Cool Bananas



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For more funny business, see my light-hearted section, second poetry garden.

"The trouble with birthdays is that they blab one's age."

The poet, author

"Smile away a frown."
The poet, author


Yes, more mirth, and I the guilty one again, and the first seven poems being all about monkeys or bananas, as you'd possibly expect.

"Why do they call it rush hour when nothing moves?”
Robin Williams


1.  Cool Bananas

Well, that’s what they say. “Cool bananas.” And where it came from I really don’t know,
Nor why, but “Cool bananas” sounds cool to me, rather funny and cute, and so,
“Cool bananas” it is, and more so if they’re in a smoothie made for me,
’Cause smoothies really like my tum, and why I shout “Cool bananas!” gratefully.

And may it be that your life’s full of “Cool bananas” too — yes, things that delight,
Things that brighten an otherwise boring day, or has some problem come right.
And you soon shouting “Cool bananas!” too, even downing a smoothie like me,
’Cause nothing works like fruity concoctions, and sometimes too well, quite honestly.

By Lance Landall

2.  Detective In Search Of

Name’s Jack Smith. I’ve been investigating a case of mistaken identity.
An amazing creation that someone associated with a monkey,
But that wasn’t the case, not at all, because it was clearly a human, you know,
No furriness, no tail, just a bit of aping around, a chump, not a chimp, so,

I reported back, the others on the case not surprised, ’cause what do you know,
Yes, they were humans as well, each one having a little pinkie and big toe.
No banana peels lying around, no under arm scratching, nothing at all,
Much like that creature I checked out, who, not surprisingly, thought I had a gall.

“What! Me a monkey?” he cried, and I had to admit he didn’t look like one,
And nothing in a state of metamorphose either, and I thought, “Job well done.”
It just someone’s mind working overtime, as if they’d come up with a theory,
But that human was too clever for words, and seemingly getting less hairy.

He rubbed his balding head and said to go. “The very thought!” he shouted at me,
And I kind of blushed, ’cause he certainly hadn’t been swinging from tree to tree.
“Not even related!” he cried, so Charles had obviously got things wrong, and
“Not surprisingly,” I thought, given his missing links, that human far too grand.

Yes, if looks could kill, he no gorilla though, so I coolly made my way out,
The odd check over my shoulder verifying things midst another loud shout.
But I let it go, because it wasn’t an evolving case, more a dead end,
There nothing to go on, and going by the files, it naught but a foolish trend.

Yes, it’s the same old story, case after case of mistaken identity,
I only finding beings uniquely special, and far from a monkey.
It all wasting my time, I not having millions of years, and there’s no cold case,
It open and shut, there nothing out there like us, not a dickybird, not a trace.

And I not interested in ape-like fossils, have come across such before,
Tampering with the evidence a crime, you know, plain monkey business, what’s more.
And too many making something out of nothing, just baboons of themselves, and
This detective left shaking his head, ’cause like I said, humans are far too grand.

By Lance Landall

Person's name fictitious.

3.  It's Driving Me Bananas

I’ve been wondering as to why a banana is bent — curved, actually,
As if designed to be held while pointing towards one’s mouth, conveniently.
And maybe that’s it, for all I know, but why have bananas been singled out,
People drawing them from their pocket holster — and hence why, “Don’t shoot!” others shout.

Yes, it’s not just chimps fooling around with them, but humans too, I have to say,
Who, when given a banana, are soon overcome by that same urge to play.
It next becoming a trumpet, cell phone or moustache, even cosh, sad to say,
Oh, why can’t bananas be like cucumbers, instead of having gone astray.

By Lance Landall

4.  Better Use Your 'Nana

How do we eat a banana? Do we partly peel back its slippery skin,
Or fully undress the thing, and in case one slips, toss its jacket in the bin?
Do we hold it and nibble, take big bites, or cut it into pieces — half, say,
Or leave it as it is, though not alone perhaps — drizzled chocolate okay?

Ice-cream too? Now you’re talking, though rather naughtily perhaps, ’cause fruit is fruit,
Those bananas cultured gentry, and where there’s tooth decay, sweet treats at the root.
And so, should temptation knock, better leave that skin on, or quickly gulp it down,
And lest I’m found aiding and abetting, the cause of a raised eyebrow or frown.

