Doctor Sunshine
Due to feeling rather down, some medication was required,
So I rang old Doctor Sunshine who much happiness inspired.
“I will be right over,” he said, grabbing a humorous brew,
And then beaming very brightly, he appeared as if on cue.
Yes, the blues had settled on me and were cruelly pressing down,
Thus my laughter lines and wrinkles had converted to a frown.
My chin was on the table and I had little zing and zoom,
Until Doctor Sunshine appeared and brightness began to bloom.
He seized a jolly syringe and jabbed me with gags, quips and puns,
Until slowly endorphins grew sending rays out like the sun’s.
In time he had me giggling, and then laughing until I cried,
Which soon had me back to normal and bubbling with joy inside.
He then left me a prescription for natural remedies
That would perk one’s spirits up, and that one’s ups and downs would ease.
He said to take them often, for they would act preventively,
Referring to happy thoughts (alias positivity).
Yes, good old Doctor Sunshine soon rescued me from the old blues,
For he knew instinctively that it’s mostly those thoughts we choose.
And being such a kindly fellow, he never berated me,
But simply snatched some laughter and then began his therapy.
We all need Doctor Sunshine to visit us from time to time,
Whose bag of spirit lifters gives us shots that then see us climb.
And he’s such a merry fellow who’s great fun to have around,
Especially when the blues try to hassle us and surround.
Yes, he knows how to treat the blues with his warming sunny rays
That radiate cheerfulness and lighten up those gloomy days.
For he looks on the brighter side, sows positive energy,
And he does such so very well, for that’s his practice, you see.
By Lance Landall
2. The World's A Dangerous Place
Yes, the world’s a dangerous place — well, I mean to say, look at Humpty Dumpty,
And not a happy ending, I must say, and who’s to blame, the brick wall or he?
And then there was Jack and Jill, who, to be honest, shouldn’t have gone up the hill,
For Jack fell down, broke his crown, and Jill came tumbling after — oh, if looks could kill.
And surely you remember little Bo Peep, who (no doubt very sheepishly),
Returned without her sheep, and who knows what happened to them — rustlers, possibly.
Should’ve had her mind on the job, some would say, but hey, it’s dangerous out there,
For look at little Miss Muffet, she didn’t know that a spider would appear!
Okay, so little Bo Peep did get her sheep back, but how, isn't exactly clear.
By Lance Landall
3. What Can One Say About A Daughter?
Yes, what can one say about a daughter? 'Cause girls aren’t the same as boys, oh no,
But very, very different, which any parent who has had both will know.
And the older they get, the more this fact proves true, all why I’m scratching my head,
And being cautious, for its been said, “Men are apt to go where angels fear to tread.”
Therefore, I’d better play it safe, like one does when entering a daughter’s room,
Though let me state that I’m not trying to discourage any prospective groom.
But if it’s not stray high heel shoes lying in wait, it’s that nose tickling perfume,
And certain things that are best kept out of sight, of which I’ll leave you to presume.
I guess you realise I’m jesting somewhat, for a daughter’s really quite something,
So long as you don’t mind waiting for her to get off the phone when there’s a ring.
Oh dear, how daughters love to chat, and chat, and when it comes to having a shower,
Well, if it weren’t for parental intervention, what might it be, half an hour?
Okay, perhaps I’m stretching things a little, but all to give you some idea,
For if a married man, and there’s a power cut, a daughter might soon appear.
And then you’ll see what I mean, you possibly having to wash and groom her car,
And as for all that water over the bathroom floor — well, one hardly says “Ta.”
And hence my question: What can one say about a daughter-cum-that birthday girl?
Who, should a poor father be lucky enough, might marry some notable earl.
But hey, so long as she’s happily married, though a dowry would be quite nice,
And he left to deal with those things I’ve mentioned, and perhaps spiders, moths and mice.
Yes, I no longer having to knock on the bathroom door, nor mop the wet floor,
Or wash that mud splattered object that soon reveals a car that one’s seen before.
And as for that room — well, there’d no longer be need for caution, and finally,
One would be able to see to vacuum, and those dusty shelves soon wouldn’t be!
By Lance Landall
4. I'm Baffled
People are most intriguing — yes, they completely baffle me,
For they’re so unkind to themselves, judging by the things I see.
You wouldn’t think that they would be, but the following I’ve seen,
Which has got me wondering, “Do some folk have a faulty gene?”
Oddly so, I have regularly seen both males and females
Biting their tongue and chewing on their lips, or their fingernails.
They may think such is tasty, but it’s cannibalistic!
And, I also hope and pray, rather uncharacteristic.
They regularly pinch their nerves — I wonder how that must feel?
Or they pinch themselves somewhere else to see if things are for real.
Such must be rather painful, and it seems like abuse to me,
And surely all this pinching really isn’t necessary.
Yes, it’s so amazing what people do, like stubbing their toes,
And I have seen fingers in ears, and dare I say it, a nose!
There are better usages for fingers, licking them for one,
After you have scraped some icing off a large raspberry bun.
Some people tug on their ears, scratch their heads, and even elsewhere,
And for some reason, some beat their chest, even pull out their hair.
Some even bang their elbow, rub it raw, and say, "Ow! Ow! Ow!"
Which won’t help their elbow, nor will screwing up their face somehow.
I’ve actually seen some tearing the hairs off their legs too,
And yelping as they do so — yes, there’s a right hullabaloo.
