Number 95, Dear Publisher

Dear Publisher.

I make no bones, I’d like to be,
Just like Julia Donaldson, me;
So what I really need to find,
Is an Axel Scheffler kind.

Would you kindly take a look,
And see if you can see a book
Among my many tales that rhyme,
And maybe bring me luck this time?

I keep on writing even though

It isn’t easy, that I know;

But it’s what I want to do…

Every day write something new.

So far I’ve written ninety five,
As every morning I contrive
To tease a story from the air,
(Or from that lump below my hair).

Some are better, some are worse,
But as examples of light verse,
Hopefully now and again,
Someone they might entertain.

Some are childish, some are daft,
Some work in progress, just a draft,
But any of them really could
Be published, if you kindly would

© Stephen Saunders

Number 94, Dear Sara

I wrote today to BBC Radio Sussex, suggesting broadcasting a daily rhyme from my challenge.  I was pleased to get the following reply, (if a little disappointed too):

Hi Stephen - I'm afraid we don’t have a suitable slot for the kind of feature
that you describe.  However we would potentially be able to interview you about
your challenge.  Is that something you would be interested in
Best wishes
Sara


Dear Sara,

Thank you for your kind reply,
Although of course I wonder why
You couldn’t find a tiny spot
To feature something, (not a lot...
Just a little rhyme each day,
Just for fun), but if I may
Pop down to Brighton when you’re free
I’d love it if you’d interview me.
Let me know what day is best
I’ll drive down, you do the rest.
Kind regards, best wishes even
See you soon, with love from Stephen.

Number 93, The Pussy Cat!

The Pussy Cat!

There’s a lion on the loose near Clacton, by the sea,

Or maybe just a pussy cat, we’ll have to wait and see;

It’s hard to tell these days you know, a lion from a cat,

They seem so similar despite, their size and things like that!

The simple answer is to train a dog, to track the smell

Of lions from the zoo and then, before long we could tell

If anything remotely like a big cat has been out,

As any dog that’s worth its name will find it with his snout.

But just in case you’re getting bored, as I am with this case,

Last year I chanced to be involved in quite a similar chase:

A breathless man burst in the pub to say a snake he’d seen

And we discussed it with a beer and several in between.

He said he’d seen it cross the road, five foot long it was

He hadn’t tried to catch it yet, he said, well, just because.

And then someone reported that it still was out there now,

Would somebody please come along and rescue it somehow?

No one dared to get too close, and yet it seemed to me,

To be a python since it didn’t move too rapidly.

I picked it up; it seemed relaxed, and let me carry it,

Back to the pub to show the lads, it didn’t mind a bit.

You should have been there in the pub, to see once I was there,

The look of terror on the faces as they got their scare!

None of the men, though big and strong would even think to touch

It, even though ‘t’was plain to see it hadn’t harmed me much.

In fact it was a corn snake that had slipped out from its cage,

And being five feet long is just what happens at its age.

I guess that being orange helped to make it look quite fierce,

But this was not a snake whose fangs your skin would even pierce;

Not a deadly serpent this, recoiling for a strike,

This was just the kind of snake that anyone could like;

No venom, just a gentle squeeze, a friendly one at that,

In terms of snakes it really was a simple pussy cat!

©Stephen Saunders.

Please read number 54 again now, it is an invitation to illustrate these rhymes.

bowleyfarm@gmail.com or 01428 741212

Agent / publisher / illustrators wanted.
Collaborating cartoonist wanted for syndication potential. 

Number 92, Lost in translation

Lost in translation.
A tribute to Neil Armstrong, August 5, 1930 – August 25, 2012
First man on the Moon.

We mourn the passing of a man,

The leader of a tiny clan,

Who held the world spellbound one day,

As famous words we heard him say:

Never mind he slightly faltered,

And lost the meaning as he altered,

Almost imperceptibly,

By drawling, in a way that we

Couldn’t hear if he said ‘a’

Or simply got it wrong that day,

Because he was American,

It's only one small step frrr-man,
But one giant leap frrr-all mankind,
To paraphrase if you don't mind.