By Lance Landall

5.  Rumble In The Jungle

Say, there’s been a rumble in the jungle, cheeky chimp took a tumble due to some bungle,
He no doubt having lost the troupe’s bananas, having got entangled in his pyjamas,
'Cause rather than heading straight off to bed, he has a habit of fooling around instead,
And hence that biff about the lugs he got, which to be honest, I doubt such antics will stop.

Well, I mean to say, when do chimps behave, their hair never combed, and I’ve never seen them shave,
Nor brush their teeth and wipe their elastic lips, hence that spilt food that no doubt results in slips,
And they thus caught up in branches of trees, despite their amazing jungle gym expertise,
'Cause branches aren’t good mates with pyjamas, and hence all those fallen and squishy bananas.

And hence that rumble in the jungle, that painful tumble, all due to cheeky chimp’s bungle,
Which wouldn’t have happened if he’d gone straight to bed, rather than him clowning about instead,
And especially when he’s in pyjamas, and carrying a bundle of bananas,
Which to be honest, every chimp should clearly know, and thus far more monkey sense show, but no.

So there you go, hence why if visiting a jungle, I’d mind lest some chimp his chores bungle,
And you become showered in bananas, not to mention squashed by a chimp in pyjamas,
One who naughtily refuses to behave, comb his hair, brush his teeth, wipe his lips or shave,
And instead of heading straight off to bed, having finished his chores, just fools about instead.

By Lance Landall

This poem was tweaked 1 March 2020.

6.  Monkey Business

Listen, Mister Chimpanzee, what’s all this monkey business that’s going on here?
You taking to poetry by the look of things, and I just don’t think that’s fair.
You may well be clever, but better leave the poetry side of things to me,
And chomp on that banana of yours; it’s very good brain food, actually.

I know that you’re good with syllables given those various sounds that you make,
But hey, when it comes to poetry, I just don’t think that’s the path you should take.
And to be frank, I can’t see you pulling it off, it far too hi-brow for you,
And all you’d ever write about would be monkey business, and that wouldn’t do.

By Lance Landall

7.  No Evidence

Said the monkey swinging from his tree,
“What a cheek to think that you’re like we.
To eat bananas just as we do
Isn’t evidence that we’re like you.

And nor those hairy armpits, oft shaved,
As if any monkey has so behaved.
Nor clipped their nails or lacquered their hair,
And why such nonsense I’ve sought to clear.

No, we monkeys are hardly like you,
Nor you like we, yet what do you do,
Point and say, “He’s acting just like you,”
Which we simply wouldn’t think to do!

No, you’ve got your own family tree,
And there’s some right old ones there, dear me.
And here you are insulting us! No,
You’ve no evidence on which to go.

What a fuss."

By Lance Landall

This poem was inspired by Rudyard Kipling.

8.  People Are Crazy!

Well, I mean to say, some folk bite the hand that feeds them, or want to chew someone's ear,
They putting the boot in, splitting hairs, hammering things home, elbowing whoever’s near.
And who of us haven’t had our leg pulled, our toes trodden on, and heard someone say:
“I’ll have a piece of her,” or, “I’ll nab him while I can,” or, “I’ll help him on his way,”

And we know what the latter means, ay?

Yes, people waggle their fingers, kick up a fuss, butt in, sink their teeth into things,
Pick a bone with someone, and to add insult to injury, try to clip their wings.
Oh, such absurdity, they rubbing folk up the wrong way, pinching some poor child’s cheek,
Cracking the whip, spitting sparks, cutting up rough, muscling in — hence why the outlook's bleak,

 And why I've decided to stay indoors all week.

By Lance Landall

9.  That's Not PC, You Know

The world’s gone PC mad and is seeing something naughty in everything,
Can’t say this, can’t say that, or a noisy little PC bell will up and ring.
Yes, its gone beyond the pale, and hence that loud wail, come any perceived offence,
The wrong of such, and implications of erring, apparently immense.

Did you say chairman? Naughty, naughty. It’s chairperson now, so mind as you go,
Every word to be vetted, or the wrath of the PC brigade you’ll know.
Life hardly the same anymore, PC traps everywhere, so please take care,
Manage, management, mansion, manner, manure, mandate, mantel, all out I fear,

Oops! I’m just gone down a manhole. Oh dear.

By Lance Landall

10.  "I Do"

Come weddings and each is asked, “Do you take this…”  And of course they reply, “I do,”
Because the very reason they’re there is because getting married they want to.
So why ask? They hardly going to say, “No,” and why we can take it as read
That they’ve already said “I do” to each other, and why I’m scratching my head.

