Number 126. Rufus Down!

Rufus Down!

There’s quite a hole in Rufus’ chest,

And Rufus doesn’t feel his best;

He was out the other day,

Playing in his usual way,

Across the lane he likes to go,

And play with his friend Romeo.

But now and then a man walks by,

With two bad dogs, that keep an eye

For any creature in the way;

And that was Rufus on that day.

He came to have a chat and sniff,

But got instead a mighty biff!

It turned into an awful war,

And in the middle he got tore.

So now he’s going to the vet,

And I’m not finished with this yet;

It’s not the first time, but the last,

I’m stopping all this business fast.

Several other dogs have lost

Fights with these two, at quite some cost,

And now the owner will be told,

If he wants them to grow old,

He’ll have to muzzle both the pair.

I think that this is only fair,

Otherwise he may be bound,

To have the vicious things put down.  

It is a mystery to me,

Why anyone would want to be,

Always trying to break apart,

Their dogs from fights they always start;

No matter when or where they are,

Before they have gone very far,

On every walk they ever take,

It’s terrible for heaven’s sake!

Get a soft and friendly breed,

One that doesn’t ever need

Restraining every time it meets,

Another dog it wants to greet.

Not only will it make your walk,

A pleasant chance to stop and talk,

To other owners on the way,

But make, (instead of spoil), their day!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 125, Rufus Smells!

Rufus Smells!

Yesterday we watched TV;

Johnnie’s mummy, him and me.

Half way through the film we saw,

Rufus scratching at the door;

‘Let me out, I want a pee!’

Is what we heard him bark, we three.

So Johnnie went and let him out,

And left him there to run about,

But not long after he returned,

To find his company was spurned;

His fur was filthy, wet as well,

And brought with it a dreadful smell!

He looked as pleased as punch, as if

He thought we’d all enjoy a sniff,

Of what he’d rolled his body in,

And plastered underneath his chin!

We all leapt up and chased him out,

Poor Rufus deafened by our shout;

To him it’s perfume quite sublime,

It’s really fox poo every time!

Tomorrow I will have to write,

About the bath he got last night.

About the shampoo that got used,

How Rufus wasn’t that amused!

How he shook himself as soon,

As he’d escaped to our bedroom!

How Johnnie’s mummy nearly wept,

As Rufus ruined where we slept.

Our bed was splattered by his shake,

Requiring a complete remake:

New duvet cover, bottom sheet,

Heck, pillows too, the bed complete!

And then we had to mop the floor,

And kept on finding more and more.

The mirror needed quite a wipe,

And Johnnie’s mum’s a tidy type.

We toweled him off and got him dry,

So now we needn’t keep an eye

On where he flicks his shaggy tail.

Exhausted now and feeling pale,

We flopped down on the sofa to

Relax a bit, well wouldn’t you?

Though cross we were, we had to smile;

Rufus was grinning all the while!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 124. Coffin and Splutterin

Coffin and Splutterin.

Every time I wasn’t well,

My dad an old adage would tell;

'Don’t worry if you have a cough;

It’s not the cough that carries you off,

Fear instead the wooden coffin

The coffin they finally carry you off in!'

Never mind that I was eight;

I dreaded being called ‘The late!’

And so today as I lie ill,

I think of my old daddy still,

Not because he was a joker

Rather my old chest’s a choker!

Still, I’ve got to fifty five;

Coughing yes, but still alive,

I’ve taken several nasty knocks,

Though none quite put me in my box,

Unless you count the time I put,

Into a grave my lost left foot.

I packed it off ahead of me,

Don’t believe me? Go and see,

You’ll find it clearly marked with stone,

In a pasture all alone,

Just below the Downs at Harting,

Where a little path is starting.

Buried there in ninety three,

It’s quite a major part of me,

But when I'm really gone and dead,

How far away will be my head?

(Since I don’t think I ever will,

Be laid to rest by that same hill).

So on my headstone there could be,

A map to find the rest of me;

In case your mourning’s incomplete

Without addressing both my feet!

© Stephen Saunders

Number 123, Superman.

Superman.

All I really wanted ever,
Was to do my bit,
To save the world and show how clever
-ly I had done it!

Watch this space, I think I can
Claim to have a scheme;
I think I have a simple plan,
Along this kind of theme...

The world is struggling in debt,
A tale of boom and bust;
Without me things are going to get,
Much worse; so I must

Pull my cape and black mask on,
Fly to the planet’s aid;
Bring something I’ve been and gone
And brilliantly made!

Don’t ask yet, I’ve just invented,
Something that will do
More or less the way I meant it,
To save the world for you!

It is a secret just for now,
But just you wait and see;
Within a while you’ll all know how,
The world was saved by me!


© Stephen Saunders

Number 122, Scrabble!

Scrabble!

We could always play Scrabble, my wife often says;
I’m tired, I’d say no, but tonight I said yes.
Wind, winsome and ham are not a great start,
And stuck with a Q I could quickly lose heart;
Where are the Us, as I’m playing one short?
I’m winning she says, as she puts down report.
But still I am trailing a few points behind,
Plane becomes planet, with not below wind
And what do I pick up, an L and a T,
Which leaves seven consonants looking at me!
The H on a double twice boosts my score,
But left with no vowels, I badly need more,
And still I have not yet picked up a U,
And consequently have a redundant Q.
The question now is can you be winsomer?
And no she can’t get a triple with summer!
Meanwhile I’m looking at placing a V,
But halk’s not a word if it hasn’t an E.
So vole becomes lone and halk becomes hank
And this leaves a chance to turn it to thank.
Thank turns out fine in a block with a ho,
And twenty four points is quite a good go.
Two vowels on the pick up, but still not a U,
I think going to bed is the best thing to do!
She’s stalling and stuck anyway, I can tell,
And now I might have a new plan as well;
I could pick up her blank by donating my T,
To use as a U with the Q to make quay.
Not that there’s anywhere really worthwhile,
Not even a double to put my Q tile.
Perhaps I’ll wait till she’s had one more go,
And see if a spot is revealed, but oh, no!
She’s taken a triple with trug, there’s the U;
The one that I wanted, but now what to do?
Time’s getting late, she slips off to her shower,
The game could continue for many an hour.
It’s often quite good to rest for the night,
And at breakfast suddenly things can come right.
Sometimes I’ve stared at my tiles for a day,
Then a seven letter word simply comes my way!
But when there’s a score that’s so far ahead
She might throw in the tiles and stomp off to bed!

© Stephen Saunders