All the time the ‘a’ was in there,

Somewhat blurred but what do we care?

We know what the fellow meant,

Even if the sound got bent.

It had to come a long, long way,

And maybe somewhere lost the ‘a’,

Like a letter in the post,

They all arrived, well all almost.

And though just one small step it was,

A giant leap he made because,

Upon the moon no-one before,

Had ever stood, and here we saw,

It happen as we watched TV,

And knew how it was history,

Being made by this nice man,

Who showed a bit of what we can,

Achieve as humans with enough,

Of what we know as The Right Stuff!

© Stephen Saunders

Please read number 54 again now, it is an invitation to illustrate these rhymes.

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Agent / publisher / illustrators wanted.

Number 91, Twicetanic

Twicetanic

A hundred years ago it sailed,
On a maiden voyage that failed.
Down into the icy sea,
Thank the Lord it didn’t take me.
People paid a hefty price,
And many of them paid it twice;
But there is no need to panic,
You can still sail on Titanic!
If you like others take the view,
That this is what you’d like to do;
You can keep your dream afloat,
Though you thought you’d missed the boat.
You can have another chance,
In that ballroom yet to dance,
You can rearrange the chairs,
On the deck and take the airs,
Strut your stuff upon the deck,
And not perish in a wreck.
Although there will be some who say
You’re dancing on their graves that way.
The ship is set to sail once more,
Exactly as it was before:
Titanic Two is going to be,
Perfect as it goes to sea,
Every detail replicated,
As if no single thing has dated;
Identical in every way,
Just safer, or that’s what they say!
Built in China, not Belfast;
Does this mean it’s built to last?
But what about the risk of ice...
Could the same thing happen twice?
Modern navigation stuff,
Surely ought to be enough,
Unless for authenticity,
It hits an iceberg wittingly!

© Stephen Saunders

Please read number 54 again now.

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Number 90, Harry!

Harry!

Harry Harry never tarry,
In your hotel suite;
Not when a tart,
Has stole your heart,
The newspapers to tweet!

Keep your clothes on, zip it up,
Keep your powder dry;
Nowts exempted,
When you’re tempted,
By a tabloid spy!

But, ey up, give us plebs a thrill;
Let us know you’re fit,
Have a laugh
On our behalf,
We know you’re up for it!

Do it while you can, but hey..
Don’t let your granny know;
Because one day
As old as they,
Eventually you’ll grow!


© Stephen Saunders

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Number 89, Nuts!

Nuts!

Dear Sir I feel I must complain,
About the service on your plane;
I flew last week to Timbuktu,
And spent an hour stuck in the loo!

Eventually when I was freed,
I found that somehow I had peed
A little bit on my left shoe,
And asked a steward what to do...

He thought it was a proper joke,
And splutt'ring feared that he would choke!
He told me not to be so daft;
In front of everyone he laughed!

I slunk back to my scheduled seat,
And asked for something small to eat;
The steward brought a bag of nuts,
And said they’d settle down my guts.

But now I had to open them,
And here your packets I condemn;
They are so tough to get into,
I thought I’d send them on to you.

Please find enclosed a peanut bag,
Which trying to open’s such a drag.
You took my scissors at the gate,
And this is why I you berate.

Your charmless steward offered no
Assistance as he had to go,
And make a coffee or a tea,
For one deserving more than me.

I can’t believe these peanuts need,
To thwart me when I’m try to feed,
By hiding in so tough a sack,
That fingers through it cannot hack.

Otherwise I have to say,
That flying with you on that day,
Was satisfactory, just about,
But better after I’d got out!

I got to Timbuktu alive,
Even if you did connive
To minimise the service you
Provided, which is why I sue.

Please send to me in the next post,
What I consider as the most
Essential compensation I
Require before next time I fly.

