Cucumber Raita

 With apologies to Paul McCartney and John Lennon (Paperback Writer).

Dear Sir or Madam

Will you try my dish

Took me minutes to make

And it's quite delish

It's based on a recipe

By Princess Di

And I need to know

If you wanna try

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

It's a curd-y story

Of refreshing dip

I could spice it up

Really let it rip

I could add some chili

And cilantro too

Do whatever flavour

It's all up to you

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta! Rai-ta! Rai-ta!

If you really like it

I could make some more

Take it to the market

Sell it in the store

If you're keen, just call me

Morning, noon or night

We could make a profit

If we price it right

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta! Rai-ta! Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

Cu-cumber Rai-ta!

50 Ways Against A Lawsuit

With apologies to Paul Simon (50 Ways To Leave Your Lover).

This lyric 'rewrite' was inspired by a discussion about the diminishing state of a certain virtual community, what it's future held, and what responsibility the owners may or may not have had for that situation. One of the comments in the conversation went along the lines of 'the basic membership is free, so you've not lost anything'. This inspired an alternative take on Paul Simon's classic tune.

N.B. I've excluded the chorus because they name checked people from the virtual community, and I've not yet sought permission to include their names; plus, my version of the chorus wasn't particularly well written, if I am honest.

[Verse 1]

The problems are all inside your mind, they said to me

The plaintiffs laughed aloud, and smiled suspiciously

We cannot help you if your membership is free

We're covered fifty ways against a lawsuit

We say it's not our fault, despite what you have claimed

We've lost your evidence, and now cannot be blamed

You signed the Ts and Cs, so legally you're tamed

We're covered fifty ways against a lawsuit

Fifty ways against a lawsuit

[Chorus]

[Verse 2]

They said, It does amuse us so, to see you in such pain

We wish we could do something more to make things worse again

I said, I'm seeking legal aid, and hope they can explain

About the 50 ways...

They said, We wish the best of luck, your litigation stance

Our contract's tied so tight, your lawyer's got no chance

We'll press for damages, our funds you will enhance

We're covered fifty ways against a lawsuit

Fifty ways against a lawsuit

[Chorus]

The Cells Of Graceville Correctional and Rehabilitation Facility

With apologies to Ralph McTell (Streets Of London)...

This verse was written in February 2021, a month after Joe Biden had been elected President of the United States, and world media was still full of stories of the Capitol Riot, fake news, insurrection charges, Proud Boys, illegally held documents and other such posts. It seemed as if a certain ex-resident of the White House was going to prison for hundreds of years, if you believed certain news reports.

He may yet get in to the White House again...

Have you seen the orange man

In a prison jumpsuit?

Making number plates

And battlewear supplies

In his heart, no contrition

No guilt admission

Yesterday's president

Telling yesterday's lies

So, how can you tell me you voted in

This man who made America grate

Take a look at all the folks

Who suffered due to his behaviour

You'll see something that'll surely set you straight

Have you seen the orange man

Who shuffles round the prison yard

Mumbling 'fake news'

To anyone in range

They've no time to listen

Treat him with derision

Just another criminal

Doesn't seem that strange

So, how can you tell me you voted in

This man who made America grate

Take a look at all the folks

Who suffered due to his behaviour

You'll see something that'll surely set you straight

In the prison canteen

At a quarter past seven

Hairpiece neatly combed

And ankle tag in place

The fair result - rejection

So tried to steal election

Guilty - all charges

Judge said it to his face

So, how can you tell me you voted in

This man who made America grate

Take a look at all the folks

Who suffered due to his behaviour

You'll see something that'll surely set you straight

Have you seen the ex-con

Outside of Mar-el-Lago?

It's the orange man

Scheming his own schemes

No more Stormy payments

Or Senate arraignments

He'll become president

In the world of his dreams

So, how can you tell me you voted in

This man who made America grate

Take a look at all the folks

Who suffered due to his behaviour

You'll see something that'll surely set you straight

Xmas Verse 2023

Hello again! Twelve years later...

