Tag Archives: poem

The Tight-Fisted Bargain Hunter (poem)

24 Dec

The Tight-Fisted Bargain Hunter
(C) Ray Daley 22/12/93

Oh no, it’s that time of year,
When the public are gripped by a manic fear.
To all go out and spend their money,
And end up broke; It isnt funny!
They all go out and have to shop,
Then don’t give up until they drop.

It all seems an enormous chore,
To be in a Department Store.
You always get the squeaky trolley,
Which won’t go straight; So you look a wally.
The stupid things they spend their cash on,
Just like the stuff’s going out of fashion!

But there’s a few who buck the trend,
And see how little they can spend.
I will not say that they are tight,
But they won’t spend cash without a fight.
Since shelling out’s a point that’s sore,
Which they find such a major bore.

You watch the way that they behave,
When you tell them that they can’t save.
So will they pay with cash or credit?
If they’re not saving; best forget it!
And everywhere the price gets steeper,
They’ll get elsewhere; Find it cheaper.

But there is one who’s no big spender,
She’s a woman known as Brenda,.
We don’t think that she is mean,
At spending little; She is queen.
Avoid the crowds, avoid the spending,
It’s ZERO presents she’ll be sending!

If you don’t think this story’s true,
Just wonder what she’s getting you?
And think about this little tale,
When you find she bought it in the sale.

THE END

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Patrolling In An Afghan Wonderland (A military parody xmas song!)

24 Dec

Merry Xmas to one and all!

Patrolling In An Afghan Wonderland (Full version)
By Ray Daley. (Royal Air Force, retired)
24/12/17

Sands too bright, it’s just glistening
Past the wire, Dickers listening,
The desert is shite, Looks crappy tonight
Patrolling in an Afghan wonderland

Gone away, the gozome bird
Here to stay, the radar dome bird
But it feels so wrong, As we go along
Patrolling in an Afghan wonderland

In the compound we can’t build a snowman
Pretend we’re not eating Biscuits, Brown
Ask us if we’re worried, We’ll say no man!
Just tell us that the war is drawing down?

Later on, We’ll conspire
Get the brass to call a ceasefire
They’ll stand us all down, Then pass the beers round
Patrolling in an Afghan wonderland

Sleigh bells ring, Are you listening?
With AK’s; ISIS bristling
Can we please go home? Leave this place alone,
Patrolling in an Afghan wonderland

THE END

How To Write A Book (poem)

20 Sep

How To Write A Book (poem) by Ray Daley
20/9/17

Spew some letters on a page, Spend some time to rearrange,
Worry lots, fret like heck, Learn how to use spellcheck.
Make it dark; make it lighter, maybe make it as a writer?

THE END.

Heathen, a poem

15 Sep

Heathen, a poem (by Ray Daley)
14/9/17

I am heathen, hear me roar,
Please don’t knock upon my door?
I’m not strange, nor am I odd,
Don’t want to talk about your God.
I won’t hear anything you say,
Too busy wishing you’d go away.
I’m not bad, my heart is pure,
A heathen lives behind this door.

THE END.

The Little Boat (Poem)

24 Aug
The Little Boat, by Ray Daley
25/8/14

Sitting in my little boat, I will need my overcoat,
If I sink or if I float, I will sail my little boat.
The little boat; it is my life, the stormy sea; the waves of strife,
They can sink me if they must, In myself I know I trust.

Giant Fox (an poem)

11 Aug
Giant Fox (an poem) by Ray Daley
 
I am a giant fox, I live inside a giant box,
I own 500 pairs of socks, and none of them fit me.
I like to walk down at the park, I sit in my room when it’s dark,
I don’t know anyone called Mark, but I would like to.
That is me, a fox called Ron, Perhaps you know my brother Jon,
We’ve both got friends called Don but quietly hate them.
I am a giant fox, I’ve never had chickenpox,
I like to paint boats at docks, then set fire to them.
 
THE END

The Haze By Ray Daley [poem]

10 Jun

The Haze By Ray Daley 10/6/17.

It’s easy to get bewildered or flustered,
Your mind goes like custard, but don’t taste as good.
You don’t recall every last detail like you once could.

It’s easy to fall in a spiked pit of doubt, You just can’t get out,
But you feel like you ought, Your tries come to nought.
Trying picking your battles, just win ones you’ve fought.

That’s why, I say with a sigh, It’s easy to get bewildered or flustered,
Your thoughts thick like mustard, but don’t taste as good.
You wish you were younger, that’s understood.

Trying thinking, not drinking, your mind’s simply sinking,
Your memories are blinking away, like fifty a day.
They’re gone and forgotten, your brain has gone rotten,
The truth it be told, You’re just getting old.

THE END