Po'tree (A day ignoring my body!)

Beloved Ga-Ga, who was my maternal Scottish grandmother - now dead some five and a half decades, was always amused by the enthusiasm with which American tourists, or those from the local submarine base, bought up antique po's. While these can be prettily decorated the fact that they had been under bed receptacles led most locals to believe that conversion into a plant pot, or even worse a drinks container, was not a viable option. However they sold well to the extent that non-antiques had to be made to keep up with demand. You will of course note the advantages of drinking beer, but preferably for later transfer to a po rather than for consumption from one!

But my beef is not with gazunders today but the fact that I keep coming across poetry in blogs; and regrettably this is usually of a pretty poor standard. It seems that breaking up with some-one leads to a plethora of rubbishy poetry. Which is a pity, because I am sure some of the bloggers could actually produce something worthwhile if not so keen to express their woes in what tends to be a rather repetitious winge. Others, of course, tend to the William McGonagall school of writing and little can ever be expected from them.

So to my own poetry (doggerel?) which tends to be short, sweet and more interested in the realities of life than personal woes:

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Skin

Do you know why we have skin?

It is just to keep stuff in,

Without it, it would be a muddle.

Our blood would ooze out in a puddle.

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Jenny

Jenny Ball is not a whore,

That's a rumour to ignore;

If you ask her then you'll see,

She nearly always obliges free.

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This latter poem was written about a good friend from whom I have lost contact over the years, and was not in any way intended to be rude. Especially since it was written in the Free Love period of the Sixties. Jenny, should you run across this would you please contact me?