I want a promise that you will
Ensure your cabin staff fulfill;
I want my nuts to be presented,
In a way much less resented!

© Stephen Saunders

Please read number 54 again now.

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Agent / publisher / illustrators wanted.

Number 88, A Shotgun Marriage.

A Shot Gun Marriage.

On the first day of marriage my true love gave to me,
A cartridge and a Purdey.
On the second day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the third day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the fourth day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the fifth day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Five old things, four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the sixth day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Six lethal slayings, five old things, four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the seventh day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Seven cons he’s spinning, six lethal slayings, five old things, four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the eighth day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Eight spades a digging, seven cons he’s spinning, six lethal slayings, five old things, four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the ninth day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Nine crazies laughing, eight spades a digging, seven cons he’s spinning, six lethal slayings, five old things, four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the tenth day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Ten floorboards creaking, nine crazies laughing, eight spades a digging, seven cons he’s spinning, six lethal slayings, five old things, four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the eleventh day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Eleven snipers sniping, ten floorboards creaking, nine crazies laughing, eight spades a digging, seven con’s he’s spinning, six lethal slayings, five old things, four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey.
On the twelfth day of marriage my true love gave to me,
Twelve summons coming, eleven snipers sniping, ten floorboards creaking, nine crazies laughing, eight spades a digging, seven cons he’s spinning, six lethal slayings, five old things, four appalling words, three drenched friends, two purple gloves, and a cartridge and a Purdey!

© Stephen Saunders

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Number 87, Baby

Baby.

One, two, yucky poo,
Three, four, pee on the floor...
Five, six, now I'm sick!
Seven, eight, smells they hate...
Nine, ten, I’m in the pen,
Trying to get out again!

Ten, nine, that’s not mine!
Eight, seven, blame Kevin...
Six, five, headlong dive,
Four, three, clever me,
Two, one, job done!



© Stephen Saunders

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Number 86, The Tebahpla!

The Tebahpla!

Zed why ex, double you vee?
You tea ess are queue pee...
Oh, en em, elle kay jay!
Eye aytch gee, eff ee dee,
See bee aye!

© Stephen Saunders

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Number 85, The Miracle Cure

The Miracle Cure!

I feel so sad that I could cry,
And so darned tired that I could die...
I feel as wilted as a flower,
And can’t go on, I’ve no more power.
Call me dejected, down at heart,
Broken, wretched, pulled apart,
Footsore, weary, awfully cold;
My aching joints are feeling old.

But here’s my wife to cheer me up!
In her hands a steaming cup;
Is it coffee, is it tea?
No, chicken soup she has brought me!
That’s all it takes to make me feel,
A lot less glum, less down at heel.
In fact it gets me quite excited,
With chicken soup I am delighted;
There’s nothing better as a cure,
When you are 'lying' at death’s door!

© Stephen Saunders

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Number 84, I Got The Blues

I Got The Blues.

I woke this morning with the blues,
On hearing something on the news,
It came on breakfast radio;
Something I didn’t want to know...

It said, as I woke up in bed
That from today things would be red!
This came to me as some surprise,
And not something I thought was wise.

You see I am a gentle fellow,
And though I don’t want all things yellow;
For me I would have much preferred,
If red had not been what I’d heard...

Red is like a shade of grey,
Like Communism in a way;
Nothing much to celebrate,
More likely me to irritate.

I am a taurus born in May,
And love the smell of new mown hay;
I love the sound of cattle lowing,
But red can get my temper going!

In any case it’s not quite right;
Painting the town red late at night,
Is one thing, but then in the morning,
It comes to shepherds as a warning!

Red for danger, red for stop,
Red’s the colour which we drop
When we bleed, onto the floor;
We don’t require red anymore!

We tried for years with all things white,
And things were going on alright,
But though some people thought it grand,
Ultimately white was banned.

Black has yet to be applied,
Though in some places has been tried;
And while it gives strong definition,
Might be quite an imposition...

