thoughts shout you down.

Feel anything?

It’s you. Take the time to get acquainted.

Gareth Cook May 2003

Small Steps

2007-08-19T08:50:00.000-07:00

From now on, I’m taking small steps.

Not setting sights too high,

or being daunted or thwarted by having to do

something big or complicated.

Small steps are fine, and I’m taking my time;

I’m not in a rush to achieve.

But if I do my best, and you do the rest

It won’t be long before others believe.

The thing with small steps is that you can’t get carried away,

and you’re not concentrating on how far, how fast,

or whether you get there first.

Even better, you don’t decide to stay still,

because you can’t manage the journey.

With small steps the progress may be steady,

but at least you keep moving.

Gareth Cook August 2002

Bird

2007-08-19T08:49:00.000-07:00

This pen in my hand is a bird in flight,

Set free across an azure sky empty of clouds.

Amazed by the space, kissed by the sun it whirls and wheels across the canvas

faster and bolder as it explores the dramatic new realm.

Never returning to the same spot it soars in excitement,

then glides across and down, almost disappearing from view.

Once a speck, it grows slowly larger, propelled to the foreground

by its own dizzy momentum and sense of joy.

Home at last.

Gareth Cook August 2002

Library

2007-08-19T08:47:00.000-07:00

This is the library of your life:

Shelves of years, books of days, a moment on a page.

Some are worn: they bear the scars

Others torn, their memory jars

Some are missing – taken as a trophy

or a chance that perished,

leaving just a musty smell.

Wandering through the avenues of days

some bright-jacketed catch the eye.

These you eagerly renew, but never scale the heights

Of your original enjoyment on first read.

Early volumes are often misfiled, or pushed to

the back of the shelf, absent-mindedly.

As you sit quietly amongst this fine collection of personal literature,

make your choice of future reading wisely and reflect on this:

One day you’ll succumb suddenly to the great rule of Silence,

when all your books are overdue.

Men

2007-08-19T08:46:00.000-07:00

Men don’t cry. Men don’t quit.

Men work hard. Men are fit.

Men don’t worry. Men are strong.

Men don’t admit it when they’re wrong.

Men don’t fuss. Men are straight.

Men don’t apologise when they’re late.

Men are powerful. Men earn money.

Men won’t laugh unless it’s funny.

Men aren’t scared. Men don’t care.

Men don’t run. Men don’t share.

Men drink pints. Men watch sport.

Men aren’t sorry unless they’re caught.

Nursery rhymes for the mobile generation

2007-08-19T08:43:00.001-07:00

Mary had a little phone

It fleeced her mum and dad

And everywhere that Mary went

Her phone drove people mad.

Jack and Jill went up the hill

Because reception’s better

Jack was vexed, he’d missed a text

But Jill prefers a letter.

Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet

Texting her friend one day

When down came a spider that sat down beside her

And cleared all her message away

Dr Foster went to Gloucester in a shower of rain.

Took a call in a muddle, dropped his phone in a puddle

And never saw Orange again.

The King was in his counting-house, calling about money

The Queen was in the parlour, texting to her honey

The maid was in the garden playing Snake cos she was bored

When down came a blackbird and found himself ignored.

Orange is a lemon, say the bells of St Clements

Vodafone’s a bitch, say the bells of Shoreditch

T Mobile don’t fail me say the bells of Old Bailey

I much prefer Three, say the bells of Stepney

But aren’t they just starting?, say the bells of St Martins

O2 are best though, says the Great Bell of Bow.

Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall

Got a text and had a great fall

All the King’s horses and all the King’s men

Couldn’t get ‘vibrate’ mode working again.

On Bodmin Moor

2007-08-19T08:39:00.000-07:00

Terror – four spindly legs stiffen and shake:

skin turns cold under woolly fleece,

doleful eyes fixed on the beast

perched half an hour’s graze away.

Instinct yells run, but body won’t

rooted in grass, held by the gaze

of the rigid blackness arched on the rock.

A silhouetted threat against the peaceful evening sky

dominates the landscape in a sheep’s eye.

A frozen moment.

Flashing eyes declare intent.

There is no doubt.

And then the pounce.

Take yourself down to the sea my boy

2007-08-19T08:33:00.000-07:00

Take yourself down to the sea my boy, to find your inner calm.

And while you’re there the bracing air won’t do you any harm.

Stroll towards the sea my boy, and catch the healing wave.

Surf it well and soon the swell will change how you behave.

Plunge yourself in the sea my boy, exhilarate your soul.

And soon you’ll find a state of mind that’s out of your control.