After a somewhat long gap since the last post in 2013 (I forgot I had the blog!!), I reclaimed Random Verse, and hopefully will remember to post more content, and not leave such long gaps between them (though I suspect it will happen again).

Anyhow, here's something I threw together one evening in December 2023, fresh after reading about the mud slinging antics between the Labour and Conservative parties here in the UK, and it uses the ongoing story at the time about the migrant issue as a backdrop. Enjoy!

'Twas Xmas Eve and Santa Claus was stuck in Northern France,

The reindeer seemed all out of sorts, the presents thrown askance,

The sleigh hit a cathedral spire, and Santa lost control,

He landed thirteen miles too short, as Dover was his goal.

The elves collected up the gifts and put them in the sack,

While Santa spoke to a shifty bloke, eating croissant and cognac.

"Fear not, for I have just secured, our passage cross the waves,

So load the sack into the craft, and board, my elvish braves!"

The sack, the elves, and Santa Claus set off upon the boat,

The Channel lapping up the sides, their dinghy just afloat,

Across the sea lanes they did sail, avoiding French gunboats,

The elves a little nonplussed at old Santa’s anecdotes.

As they neared the British coast, they heard "Ahoy ahoy!

Where d’you think you're going with this pseudo-Xmas ploy?"

A military frigate came closer into view,

Lit up like a Xmas tree and painted Tory blue.

Rishi Sunak, handmade suit, his coiffeured hair aglow,

There upon the prow he snarled, within the searchlight's glow.

"I'm here to stop all immigrants, so take a final gander,

Your last look at the British coast, you're heading to Rwanda!"

Santa squinted in surprise within the searchlight’s glare,

This was a complication of which he was unaware.

"I'm Santa Claus, I'm here each year, I'm no repeat offender,

Bringing gifts to boys and girls (and every other gender).

I bring the hope of peace and joy to billions around,

But nowhere else did I receive this welcome I have found."

"Can it, gramps, I'm not impressed", said Sunak, with delight,

"All of you illegal souls will soon be on a flight.

We'll fly you to Kigali, where they have a special camp,

Escort you to the door, we'll even drive you up the ramp.

Once inside, we lock the gate, a welcome we've prepared,

Metal bars for walls and doors, so it is fully aired."

Suddenly, there was a bang, a thunderous explosion,

Inside the frigate's wheelhouse, a riotous commotion.

Sunak raged, "what is this noise, causing all this drama?"

Cleverly screamed back, "we're being boarded by Keir Starmer!"

Labour's front-bench team climbed aboard the Tory frigate,

Determined to stop Sunak, and his Santa-hating bigots.

The Shadow Cabinet took arms against their Tory foe,

Sunak mocked Keir Starmer, yelling, "Come and have a go!"

Hunt and Reeves were fighting, sharpened pencils in each hand,

Cooper kicking Cleverly below the gastric band,

Lammy running round the ship, in search of peace accords,

Unable to find Cameron, who was hiding in the Lords.

And while the parties battled on, old Santa slipped away,

Made it to the Dover coast and hired an Uber sleigh.

All the presents despatched safe, he'd run his British beat,

And sent a massive sack of coal to 10 Downing Street.

Merry Christmas!

The Boy Fishing

The Boy Fishing by E.J. Scovell was yet another of the poems memorised to try and win the poetry competition.  Tonight I was only able to remember the first four lines, though I'll cut myself some slack on that point, seeing as I memorised the poem for a competition held in 1976!!

After some research using Google, I managed to find the remaining four lines.  Enjoy!

I am cold and alone, 
On my tree-root sitting as still as a stone.
The fish come to my net. I scorned the sun,
The voices on the road, and they have gone.
My eyes are buried in the cold pond, under
The cold, spread leaves; my thoughts are silver-wet.
I have ten stickleback, a half-day's plunder,
Safe in my jar. I shall have ten more yet.

The Policeman - Found!

Finally, after seven years, I have located the first verse of 'The Policeman', and the author, Clive Sansom.  I located it via a Google book sample of 'Modern Radiant Readers', though the book I read it from originally was a poetry book.