Yes, just get on with it, I say, put that ring on and kiss, no messing around,
And then off to those heavily laden tables where delicious content’s found.
“Do you take this food as your lawful wedded fuel?” And there’s another, “I do,”
A chorus in fact, and to heck with speeches, such time too precious, in my view.

By Lance Landall

11.  Broccoli

What! Broccoli? Yes, I know, I know, it’s good for you, right? But if you don’t mind,
Is there something else that’s just as full of all those nutrients that you can find?
Oh yes, that going down better with me, ’cause I simply can’t stand broccoli,
Unless it’s somehow disguised — well, that is — and thus less  likely to upset me.

Oh, just the thought of broccoli gets me going, I like a kid who hates peas,
Though once I used to hate them too, but not now, ’cause it’s, “Could I have some more, please?”
However, that’s not going to happen with broccoli — no, not on my plate,
’Cause broccoli and I are outright foes, reconciliation far too late.

By Lance Landall

12.  Private

Hey, what are you doing reading this private poem of mine? The cheek of you,
Because it could contain something secret that up until now you never knew.
And then what would you do, tell everyone? Oh, how heartless people can be,
It clearly marked Private, you know, but no, you just had to take a look and see.

Well, it just so happens that I left that private part out knowing what you’d do,
I unwilling to take the risk that something I might reveal could go askew.
So, sorry to disappoint, but you shouldn’t have been reading this anyway,
Because Private means Private, you know, and why I haven’t said what I could say.

By Lance Landall

13.  In The Middle Of The Night

Now, I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but it was something that I saw
When accidentally peering through that wee crack by the hinges of a door.
It was the in middle of the night when most are asleep in their comfy bed,
Dreaming of the most ridiculous of things after having been too well fed.

I couldn’t believe my bleary eyes, though they usually don’t deceive me,
But somebody was up to something that looked extremely suspicious, you see.
They were holding a large plate, and on it was something that I desired too,
And hence why I couldn’t help my little self but swallow hard and holler, “Boo!”

By Lance Landall

14.  One Needs To Get It Right

I’m not opposed to kissing, but one needs to get it right, so, not to quick it’s missed,
And not too exuberant lest it leave his or her nose looking like it’s been quished.
And it shouldn’t be too long either, ’cause who wants to be dealing with saliva,
And if one doesn’t break for air, it could be a case of, “No longer alive, huh?”

Yes, there’s much to be considered when one puckers up, even those Bertie type germs
That can wriggle from one gaping cavern to the other like inebriated worms.
So, everything in moderation, not too quick, rough, long, messy or yawn-like,
And you’ll have kept your composure, stayed alive, retained enough strength for a hike.

By Lance Landall

15.  Ah-choo! 

I’ve finally figured out what’s happening when certain people go, “Ah-choo!”
And that being, they’ve been caught out without a hanky, are wanting a tissue.
Yes, how could I have missed it, and some people appear to want more than just one,
Given how they repeat themselves, keep fiddling with their nose, which is seen to run.

So perhaps I should always carry a full box of tissues around with me,
Such surely more helpful than just saying, “Bless you,” dodging uncomfortably.
And a sneeze having a mind of its own, thus it no good shouting, “Hey, Fever!”
But rather, one whipping out a tissue — poor woman — such sure to reliever.

By Lance Landall

16.  Squeeze Me

Could I have a squeeze, please? That’s right, a cuddle, hug,
One that’ll make me feel good, and at my fluttering heart tug,
A big squeeze, a loving squeeze, a really think you’re neat squeeze,
Yes, one that’ll have me beaming, one that’s tailor-made to please.

Oh, please can I have a squeeze? One that’ll have me gasp for air,
One that'll give me goose bumps, even electrify my hair,
An I won’t let you go hug, a hug that would please a bear,
A beaut hug, even cute hug, one that’ll say how much you care.

Please can I have a squeeze? One that’ll say, “No one else but you,”
One that will leave me glowing, and tingling all over too,
Yes, a squeeze I’ll remember, a hug that’ll remain,
One that’ll set off fireworks, ignite charges in my brain.

Pleeeeease. I only want one, at least for now. I’ll close my eyes!
Quickly, before I open them, or you’ll spoil that surprise.
I’m waiting...come on...please don’t be a big tease...JUST SQUEEZE ME!
Oops, now I’ve done it, and I was waiting so patiently.