Capture the sound of the sea my boy, so you can take it back.

And then replay while you’re away to savour what you lack.

Live in the power of the sea my boy, and it will change your life.

Come back again so its refrain can ease away your strife.

Pigs might ….

2007-08-19T08:28:00.000-07:00

They say that pigs might fly

but I think that’s a lie

I have it on good authority

they’ve never seen the sky

Because their neck’s so short and fat

their field of vision’s really flat

which means that any flight of fancy

would be at the least quite chancy

So even if they had the wings

(hardly the likeliest of things!)

they’d surely lack the motivation

to have a stab at aviation

Although their home’s shaped like a hangar

pigs never leave the ground in anger

It’s just as well they’re very good

at simply sticking in the mud!

Gareth Cook October 2002

The difference between a dog and a carrot

2007-08-19T08:24:00.001-07:00

A carrot can help you to see in the dark,

But unlike a dog, it’s unlikely to bark.

A dog being friendly will offer a paw,

But unlike a carrot, you can’t eat it raw!

Waxing Lyrical

2007-08-19T08:21:00.000-07:00

Lightened waxy pillar topped with siren of flame

Gyrating slowly as the shadow dancer came

Heady music drawing deeper, beckons nearer still

Darkling dervish courted til the fire has had its fill

Moth-eaten

What if only

2007-08-19T08:20:00.000-07:00

What if I hadn’t failed my exams?

What if my parents hadn’t split up?

What if I’d gone to University?

What if I’d come from a rich family?

If only I’d been born with a pretty face

If only I had a decent job

If only I could lose four stone

If only she’d notice me

What if I hadn’t had that accident?

What if I’d gone through with the pregnancy?

What if she hadn’t left me?

What if he hadn’t hit me?

If only I’d paid more attention

If only I’d told them I loved them

If only I could stop smoking

If only I hadn’t started drinking. Again

What if I hadn’t bullied him?

What if I’d forgiven her?

If only I hadn’t cheated

If only I hadn’t lost it once too often

What if it doesn’t matter?

What if I don’t care what you look like?

What if we wipe the slate clean?

What if I don’t even want to know about your past?

If only you’d stop trying to be someone you’re not

If only you’d stop blaming yourself

If only you’d realise how much I love you. Always have

If only you could see what you mean to me

What if I told you that you were special?

What if I said there’s no-one else like you?

What if you could just believe that’s the truth?

What if you knew I’d loved you even before you were born?

If only you could shut out the world and listen

If only you’d stop lapping up the lies they feed you

If only you could trust me enough to come close

If only you would come and take what I want to give you

What if you took that risk?

What if it worked?

What if it was what you’ve always wanted?

What if there weren’t any what ifs anymore?

If only……..

Gareth Cook December 2004

She says clichés on the sea shore

2007-08-19T08:18:00.001-07:00

‘The mighty ocean is ageless and constant, as is your love’.

‘The waves surge with intensity, as does your love’.

‘The sea is vast and spacious, as is your love’.

‘The crashing rollers possess immense power, as does your love’.

‘The sea’s spray is fresh and invigorating, as is your love’.

‘The ocean has unfathomable depths, as does your love’.

‘The sea is always moving but never changing, as is your love’.

‘The waves break on me with thrilling surprise, as does your love’.

‘The sea is a vibrant source of life, as is your love’.

‘The ocean stretches as far as the eye can see, as does your love’.

She says clichés on the sea shore.

It’s fair to say that most of it you’ve probably heard before.

But as I sat there listening, although it wasn’t new,

I thought it rather quaint that she believed that it was true.

Take yourself down to the sea my boy

2007-08-19T08:15:00.000-07:00

Take yourself down to the sea my boy, to find your inner calm.

And while you’re there the bracing air won’t do you any harm.

Stroll towards the sea my boy, and catch the healing wave.

Surf it well and soon the swell will change how you behave.

Plunge yourself in the sea my boy, exhilarate your soul.

And soon you’ll find a state of mind that’s out of your control.

Capture the sound of the sea my boy, so you can take it back.

And then replay while you’re away to savour what you lack.

Live in the power of the sea my boy, and it will change your life.

Come back again so its refrain can ease away your strife.

The sea in my back garden

2007-08-19T08:14:00.000-07:00

I’d like to have the sea in my back garden, then a holiday would be a little stroll.

My back door would lead straight out to the sand dunes and the towers for the lifeguards to patrol.

I’m sure I’d get in trouble with the neighbours for going out and kidnapping the sea –

although I’d love to have a private ocean, it isn’t everybody’s cup of tea.