The noise that annoys
All the naughty little boys
Is the tramp of the feet
Of the policeman on his beat,
With a frown, with a frown,
As he walks up and down,
With a frown.

As he holds up his hand,
All the traffic has to hand.
Every car, every bus
Has to stop without a fuss.
They must wait in a row
Till the Policeman tells them: 'Go!'
They must wait till the Policeman tells them: 'Go!'

And if anyone's about
Who shouldn't be about,
Then there isn't any doubt
He should very soon look out
For the tramp of the feet
Of the Policeman on his beat,
For the tramp of his feet on the beat.

And I remembered another poem from that poetry book, Choosing Shoes, written by Frida Wolfe.  This too would have been part of the poetry competition for memorising and reciting the most lines correctly.

New shoes, new shoes,
Red and pink and blue shoes.
Tell me, what would you choose,
If they'd let us buy?

Buckle shoes, bow shoes,
Pretty pointy-toe shoes,
Strappy, cappy low shoes;
Let's have some to try.

Bright shoes, white shoes,
Dandy-dance-by-night shoes,
Perhaps-a-little-tight shoes,
Like some? So would I.

BUT

Flat shoes, fat shoes,
Stump-along-like-that shoes,
Wipe-them-on-the-mat shoes,
That's the sort they'll buy.

Dandy-dance-by-night shoes eh?  Whatever they were meant to be!!

Seeking 'The Policeman'

My 'junior' school (from age 7 to age 10) education included weekly poetry lessons, hosted by the Headmaster. The poetry handbooks would be distributed around the class to each pupil. Next, the Headmaster would set up an old record player on the teacher's desk, and play records containing the spoken versions of the poems, whilst we followed the text within the poetry handbooks.

At the end of each term, the Headmaster would hold a poetry competition, whereby you would try to memorise the poems and recite them word for word. You would get a point for each line recited correctly, until you got a line wrong, and then you were out of the competition. You only had the time whilst other people were reciting to memorise the next poem. The person who recited the most lines without error was the winner. The winning pupil would receive a book token during the afternoon Assembly on the last day of that term. Fortunately, I won the prize every term and every year I was there, and those book tokens helped to furnish my collection of Spike Milligan books, the first two of which were poetry books ('Silly Verse For Kids' and 'A Book Of Milliganimals').

Anyhow, in my first year (and my first term), one of the poems that helped me win was entitled 'The Policeman'. I don't know who wrote it, and to this day I can only remember the second and third verses. They are as follows:

As he holds up his hand,
All the traffic has to hand.
Every car, every bus
Has to stop without fuss.
They must wait in a row
'Til the policeman tells them: 'Go!'
They must wait 'til the policeman tells them: 'Go!'

And if anyone's about
Who shouldn't be about
Then there isn't any doubt
That they should very soon look out
For the tramp of the feet
Of the policeman on his beat
For the tramp of his feet on the beat.

If anyone recognises this poem, I would be grateful to learn the name of the author, and more importantly, the missing first verse!

Parents' Day Blushes

In the 'Welcome To Random Verse' post, I made mention of a short rhyme I wrote when aged eight or nine years old, in response to the teacher's request to write a poem 'about your parents'. Back when I was eight or nine years old, smoking was far more socially acceptable, and more people in general were smokers, including my parents. Memories of the living room filled with a fog of cigarette smoke, of ashtrays full to overflowing, inspired me to write the following verse at such a tender age:

My Parents

My mum and my dad both smoke,
The rest of the family choke.
My dad, he smokes like a train;
My mum is just the same.

This poem was put up on the classroom wall at a parent/teacher evening.  Unsurprisingly my parents' reaction on returning from the parent/teacher evening was not warm and effusive, after seeing this piece of work, and having all the other parents see it too...  Thankfully my parents stopped smoking a few years ago. None of their children ever felt the desire to take up the habit.

Where I Live

Welcome to this town!
This place where I now live.
Police leave here at five each day
Past then, our help is far away
If ever trouble comes to stay
Outside of nine to five.