By Lance Landall

17.  Night Time Conversation

I was asking my wife whether snoring might be night time conversation, and
Even romantic where couples are involved, of memories or something planned.
She never said a word, and therefore, I left to contemplate such on my own,
’Cause sometimes that snoring’s only heard from me, perhaps talking to myself alone.

But nevertheless, it conversation, a language of the night, possibly,
Sometimes very loud, thus who knows what’s going down, or one waxing lyrically.
The mind still busy, not enough time in the day to say it all, and therefore,
One able to get a few things sorted while asleep, or off one’s chest, what’s more.

By Lance Landall

18.  Say What's True

“You’ve got your father’s nose,” they say, or, your mother’s eyes, which clearly isn’t so,
Everyone having their own nose and eyes, which has me muttering, “I don’t know.”
“I can see your dad in you” is another one, and a plain absurdity,
’Cause who’s got X-ray vision, and how’d he fit, so what are they thinking, dear me.

Yes, it’s a strange world, people saying, “I was thinking of you the other day,”
When why not today? Or when ringing off it’s “See you,” which isn't true, I say?
And “I’ll catch you later” is another one, as if anyone would throw you,
And flattened they would be if someone did, and why it’s wiser to say what’s true.

By Lance Landall

19.  When There's No One To Talk To

When there’s no one to talk to, you can talk to yourself, have a jolly good chat,
Even pretend you’re conversing with others, arguing over this or that.
And you can even talk to yourself when others are around, but in your head,
Lest they think you’re somewhat crazy or take exception to something being said.

Yes, you can be as bold as you like, nor any subject taboo, by the way,
For you’ll have the floor and a captive listener who will let you have your say.
And should you get bored with it all, you can suddenly stop and just ring someone,
Though I have to say, as dreadful as it sounds, that you won’t have quite as much fun.

By Lance Landall

20.  It's All So Very, Very Scary

This old world is full of baddies, there are meanies everywhere,
Big bullies who beat and bop you, who kick your shins and pull your hair.
It’s all so very, very scary, I just don’t know what to do,
So, will someone please cuddle me, and hug me tight? I don’t mind who.

There are so many scary sounds, and lots of rushing here and there,
People who angrily glare at you, or, who at you oddly stare.
It all makes me feel uneasy, even queasy, deep down inside,
So, will someone please cuddle me, until these fears inside subside?

Oh, there’s such a lot of shoving, and often you will hear a growl,
And many seem to be frowning, and there are some who even scowl.
Others get very irritated, even insults throw your way,
So, will someone please cuddle me, tell me everything’s okay?

There are so many arguments, and there are fights and scuffles too,
A lot of people throwing things, even shaking their fists at you.
There's heaps of yelling and screaming, and big children who cruelly tease,
Yes, it’s all so very, very scary. I WANT A CUDDLE! Pleeeeeeeeease.

By Lance Landall

21.  It's All Too Much For Me

Oh, those loud noises that come from gyms, and that odour of sweat gained by such pain,
Bodies being pushed to the limit given that where there’s no pain there’s no gain.
Yes, it’s all too much for me, my couch looking more welcoming, I have to say,
And who would think of such torturing workouts on a sizzling hot summer's day?

Yes, I’d rather just peek ’round the door, deep sympathy welling up inside me,
It hardly a sight for sore eyes, certain groans and grunts coming repeatedly.
Yes, it’s all too much for me, middle age spread and love handles par for the course,
Though I might go a little more easy on the cakes, cream, butter, cheese and sauce.

By Lance Landall

22.  Kidding You

Peak-a-boo. I’m watching you. You’re reading my poetry,
And that poem of mine you’re reading is Kidding You, I see.
You’re trying to refrain from smiling, but you can’t, can you,
That’s why your cheeks are creasing, just like I wanted them to.

You’re on the second verse now. You’re quite good looking, you know.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to be cheeky, but it’s true though.
I like your smile. It’s nice, and it’s getting bigger, I see,
And let me say how nice of you to read my poetry.

Wow! Third verse now. You’re quite a good reader, obviously,
And apparently quite partial to reading poetry.
Given I’m a poet — well, so I'm told — I’m glad about that.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you with all this chat.

Please, continue reading. You’re doing well — forth verse, first line —
Ops, there I go again. Sorry. It’s a habit of mine.
I can’t resist when people are reading my poetry,
Especially someone nice like you, grinning now, I see.

