More Humour

 




8.  A Little Squeeze


It was only a little squeeze — yes, an affectionate cuddle, if you please, but she was so cute and sweet, five foot nothing in her stocking feet, so “Please take care of me” petite, so adorably packaged and neat, and oh my, how my heart skipped a beat, which saw my legs turn to jelly, and me acting rather silly, 'cause I’m afraid I must confess, that I was somewhat in a mess — yes, a nervous but excited wreck, tingles running up and down my neck, all of which, seemed to throw some switch, which, given this unexpected glitch, or potential hitch, just saw my mind wander away, completely and utterly go astray, amazing feelings readily obey, hence the following observations, which some might consider aberrations, and such could well be so, given I really don’t know, but they did seem so real to me, so please don’t make fun of me, but simply smile sympathetically, or if you must, just giggle rather quietly.
Well, as soon as I was squeezed (which incredibly pleased), a little ladybird sneezed — yes, as if to signal the rest, which suitably impressed, for suddenly a flock of bellbirds appeared, a stadium full of well-wishers cheered, chimneys bellowed furiously, flowers waltzed in harmony, seedlings burst from soil bound beds, raisins popped from oven baked breads, confetti showered from on high, heart shaped balloons filled the sky, spiders bungee jumped in front of me, planets and stars orbited dizzily, musical sonatas filled my head, traffic lights danced between green and red — and I, could only but sigh, oblivious to any passer-by, helplessly enraptured, willingly and romantically captured, somewhat too dazed to think, and barely daring to blink, but believe it or not, hoping she’d say (that very same day), “Will you marry me?”

By Lance Landall


This poem was tweaked 1 March 2020.



9.  Mister Sammy Jones


Mister Sammy (wouldn’t-get-up-in-the-morning and stayed-in-bed-all-day) Jones, alias Mister right old lazy bones, was always stretching and yawning, and not just when he got up in the morning (that's if he did), but all through the day, and even all through the night, they say, for he just couldn’t get off to sleep, despite how often he counted sheep — yes, just lying there in his four poster bed, his body and eyelids feeling like lead, and all his efforts to no avail, and he looking terribly pale, for lack of sleep just leaves one beat, and hence why he’d topple off his seat, leaving half his dinner on the floor, and what’s more, yawning so much he would stumble, and inevitably tumble, and there went more things on the floor.
Yes, Mister Sammy (wouldn’t-get-up-in-the-morning and stayed-in-bed-all-day) Jones, alias Mister right old lazy bones, was always yawning, and as I said, well past morning — in other words, he just couldn’t seem to stop, which was decidedly over the top, and why nobody would stop to chat, and why alone in his home he lay or sat.
Well, there I’m afraid he would have stayed, if someone a visit hadn’t paid, 'cause exercise was what he needed, and though he begged and pleaded, he was soon made to huff and puff, and despite such being pretty tough, he soon began to tire (not to mention perspire), which saw him slump into a chair, only to soon be snoozing there.
Yes, Mister Sammy (wouldn’t-get-up-in-the-morning and stayed-in-bed-all-day) Jones, alias Mister right old lazy bones, simply needed to exercise — surprise, surprise — and despite those initial moans and groans, he was soon up and away, no longer yawning all day, and nor all through the night, but rather, bushytailed and bright — yes, a much happier sight, and no longer gulping flies, I have to say.
Now don’t tell me you’re yawning!

By Lance Landall


This poem was tweaked 1 March 2020.



10.  Gerry Jolly


Gerry Jolly was extremely positive, and thus wouldn't say anything negative, and such wouldn’t have been all that bad, but for the fact that when someone was sad, he’d tell them that such was a state of mind, and that their misfortune they shouldn’t mind, which people found very hard to take, and thus their head were inclined to shake, all of which made Gerry unpopular, and why some would peek with their doors ajar, and should they spot Gerry Jolly, alias jolly Gerry, always frustratingly merry, they would pretend they weren’t home, which soon saw Gerry elsewhere roam, and people sighing with relief, midst dealing with their upset or grief.
Well, one very unfortunate day, though some quite the opposite would say, Gerry met with misfortune too, and rather than him being merry — that is, so jolly cheery — was feeling extremely blue, hence why those he’d afflicted, and as might be expected, quickly paid him a wee call, and midst asking about his heavy fall — that is, his incapacitating sprawl — told him that such he shouldn’t mind, that his blues were a state of mind, which soon saw Gerry fume, and ask them to leave the room, he having got what was long overdue, and why I say, “Mind those platitudes!” to you.