And others cake themselves in mud, and put veggies on their face,
Or put holes in their body, and seemingly any old place.
I've seen some skinning their knees, and grazing their poor knuckles too,
Or straining their neck or back via some funny things that they do.
It’s really got me baffled, 'cause it doesn’t make sense at all,
And nor does wearing high heels — oops! — I’ve just seen somebody sprawl.
By Lance Landall
5. Um….aah….
Are there ants in your jam jar, are there hippos in your bath,
Some bees in your honey pot, fat slugs all over your path?
Are there bats in your attic, giraffes in your corridors,
Jaguars in your garage, other carnivores outdoors?
Are jellyfish in your sinks, are there penguins in your fridge,
Is an elephant or two hiding ’midst your foliage?
Are there hares in your bathroom, chimps hanging from chandeliers,
Some love-birds in your bedroom, even hibernating bears?
Are there yaks in your guest room, timber wolves on your woodpile,
Swallows in your pantry, butterflies, magpies, a mouse with a smile?
Are there cats on top of doors, snakes sliding around the floors,
And hairy creepy crawlies hiding in cupboards or drawers?
Are there toads on your doorstep, wide-eyed owls in your study,
Mutton birds in your kitchen, some storks in your nursery?
Are crocodiles in your pool, baboons on your patio,
Cockatoos on your rooftop noisily shrieking, “Oh no!?”
There Are??!!!
What’s that?
Will I be visiting you?
Um….aah….
By Lance Landall
6. Bertie
My name’s Bertie, I’m a germ, and I love mouths that aren’t clean,
Yes, those unhygienic caves where a toothbrush hasn’t been.
How I love that gunk that clings to toothy pegs after meals,
And that slowly makes those holes that a dentist prods and seals.
Yes — down with toothbrushes! — I say, for whatever would I do
If everyone brushed their teeth and gums and their big tongue too?
I'd soon be out of work with those teeth so shiny and clean,
And far more quickly so where people used floss and Listerine.
By Lance Landall
7. Brain Strain
I just don’t know what to pen, I need some inspiration,
A generous flow, a rhythmic rhyming combination.
Though I’ve a pen and paper and desire for poetry,
I seem to have lost my creative mental energy.
Instead, I’m simply doodling and not very well at that,
And in-between, stroking a well-fed curled-up purring cat.
I’m staring out the window wishing words would come to me,
A bright idea, some witty lines, a rush of poetry.
And still I wait, impatiently, feeling more frustration,
Just wasting precious paper on some abstract creation.
I’m also wasting ink as I sit here trying to think,
Concerned that my aging mind is finally on the blink.
It’s all very well for you my little snoozing Siamese,
You’re dead to the world, lost in dreams, unless by chance I sneeze.
Poems hardly interest you, you’re just a cat, spoilt too,
You’re not a muddled poet, who, what to pen, hasn’t a clue.
By Lance Landall
8 Tomfoolery?
I’m thinking poetry, the rhyming kind, actually,
A poem where the end of each line has a sound like a C.
Or half way through a line, maybe, acting more cleverly,
And perhaps more persuasively, consequently, you see.
Tomfoolery, you say? Well, it might be, actually,
But why not a teeny bit of fun occasionally?
Like amusing poetry that’ll set the endorphins free,
Especially where someone’s feeling rather crotchety.
Such may not be scholarly, but is that necessary?
After all, it’s just a bit of fun, creativity.
Yes, it’s acting somewhat frivolously, admittedly,
But I wouldn’t exactly say it’s acting pointlessly.
Didn’t I notice a smile? There then. It’s working already,
Your lips aren’t upside down now, and a dimple I can see.
Next you’ll be laughing, and I dare say, shaking bodily,
Because of those chemicals tickling your anatomy.
So it’s just tomfoolery, huh? I don’t think so, Smiley.
Look at you. Go on, get a mirror. You’ve changed facially.
It’s like there’s a banana in your mouth, you look cheesy,
So who’s the funny one now? That’s right, blame my poetry!
By Lance Landall
9. Skylarking
Though not bees, some folk get a “buzz” from doing certain things,
And I’ve also heard it said that someone like a “bird” sings.
Imagine that! But there’s more, for some people get “ratty,”
Or “catty,” even “clucky,” or “yap” too much, apparently.
Others “wolf” their food down, “badger” someone, “beaver” away,
And believe it or not, some “bark” orders, or “roar” all day.
I’ve also heard it said that somebody’s inclined to “crow,”
And that someone “hissed” at someone, why on earth I don’t know.
I’ve been told that some folk “hog” things, or act very “fishy,”
And that some folk get the “lions” share, which seems unfair to me.
I’ve heard some referred to as “moles,” and have even heard that some
Would love to be a “fly” on the wall, don’t ask me how come.
And that’s not all, oh no, I’ve been told that some people “purr,”
Which sounds quite romantic, and such, I suppose love could stir.
Others apparently “squeal,” but I would rather them “squeak,”
If going by the sounds of things they’re not prepared to speak.
Some people “parrot” others and “squawk,” believe it or not,
And if they’re in a hurry even break into a “trot.”
It’s all rather confusing — a mystery, if you ask me,
'Cause it seems most creature like — peculiar, just quietly.
Say, they’re not just skylarking, are they?
By Lance Landall