Yes you are.

By Lance Landall

23.  Talk About Moody

Say, Mister Sky, why are you so moody? One minute sunny and blue, and then,
Puffy, dark and surly, bawling your eyes out, and as for fine again, it’s “When?”
Oh, what you throw at us — yes, that hail and sleet, those bolts of lightning that scare us,
And that has us quickly ducking for cover, and shouting, “What’s with all the fuss!?”

Yes, you really need to take yourself in hand, but no, out comes that wind as well,
That ninety miles an hour gale that wrestles with us, as if we’re responsible.
No, it’s all your doing, you up and down like a yo-yo, always getting your way,
And hence why those weather forecasts seem more a guess — oh, how naughtily you play.

By Lance Landall

24.  Rat-A-Tat-Tat

Love knocked on my door, and so, “Come in,” I said, and a brilliantness filled each room,
My world becoming light and airy, as if a rocket had gone zigzag zoom.
I in awe of the change, love’s spaceship having quite a range, I oft to the moon,
My head dizzy with the power of it, as if I’d run away with the spoon.

Yes, no longer just a spoon full of sugar, but a heap of love going down,
Love having seated itself at my table, caressed all the floors with its gown.
My home no longer a castle, but an oasis for any needy soul,
But only because I’d said “Come in,” and thus how things really began to roll.

By Lance Landall

25.  Make My Day!!!!

Yes, make my day!!!! Give me a hug, a pat on the back — yes, anything at all,
So long as it’s positive, a kind remark, even stories a little tall.
Yes, tell me that I look younger than I am, don’t mind you stretching the truth, and
Should I be in a bit of a pickle, you’re more than welcome to lend a hand.

Oh yes, make my day!!!! Say whatever will make me feel GOOD, a box of birds,
I not only happy to receive warm embraces, but encouraging words.
Tell me that there’s good around the corner, that it will all come out in the wash,
Yes, anything and everything that will make my day and negatives quash.

By Lance Landall

26.  Did I Pen that?

Look at you! And you think I’m ugly! No, just kidding. You’re not too bad at all,
And as for me — well, I don’t like to boast, and can’t, so I won’t, ’cause hey, the gall!
No, I’m just another common face, nothing too frightening, nothing too grand,
I having had no say in it, couldn’t even throw a dice, it kind of planned.

Yes, I could use makeup, but no thanks, and sunglasses tend to dim things a lot,
And motorbike helmets too stifling, and one’s identity too hard to spot.
So here I am, take it or leave it, cause I just haven’t got time to worry,
Though there’s nothing wrong with a soothing facial — oops, see ya, I’d better hurry.

By Lance Landall

27.  Water! Water! Water!

“You must drink plenty of water,” they say, but I don’t see the point, to be frank,
’Cause it’s not long before it’s out again, one kind of forced to empty the tank.
In out, in out — oh, the bother of it all, and then off to the little room,
And if it’s chilly and you’ve downed quite a lot, it’s repeatedly zoom, zoom, zoom.

Wash hands, wash hands — yes, the bother of it all, but dehydration not nice too,
Dry mouth, cracked lips, all because of downing less to ease all those trips to the loo.
I’m afraid it’s a balancing act, not too much, not too little, ’cause oh dear,
Get it wrong either way, and how one suffers, a dilemma I thought I’d share.

By Lance Landall

28.  Must It Rain?

I’m afraid that it is terribly wet,
Which means that sunshine we will hardly get.
And this all why I’m on the internet,
Until a lot better weather we get.

Oh, how I wish that rain would go away,
'Cause I could’ve done without it today.
But those surly clouds have now turned to grey,
And so on the web I’ve been forced to stay.

By Lance Landall

29.  Sorry, Spike

A hedgehog is so very prickly,
And therefore, a pet can hardly be.
Thus cuddles not an option, sadly,
Because skin holes look most unsightly.

And all why visitors they must stay,
Despite calling by night and not day,
Though a little supper on a tray,
Which a kind of welcome will convey.

By Lance Landall

30.  A Biker's Woes

I just love to ride my bicycle,
And a sad tale or two I can tell,
Of nails and glass that imperial,
And of large potholes requiring skill.

And there's all those cell phone users too,
Who the craziest of things oft do,
Like suddenly appearing in view,
And all why I’m tempted to say, “Boo!”