By Lance Landall


This poem was tweaked 1 March 2020.



11.  You Should've Seen It, Guys


Yea, you should’ve seen it, guys, love walked in as cool as a cucumber, no disguise, no backup, no padding, no pepper spray, and as if to say, "Okay guys, break it up, the party’s over, Rover,” and all went quiet — yea, you should’ve seen it, guys, saw it with my own eyes.
One moment nothing but pandemonium, one risking life and limb, and then love saunters in, could’ve dropped a pin, 'cause the place went dead, and a question entered my head, “Is this what happens when love walks in?"
Yea, quite funny, really, ’cause next minute they all rushed the door, cleared out absolutely, warm fuzzies giving the all clear, and I applauding, just quietly. Yea.
And outside?
That horrid bunch that causes misery, and scares of the sweet and cheery, but not when love walks in, and sends ’em packin’, 'cause who wants cold pricklies hanging about, so good on love for clearing them out.

Yea, you should’ve seen it, guys.

By Lance Landall


This poem was tweaked 1 March 2020.



12.  That Little Man


Seems to me (just quietly), that there’s a little man in my head (if you please), who, when I’m asleep in my bed, keeps playing movies, and where he gets them from, I’ve no idea, but one thing’s certainly clear, he has very peculiar tastes, and so much of my snooze time wastes, 'cause such mental activity, aside from being lost on me, often bothers and disturbs, upsettingly.
Yes, nightly I’m subjected to some menu, not that I get to choose, mind you, for scenes just suddenly appear, and though some are pleasant, others are unpleasant, even scare, and even to the point that I awake, and in order to count my losses, relieve my turns and tosses, a trip to the bathroom take — yes, still half asleep, having lost count of sheep, and stumbling over cats, or is it ruffled mats? — oh, how lucky I don’t land in a heap!
Yes, call them dreams if you well, even nightmares (hence those raised hairs), though some are too close to tell, but whatever, he’s very clever, 'cause he takes them all (some quite off-the-wall), and as quick as one sneezes, just mixes them up as he pleases, and as for abstract art — well, that’s just the start — say, could he be intoxicated, or simply far too educated, and I, unappreciative of his artistry, or could he simply be acting impishly?
Oh dear, it’s not very clear.
So, should you spot him, could you please let me know, though it’s not until you’re asleep that he’ll probably show.

By Lance Landall


This poem was tweaked 12 March 2020.



13.  Speedy Gonzales Bess


Speedy Gonzales Bess (and some would say motor mouth, I guess), would rattle things off at a rate that thwarted anything she’d state, her sentences half finished before they’d begun, of which, quite a few people would make fun, though others cross at missing what she’d said, and frustration seeing them scratching their head, but what could be done?
She spoke so fast that listeners would gasp, nod their head and then wander off, ignoring her regular “Excuse me?” cough, ’cause asking her to repeat it all, was naught but a double dose call, one still unable to catch it all, and some, none.
Well, one day Speedy Gonzales Bess (alias motor mouth, no less), couldn’t help but say far less, her hammered vocal cords having become hoarse, a most refreshing change, of course, and her voice taking some time to return, over which, only she was seen to yearn, but return it did (or so conveyed Syd), and far less was said (she using her head), and she much slower too (and hopefully you too), cause Motor Mouth Bess was forced to confess, that speaking too much about such an such, and speaking supersonic fast, was something best left in the past.
Hence how Speedy Gonzales Bess (the cause of consternation and stress; and being a motor mouth not nice to confess), learnt a lesson the hard way, and since that very day, has been clearly understood, as everyone one of us should, so please speak slow and clear, I say.

By Lance Landall