Welcome to this town!
With pubs and bars galore.
Drink and drink 'til God knows when
From early morn 'til after ten
And off to nightclub bars again
To drink your fill once more.

Welcome to this town!
Complete with racing track.
The one-way system - what's that for?
Boy racers, round the streets they roar
In cars that firms will not insure
Pedestrians, stay back!

Welcome to this town!
House builders make a buck.
Shoe-box houses built so fast
Wonder if they're built to last
But once your cash to them has passed
You're on your own - good luck.

Welcome to this town!
In former days, a gem...
But now the place has gone to seed
The river's choked with filth and weed
It's like a bush in urgent need
Of pruning to the stem.

Welcome To Random Verse!

Hmm, Those Weren't The Original Lyrics...

From an early age, I discovered that I enjoyed creating short 'silly' rhymes. This came about because of the old radio we had in the kitchen of my parent's house. The radio was one of those old valve models (pre-electronic era). It was often difficult to hear the words of the songs being played on the radio, so I would simply make up my own words to the tune and sing the song in my own form. Hey presto! Poet at large.

Parents' Day Blushes

When I was in 'junior' school (I would have been eight or nine years old at the time), my class was asked by the teacher to write a poem about their parents. I wrote a simple, four-line rhyme, which I felt described one aspect of my parents accurately!! My verse, along with the verses of all my other classmates, was pinned to a noticeboard in the classroom, after we had gone home for the evening. That same evening, the school held a Parent's Night, where all the parents were invited to the school, including mine, and they could read the verses written by the class. Let's just say that my parents were less than happy with my rhyme! Goodness knows what the other parents must have thought. In my defence, I had no idea that these verses were going to be put on public display, and I was only eight or nine years old - innocence of youth and all that!!

A Dustbin Full Of Verse

During my school years, my only verses that saw the light of day, as opposed to those floating around my head, were limited to the occasional homework assignment. Once I turned 18 years old, I would, on occasion, write down these poetic ramblings. However, they had a very short life span, as a few weeks later I would invariably throw the verses away. And that's pretty much what has happened for the last twenty years. Inspiration, followed by commitment to paper, followed by destruction. However, there has been the odd exception to this general rule...

The Christmas Card Affair

Just before Christmas 1989, I was faced with distributing to my work colleagues a collection of rather ordinary looking Christmas cards, having left it late to buy decent cards, all the nice ones having sold out. I decided to boost the appeal of these tawdry cards somewhat by writing a unique verse in each one. Each verse was an 'attempt' at humour, eight lines long, with something loosely related to a Christmas theme inside; I did try to tailor the verse to recipient where possible. I sent out between 20-30 cards, having spent an entire day churning out these little ditties. I could not have wished for a better reaction! People actually found their verses funny. They started showing other colleagues the cards I had sent, comparing verses, and once people realised that each verse was unique, people were checking each other's Christmas cards to see if it had one of my verses inside. Ah, recognition at last... a legend in my own lunchtime.

Valentine's Day Massacre, 2006

Earlier this year, my brother rang me up and asked me to think of humorous verses to put into three Valentine's cards - the catch was I had 30 minutes to complete them. All I had to work on was the recipients' names and one thing each that they liked. Accepting the challenge, I prepared three limericks and e-mailed them to him. An hour later, I got a request to do two more of the same for a colleague of his at work. The following day, the recipients opened their cards, liked what they read, and demanded to know who wrote the rhymes. Once they heard that I had written all of these verses, I received several more challenges to write ad-hoc verse. One was to write a poem to be read out at a wedding that one of my brother's colleagues was attending. Another challenge was trying to write a verse about the most unromantic gift any of them had received on a Valentine's Day - namely, a side of ham!! I wasn't going to let a piece of ham defeat me, and responded with a saucy limerick within the hour.

And What Does The Future Hold?

Since the advent of the weblog or 'blog', many people have put their daily thoughts online, where the masses can inspect them as they wish. After a lot of nudging and encouragement by an online friend of mine, I have decided to try my own blog, and commit future bursts of random verse here - though be warned, they may end up being deleted too, we shall see how it goes...