By Lance Landall

31.  Drat!

I wish I could sing like Engelbert Humperdinck, but no matter how I try,
Even the bathroom acoustics fail to help — and to be honest, I’m stage shy.
So no bright lights for me, other than that bulb in the bathroom that glows at night,
Unlikely to be shattered by some falsetto pitch that’ll turn the neighbours white.

No, I’m no Frank Sinatra either, though doing things my way, behind closed doors,
Namely one bolted one, outside which, others in the same house are forced to pause.
“Is everything okay in there!?” they hollering, or just shaking their head,
Dreams of my name in flashing neon lights apparently well and truly dead.

By Lance Landall

32.  Plain Nutty

“Bob’s your uncle,” they say. Well, they got that one wrong, ’cause he’s not, and then they say,
“Oh my giddy aunt,” when that’s not always true either, at the end of the day.
So where do they get these things from, like “You could’ve fooled me.” Really? May I try?
No, I’m sure they wouldn’t like that, and yet, isn’t it wolf that they kind of cry?

Yes, it’s somewhat like leading people on a merry dance, such not making sense,
Not everyone a dancer, and why here, I’m writing in others’ defence.
Yes, it’s all a bit Silly Billy, and who’s Billy? Not someone that I know,
And that’s just their opinion anyway — oh dear, the hot air that people blow.

By Lance Landall

33.  Better To Laugh Than Cry

Worse case scenario, the sky could fall down, the Earth could spin off its axis,
And as a consequence, the latest Covid and vaccine updates we would miss.
And there would go takeaways too, we busy dodging space junk and satellites,
And wondering if we’d left a heater on, many of us not dressed for nights.

But on the bright side, no more lawns to mow, no more masks to wear, and free to roam,
Thus Richard Branson not getting our money, and there no lockdown no go zone.
Yes, no more taxes either, price hikes or speeding tickets, we laughing all the way,
And thinking how things could always be worse, ’cause one’s got to be positive, ay?

By Lance Landall

34.  Bald As An Eagle

Sean Hair fancied himself as a barber, though quite lacking in that needed skill,
And thus only an observer whose serious lack of training one could tell.
But open a barber shop he did, his prices enticing the unwary,
Whose one and only experience could be described as razor-like hairy.

Oh, how people complained, a plaster here, a plaster there, a lopsided beard,
A missing eyebrow or sideburn, and haircuts that left victims looking quite weird.
But still he continued until somebody decided to display their skill,
 And there it all ended, Sean well and truly shorn, hence this tale I’ve sought to tell.

By Lance Landall

35.  Funny

Funny how something remembered can bring a smile to one’s face, which others see,
And think, “What a friendly soul,” not that you aren’t, but it happened accidentally.
And so, smile back they do, even greeting you, and stating to their spouse back home:
“There’s some very nice people out there,” and why they regularly like to roam.

Yes, they not knowing that it was just by chance, you reminiscing, possibly,
And glad you didn’t laugh out loud, ’cause that could be seen quite differently.
You getting away with a pleasant smile, such even proving beneficial,
But not a sudden burst of laughter, I’d say, ’cause some might think that you’re not well,

LOL, oops!

By Lance Landall

36.  One More Glance

“Mirror, mirror on the wall?” Crack! Now that will teach you, ’cause vain one shouldn’t be,
Mirrors meant for needed things, not some face that likes looking at itself, dear me.
Oh, how tired those mirrors must get of those faces that stare repeatedly,
Until it’s all too much, and crack! Or they developing grey speckles, sadly.

Yes, you see such sorry mirrors everywhere, they fogging under the weight,
Someone knocking on the door and shouting, “How much longer will you be? It’s late!”
But that queen (or king) not quite finished, one more glance seemingly necessary,
Until crack! And hence that teary condensation that streams uncontrollably.

By Lance Landall

37.  Does Anyone Have A Remedy?

I have come down with someone’s bug (nice of them), and I just can’t stop coughing, and
Coughing and coughing and coughing, and no matter what some kind person might hand.
Yes, I’ve tried this and that, but to no avail, and my tum can’t take anymore,
Nor anything else that’s been wrenched and squeezed, and why I’ve not been able to snore.

No, the bed sheets are badly tangled, and my pyjamas aren’t fresh anymore,
But full of crinkles and odour, that bedtime shower having gone out the door.
Oh, does anyone have a remedy? Because that coughing hasn’t stopped yet,
The seeming outcome when someone’s unwanted bug you still very kindly get.