Of course we all remember well,
The Golden age our mothers tell
To all and sundry, as the best
Age, out-performing all the rest!

Not long ago we got confused,
And every colour mixed we used;
Psychedelic day-glo swirls,
On everybody, boys and girls!

Then there was the period pink;
A gay abandon time I think,
And in between we tried out brown,
But this got everybody down.

What nowadays should more be seen,
Is nature’s favourite colour green;
I think we all might sympathise,
If we photosynthesize!

© Stephen Saunders

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Number 83, The simple answer to everything.

The simple answer to everything.

For those for whom there is no God,
Who’ll leave this life quite on their Tod,
Never knowing what or why,
Made them live and made them die;
They missed a very simple thing,
That into many lives can bring,
A comfort and a way to be,
That isn’t all that hard to see.

Despite the bible being thick,
And full of words, it’s not a trick;
It has been said so many times,
I’ll even say it in my rhymes;
Have you really never heard,
That God is just a simple word?
All around, below, above;
God is nothing more than Love.
And if you understand that well,
The message Jesus Christ did tell,
Was love, and love and then some more;
Help your neighbour, don’t make war.

Help in every tiny way,
Think of helping every day,
Put all others, everyone;
Equals all under the sun.
No-one to better, nor to beat,
No-one to conquer, nor to cheat,
Only love and help, be kind,
And one day we all will find;
That everyone is simply good,
And love’s what runs your neighbourhood!

Think about it long and hard,
About the things you know have marred
Your life perhaps, or spoiled the world,
As the days and years unfurled...
What common thing is there within;
Could it be something known as sin?

Sin encompasses a lot,
But there is one thing that it’s not;
That thing if everywhere applied,
Is love, and it can be relied
Upon to cure all of our ills,
But only when our hearts it fills.

Until the day when everyone,
Defaults to love, decides to shun
All selfish thoughts, all evil deeds;
Every human heart still bleeds.


© Stephen Saunders

Please read number 54 again now.

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Number 82, Sunshine!

Sunshine!

It’s not as dark as yesterday,
It’s brighter now in every way;
The gloom of long weeks past has lifted,
The grime and dust and dirt has shifted.
Sunshine pours into my room,
The cactus now might start to bloom,
Everything is looking brighter,
And my mood is so much lighter.
I can see the garden now,
And through the hedge I spy a cow,
Looking back at me, or so
It seems, as she walks to and fro.
The grass and leaves are stunning green,
More so than was the way I’ve seen
The garden now, for months or years.
The cornfield shines with golden ears,
And insects glisten as they fly
In lazy summer sunshine by.
Why is this now? I hear you say:
The window cleaner came today!

© Stephen Saunders


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Number 81, Cup of tea?

Cup of tea?

London, Paris, New York, Rome,
Are places many folk call home,
Places everyone has heard of;
That I’d agree with every word of.

San Francisco, Sydney, Perth;
Greatest harbours where to berth
Your boat, and settle for a while,
Unless you are a Francophile...

In which case head for St Tropez,
Or Monaco I hear you say.
But there things start to fall apart;
Too many tourists for a start.

Once these were the place to be,
On the Mediterranean Sea,
But like so many other spots,
People number lots and lots.

Roaming round the world is fine,
But one day there comes a time,
When somewhere off the beaten track,
Is where you want to build your shack.

Come and find me if you like,
Though Bowley Farm is quite a hike;
Start by finding Titty Hill,
Then persevere if you will.

Knock on the door, and say to me
That through this rhyme you came to see,
If the kettle’s on for tea,
And sit and have a cup with me.

We have a kind of policy,
To open up our home to see
What kind of peeps knock on the door;
We’ve had some odd ones that’s for sure!

But take care if you find I’m out,
You may well meet my dear old trout,
And she might set the dog on you;
So just be careful what you do!

She’s not keen on rambler types,
Nor folk musicians, nor bagpipes!
Morris dancers are the worst,
She’ll want to know all this at first.