I guess it could be rather inconvenient when waves come crashing down over the fence, and twenty four hours’ worth of squawking seagulls eventually could prove a bit intense.

I doubt that they’d appreciate the lighthouse – its beam might make it difficult to sleep,

And any kids who came to get their ball back might find that my pool’s deep end’s rather deep!

It also could be somewhat disconcerting to be innocently tending to your lawn,

then to be scared out your wits by a sudden splash of whale or an ocean liner setting off its horn.

It wouldn’t just be hard work for the neighbours, I think I’d find there’s quite a lot to do

Setting up the deckchairs and selling the ice creams and clearing up the mounds of donkey poo.

And then I’d have to go and set the flags out to indicate the safest place to bathe and rent out all the wetsuits and the surfboards to people queuing up to catch a wave.

And somebody would have to clear the litter and tell the treasure seekers where to go,

And calculate the low tide and the high tide and make sure that the fishermen all know.

On second thoughts it doesn’t sound that restful, perhaps it isn’t such a good idea

I think I might prefer to take it easy and maybe go and visit once a year!

You’re on holiday but

2007-08-19T08:10:00.000-07:00

You’re on holiday but you’re still up with the lark.

You’re on holiday but the entire day is mapped out with military precision, interspersed with regular toilet breaks for the missus.

You’re on holiday but your trouser creases are as sharp as ever and there’s an M & S leisure shirt and pastel sweater for all eventualities.

You’re on holiday but there’s no sign of letting your hair down – the comb applies the side-parting rule as rigidly as ever.

You’re on holiday but certain standards must be maintained – socks with sandals and never be seen in town wearing shorts, even if they cover the knees.

You’re on holiday but let’s not get carried away, there’s no need for frivolity. A pleasant stroll washed down by a quiet cup or two of tea is quite enough excitement thank you.

You’re on holiday but everything stops as usual for Countdown and The Archers.

You’re on holiday but that’s no excuse for over-indulgence. A glass of sweet wine with a reliable plate of English blandishments is far better for the digestive system.

You’re on holiday but there’s still no need to speak at the dinner table. Your private life is not a cabaret.

You’re on holiday but it’s still very important to get a good night’s rest. Night life is for the yobs and the owls. A Horlicks and a couple of chapters of Ruth Rendell are sufficient serenade.

You’re on holiday but you’re still not getting any. Younger folk are quite entitled to do what they like in private so long as they don’t make any noise.

You’re on holiday but all you’ve done is relocate your agenda.

You’re on holiday but there’s no chance of you getting away from it all.

Fisherman’s friend?

2007-08-19T08:06:00.000-07:00

It knows when you’re afraid

It smiles when you’re alone

Its waves are sending sensors out to listen to you moan.

When the fish have all gone missing

And there’s nothing to be seen

It gathers all around you dressed in blue and grey and green.

Slowly, like a blanket, it starts to wrap around,

Creeping up behind you, but hardly makes a sound.

And then, before you know it, its fingers grab the boat:

A rock, a push, a shout, and splash

– you’re suddenly afloat

It pauses for a moment, to let you catch your breath

Then laps and claps around your ears to warn you of your death

So if you find this message, that’s all that’s left of me

Be warned to take insurance out, before you to take to sea!

Big Deal

2007-08-19T08:03:00.000-07:00

Who wins? You decide: Except I probably don’t.

Although there’s millions ringing in, I definitely won’t.

It’s not because I’m stingy, I just think it’s sad

The way that every Summer Britain goes Big Brother mad.

The thing that really gets me is the total saturation:

A policy determined to control our conversation.

‘Did you see Jade flopping out her bits?’

‘Aren’t Alex and Sandy miserable gits?’

‘What about when Kate got chocolate down her top?’

‘Or Jonny in the Diary Room.’ Aaaargh, just STOP!!

You don’t know these people, you’ve never even met them,

They wouldn’t cross the road to greet you even if you let them.

They’re the product of a culture that’s gone completely crazy:

It isn’t entertainment, it’s just very cheap and lazy.

The ultimate in cynicism, wouldn’t you say

Showing total strangers doing nothing every day?

And yet it seems to work, as every single night,

We stay up in our droves to watch these people row and fight!

We talk about them endlessly with fervent animation,

Despite the fact they mainly cause us anger and frustration.

And then we pay to kick them out, or help our favourite win,

As voyeurism proves itself a profitable sin.

And shouldn’t we feel guilty to perpetrate this fuss,

Cos while we’re sitting watching them, who is watching us?

Gareth Cook August 2002