By Lance Landall

38.  Of Bothersome Birds

I don’t mind you pecking at my lawn in search of fat worms, but if you don’t mind,
Please leave my garden alone, ’cause more that’s been pried and flung I don’t wish to find.
Those worms may well be under and behind what’s been planted, but please, have a heart,
’Cause the hours I’ve laboured aren’t a few, and the damage is right off the chart.

Yes, that beak of yours acting more like claws, and hence that upsetting mess I find,
And all when I’ve kindly allowed you the run of my lawn — so if you don’t mind!
No, I’m not suggesting the neighbour’s garden, but if my lawn isn’t enough,
Could you please go somewhere else old chap, not that I really mean to cut up rough.

By Lance Landall

39.  It's Rather Overwhelming

I’m surprised at all that interest shown in me; branches waving at me,
Seagulls joining me for lunch, hedgehogs visiting, even the wind tugging me.
Yes, it’s rather overwhelming, various cats in the street approaching me,
And beaming flower heads in pretty flowerbeds nodding pleasantly at me.

Oh, how nice it all feels, someone wanting me to phone them, reply via email,
Or someone wanting to know if I’ve got a minute, and then there’s all that mail!
Yes, different ones wanting to get hold of me, or saying, “Before you go,”
And was that a very chatty policeman saying, “Hello, Hello, Hello?”

By Lance Landall

40.  Okay?

“You’re welcome to have a bit,” she said, and I said, “Thank you, but no, it’s okay,”
But she insisted that I try a bit, and I reluctantly said, “Okay.”
Then she asked, “Is this much alright?” (which wasn’t really), and I said, “Oh, okay,”
And after I had taken it, and was chewing it, she asked, “Was it Okay?”

Was it okay!? Was it what! And “Would I like more?” she asked, and I said, “Okay,”
But really meaning, “Yes please!” because it was way more than just being Okay.
“It’s quite nice,” I added, and she asked, “Would you like some more?” and I said, “Okay,”
Until she’d had half and I’d had half; I concerned about her feelings, okay?

By Lance Landall

41.  My Name's FUN

Hello. My name’s FUN. I like to make people laugh, trip over themselves with mirth,
Such being a personal joy of mine, hobby, though I’ve been like that since birth.
Oh, how I love seeing them double up in humour-filled pain, clutching their tummy,
And begging, “Stop! Stop! Stop!,” but it all too late, they shaking uncontrollably.

Yes, it could be something I say, something I do, but what ever it might be,
It making them smile, grin, then burst into laughter, they finding it so funny.
Oh, the fun I have, but all with good reason, that rush of bubbling endorphins,
Yes, that natural, organic elixir — FUN — oops! Another one’s off their pins.

By Lance Landall

42.  Ahhhhh-choo!

Imagine if every time we sneezed a flower would pop out its head,
And wave its little petals as if something rather funny we had said.
It kind of laughing, smiling at its own kind, ’cause no flower’s seen to sneeze,
But bask in the sun’s warming rays and nod in harmony with any breeze.

Yes, imagine it, we almost wanting to sneeze, then looking for that head,
It one of many, perhaps, hanging out together in some flowerbed.
All kind of laughing, smiling at each other, thinking we’re a funny lot,
When it was a nose-full of their tickly, seasonal pollen that we got.

By Lance Landall

43.  Taught, Tight And Tense

Would someone kindly give me a thoughtful massage, one that would have me melt, oh,
How such would be appreciated, ’cause tense shoulders are beginning to show.
Hence why I’m looking hunched up as if on a coat hanger, and it’s rather sore,
So please let your hands do the talking, and don't be surprised if I holler, “More!”

Oh yes, I need such so badly, so please, would you mind? And firmly as you go,
It not a tickle that I need, but some serious stuff, though not blow by blow.
And I’d love to fall asleep after, so you could somehow cut the cloth to suit,
And not charging me would be appreciated too, ’cause I don’t have much loot.

By Lance Landall

44.  Baked Beans On Toast

I couldn’t cook to save myself, though some baked beans on toast I could rustle up.
Downing such with a packet of soup that one mixes with water in a cup.
Or it could be that some spaghetti or creamed corn I might place on that toast, so
I guess I’d still manage to just keep myself going, some signs of life still show.

Cooking but a complicated affair, needing a degree of time and skill,
And only eating being my forte, and I having a good sense of smell,
Yes, instinctively knowing when food’s about, and only too happy to munch
Whatever any good cook has kindly decided to rustle up for lunch.