If you come in beige or grey,
Or speak to her in such a way
That makes her think you’re weird, or like
Plane spotting you’ll be on your bike!

But tell her that you like to read,
That books are all you ever need,
And manners are the mark of you,
And cooking food a passion too.

Then she might well say OK,
And with any luck she may
Pour a glass of wine or two,
And find out what it is you do.

Sometimes if you are a winner,
You might have to stay for dinner;
Strangers after all are merely,
Friends not quite but almost nearly!


© Stephen Saunders

Please read number 54 again now.

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Number 80. Olympic Mowing.

Olympic mowing.

I mowed the lawn all day today;
Walked ten miles along the way,
So since I’m champion it ought,
To be an Olympic sport!

Now I come to think of it,
I am really very fit;
See my muscles and you’ll tell,
(I mow the neighbour’s lawn as well).

Both our gardens are quite big,
I don’t just mow but also dig.
I trim the hedges twice a year,
And now and then the ditches clear.

No wonder then that I am trim,
Strong of heart and lean of limb;
An athlete capable of gold...
The only trouble is I’m old!

© Stephen Saunders

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Number 79, Olympic Fun And Games

Olympic Fun And Games.

Switzerland beat Austria, they beat them on the beaches;

Not their own seasides of course, as neither of them reaches

Quite far enough to meet the sea, or see it from the hills,

But over here their boys and girls played volleyball for thrills.

Fiercely fought and battle scarred these two great nations bowed,

One in triumph, one defeat, they both gave to the crowd

An entertaining hour or two of jumping up and down,

And showing off their fine physiques and suntanned shades of brown.

We joke of course and put them down, and treat them as a laugh,

But two years hence where will we be when at the winter half?

These titans of the skiing world will no doubt scoop the medals;

While every journalist and cynic writing here back-pedals.

I do believe there is a ski slope somewhere in Dubai;

I’d love to see an Arab skier down the slalom fly,

And beat the Swiss and Austrians, to take away the gold,

And pinch the records that the biggest mountain countries hold.

But where I think we missed something, in this year’s Olympics

Is in the choice of sports that we, as hosts, we could have picked;

It would have built on what we do, on where we come out best,

Uni-cycle racing, British style and fancy dressed!

 © Stephen Saunders

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Number 78, Damned if they do, damned if they don't!

Damned if they do, damned if they don’t!  

I feel quite sorry for the pairs,
Of Badminton Olympic players,
Who were evicted from the game,
And publicly were put to shame.

Tactically they had to lose;
They were forced to so abuse,
In a way that we thought bent,
The spirit of the tournament.

No fault of theirs; they all knew well,
What winning disadvantage spelled;
It was built in some months before,
And compromised them in the draw.

All they did was realise,
The strategy to maximise
Their chance to win a medal was
To lose, and this is all because...

The game had been arranged that way,
And we’d already heard some say,
That this was bound to happen, and
Teams would certainly be banned.

To me this seems to be unfair,
Dammed if they won or lost they were,
So given rules they had to break;
Give them credit, for heaven’s sake.

Every other discipline
Knows the constraints they are in;
Knows the subtle ways to score,
Advantage or a little more.

Tactics always play a part,
And coaches have to know their art;
To get an inch and take a mile,
And do their business all the while.

And if we have to sit and see
A strange exhibit let it be.
It all adds up to just the same;
A route to triumph in the game.

And so I think these players were,
Within their rights so to defer
To regulations which they knew
They all were subjugated to.

No-one should ever have to be
Made to play impossibly,
Which is what these players had
To do, and I say this was bad.

The shame and disgrace should be laid,
At those who organised, and made
The way the matches would turn out;
Which is what this is all about. 

© Stephen Saunders

On the disqualification of Badminton players for deliberately losing games in the Olympics, London 2012, in order to ensure the best opponents for a chance at a medal in the next round.  The fault was in the organisation of the games, forcing the teams to take on these strange tactics to maximise their chances in the overall competition. 

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