Number 26, Delusions, two versions.

Meanwhile, this is number 26.  I am about 6 behind presently as I have had a lot to deal with lately and not had time to sit quietly and compose rhymes.  (Job changes, interviews etc, all a bit stressful). First I extended Delusions, then my wife, who has become my editor drastically shortened it, much to my chagrin.  Editors do that, and probably more especially if they are also married to the writer.  You be the judge, as her new improved shorter version follows it. 

Number 26, Delusions extended version. 

Delusions.

I met a woman in a pub
Who interfered with my grub;
She didn’t stick her feet in it,
But simply spoiled my eating it.

Sometimes I want to be alone,
To gnaw upon my lunchtime bone;
Now and then a chat is great,
But better if it’s with a mate.

Not when the chat is with a bore,
Who keeps on talking, more and more
About the people who she claims
She knows and tells me all their names.

What do I think about poor Andy
She asks me since she’s found me handy
Rebekkah, Rupert, James as well
So many friends are going through hell.

Lord This, Sir That and Lady Thing
Jeremy Hunt gave her a ring
She told him that he should beware
I told her that I didn’t care.

There are no tears in my eyes
I’m sorry I don’t sympathise
With all these elevated fools
When, oh dear, they break the rules.

Title does not me impress
Fancy gongs or fancy dress
Honest work, and modest pride
Are best, just knowing that you tried.

Two things only separate
The rich and poor, I can relate
The rich are richer, that’s quite clear
The other one is something queer.

It is delusion nothing less
The fact they think that they are best
VIPs with power exclusive
Superiority is delusive.

How can simply having more
(Something I tried to ask the bore)
Make yours a more important life
Than someone with financial strife?

We are all people, good and bad
Some have, some haven’t, others had
But ‘better’s down to good behaviour
Having money’s no-one’s saviour.

The poor truck driver comes to call,
And rings the bell at So and So Hall.
You’d think they do not want the stuff
They ordered, when they treat you rough.

Tradesmen’s entrance round the back,
Call me Sir or get the sack,
Be grateful for the little I pay you,
What’s your name, do I even know you?

Mind the flower bed don’t park there,
Hurry up you’re in my hair,
I’ve got better things to do,
Than have to deal with the likes of you!

Out of my way, I’m coming through;
I’m more important, more than you,
Put it there, see the cook,
I’ve got a flight to France to book.

While the Murdochs spend their squillions,
They overlook the fact that millions
Live their honest lives, and bring
The rich ones nearly everything.

It doesn’t matter who you are,
No rich person would get far
Without the ordinary man,
Who makes life happen with his van

For if right now you looked around,
I don’t suppose that you’ll have found
A single solitary thing,
That a lorry didn’t bring.

So just remember when you start
To boss us, we all do our part;
We serve each other, do our best,
And trust that you will do the rest

When you get above the law,
It sticks in the honest person’s craw;
So Andy, Rupert, James and all,
You thoroughly deserve to fall.

I don’t want to hear today,
Some sycophantic pub bore say
How awful it has been for you;
You’ve done some things you shouldn’t do.

Your money and perceived positions,
Made you make some bad decisions,
When all the time you’re just a peep,
Crawling out of the same heap!

Title, Schmitle, even a crown
Are nothing when you strip us down
Human beings in the buff
Are all the same, and that’s enough.

© Stephen Saunders

To book Steph'nonsense for a rhyming evening:
bowleyfarm@gmail.com or 01428 741212

Agent / publisher wanted.

Delusions.

Edited version.  This is my wife's preferred version as she edited it.  It is clearly shorter, and less boring!

I met a woman in a pub
Who interfered with my grub
She didn’t stick her feet in it
But simply spoiled my eating it.

Sometimes I want to be alone
To gnaw upon my lunchtime bone
Now and then a chat is great
But better if it’s with a mate.

Not when the chat is with a bore
Who keeps on talking, more and more
About the people who she claims
She knows, and tells me all their names.

Lord This, Sir That and Lady Thing
Jeremy Hunt gave her a ring
She told him that he should beware
I told her that I didn’t care.

There are no tears in my eyes
I simply do not sympathise
With all these elevated fools
When, all they do is break the rules.

A title does not me impress
Fancy gongs or a fancy dress
Honest work, and modest pride
Are best, just knowing that you tried.

And how can simply having more
(Something I tried to ask the bore)
Make yours a more important life
Than someone with financial strife?

Tradesmen’s entrance round the back
Call me Sir or get the sack
Out of my way, I’m coming through
I’m more important, more than you

When you get above the law
It sticks in the honest person’s craw
So Andy, Rupert, James and all
You thoroughly deserve to fall.

Title, Schmitle, or a crown
Are nothing when you strip us down
We human beings in the buff
Are all the same, and that’s enough.

© Stephen Saunders

I suspect that I am turning into the archetypal grumpy old man, but we all love to do it a bit, even those of us with cock-eyed optimism and a generally cheerful disposition!

To book Steph'nonsense for a rhyming evening:
bowleyfarm@gmail.com or 01428 741212

Agent / publisher wanted.