By Lance Landall


Sleeping just seems a waste of time because one can’t get anything done, but hey,
What can one do when those eye lids of ours decide they’re having their own way?
It’s too hard to navigate or busy oneself when they’re half closed or shut tight,
One sometimes falling asleep on the sofa, and there goes another good night.

And to make matters worse, there’s that snoring that goes on, and all for nothing too,
Others hardly blamed for questioning whether they’re actually at the zoo.
But what can one do, it seemingly beyond ones control, a burden to bear,
Many just nodding off wherever they are — and oh, how those noises can scare.

By Lance Landall

46.  And Then Came Temptation

It was just a cake, covered with cream, drizzled with chocolate, topped with berries,
But when she asked if I’d like a piece on my plate, I politely said, “Yes, please.”
Well, it was someone’s birthday cake, and I not wanting to offend (half the truth,
Because, man, you should’ve seen this amazing creation that beckoned me, struth!)

Healthy intentions having to wait yet again, one piece soon becoming two,
And then, whatever was left of that cake, given that it was still in my view.
Yes, two pieces soon turning into three plus, good intentions having gone west,
And I left nursing a queasy tummy that didn’t believe I’d done what’s best.

By Lance Landall

47.  Peas

Peas have a habit of jumping ship,
Or off ones fork are inclined to slip.
Thus seemingly destined to wander,
And where shoes are, I bet they’re under.

Yes, they having a mind of their own,
And why at mealtimes there’s oft a groan.
All why one might be better with beans,
Despite being told to “Eat those greens!”

By Lance Landall

48.  Itch, Itch, Itch

Despite the size a flea may be,
It’s still inclined to pick on me.
Hence why soon I’m feeling itchy,
It’s meanness very clear to see.

All why it always hides from me,
Hunts ending unsuccessfully.
Oh, it nothing but a bully,
And seemingly obsessed with me.

By Lance Landall

49.  A Mind Of Its Own

When I’m asleep at night, my brain seems to have a mind of its own, hence those dreams,
Yes, it often in a world of its own, along with certain helpers, it seems.
And there seemingly no end to them, scene after scene, some benign, some scary,
Oh, the drama of it all, my night awash with the intriguing or teary.

Yes, my brain having a mind of its own, conversations aplenty, and why
I’m awfully tired come breakfast, one’s head almost in one’s bowl, hence that loud sigh.
Oh, if only that mind came with an on and off switch so I could sleep in peace,
Though it doesn’t pay to say too close to bedtime, “Can I have another piece?”

By Lance Landall

50.  All The Best

Weeeeeee! Bump! Welcome to planet Earth. Sorry about the brightness. It’s quite dark in there,
But here you are. A quick scrub and you will be ready to go. Oh, and some warm gear.
Yes, it’s really quite different to what you’ve been used to. You rather spoilt, you know,
But when one’s mum has had quite enough, it’s time to leave, and so out we all must go.

And here you are! You one of us now, though you will get a helping hand on your way,
Nourishing food initially supplied, and you know what? Multiple times a day!
Yes, you will be fine, my little man, or is it woman? One can’t be too nosey,
And why I wish you all the best, now get some rest — oh, you do look rather cosy.

By Lance Landall

Once we were young.

San-Yai and Simba 

A siamese cat named Simba

A siamese cat named San-yai

The Author with San-Yai and Simba 

Caught On The Hop With A Shorn Mop

The photo above was taken in 2016 midst my recovering from a hernia operation.
My wife couldn't resist the chance to snap two Siamese sitting on either side of their servant.

Nice To Meet You

Hi there, we’re Siamese, with a little less body to squeeze,

But though somewhat slimmer, we’re exotic, from overseas.
Yes, we’re very elegant, agile, and darn clever too,
A lover of company, sporting gorgeous eyes of blue.

I’m Simba, a chocolate point, I’m San-Yai, a seal point,
And via origin and family, we’re thoroughly joint.
We snuggle up together and share the same owners too,
A cat loving family who we’re often chatting to.

With much sadness, and on the 9 May 2018, and at the human age of 13 years, Simba (on the left) had to be put down due to kidney failure. He was such a gorgeous, affectionate and passive cat.

And once again, with much sadness, and on the 25 July 2022, and at the human age of 17 years, my little buddy (so dog-like), San-Yai (on the right), had to be put down due to kidney failure too. Truly broke my heart.