Tuesday, 14 November 2017
On Mull every day is rainy,
a local dons his mackintosh,
the River Tobermory
The islanders on Mull,
are far from dull,
they're quirky with a lot of soul.
Some spend many a day aloft,
as they sip wee drams on their croft.
Mullochs exist at an easy pace,
recycling everything to avoid waste,
set apart from the modern rat race,
of stress there is no trace.
It rains a lot on Mull,
the sun often stops shining,
but every cloud has a biscuit lining,
hydroelectricity supplies the energy,
to produce lemon melts
of the highest quality.
Biscuits: Island Bakery Lemon Melts
Friday, 10 November 2017
Germany's heart was torn apart
Berlin was divided in two
families were affected
when the wall was erected
East and West
Two opposing ideologies
9.11.89 Checkpoint Charlie
the iron curtain fell
it was reunification time
Germany gave the world a sign
young people with mullets
hit the wall with mallets
proclaiming peace through their graffiti
aerosol poets rewriting the treaty
Biscuits: Lebkuchen Herzen
Tuesday, 31 October 2017
It's All Hallow's Eve
We're being watched by the Evil Eye
At midnight the witches swoop by
Tonight's the night when vampire bats fly
Skeletons rise creakily from their ancient graves
and articulate their bones
Zombies fight to grapple
for a sticky toffee apple
Sugar fuelled children roam the streets
dressed up for trick or treat
desperate for sweets
egg his door - shriek!
Mummies and Daddies
make pumpkins jump out of their skins
spiders are busy cobwebbing
whilst people are apple bobbing
Bolt the door and watch the Blue Planet II
Biscuits: Nairn's Dark Chocolate Chip
Tuesday, 17 October 2017
As the Saharan storm winds blew
The skies turned an eerie yellow hue
In Ireland they had a tempestuous breeze
That lifted seas and uprooted trees
The effects on the landscape
and scenery were disastrous
the results of climate change
If you are a global warming
The sight may have been
If it was the end of the world
the earth would tremble
The underworld it would
However in true British style
it was grim for a couple of hours
by sun and showers
Biscuits: Fox's Fabulous Selection
Tuesday, 10 October 2017
Should they go or should they stay?
The world is falling to pieces
Like these biscuits that are broken
And the promises that politicians have spoken
Tribal drums are beating
Leaving populations seething.
The rush for globalisation
Has produced more fragmentation.
In Majorca and Venice
They protest against tourism’s menace.
Tear gas and rubber bullets in the blazing sun
Are not the way to prevent a referendum.
The voice of the Kurds is still not heard
Although their cause is not absurd.
Myanmar is in a state
As Rohingya Moslems flee their fate.
Nationalism may be a blessing or a curse
But violence only makes things worse.
The last of last week’s broken biscuits
Helped us make this verse.
Biscuits: The last of the Box of Broken Biscuits
Thursday, 28 September 2017
Biscuit Poets at Headway
celebrate national poetry day.
To us poetry means an active brain
a chance to quip, quibble and complain.
Poetry means camaraderie
a friendship like Laurel and Hardy.
A time to reflect and collaborate
to contemplate our mental state.
Poetry is linguistic exploration
a time for relaxation.
Our group gives motivation
for unique verbal creation.
Poetry means Roger McGough
Wordsworth and loads of other stuff.
Poetry means Pam Ayres
the story of her teeth that she so often shares.
Poetry is our sugar rush,
the flow of words that sometimes makes us blush.
Written by our self-styled misfits
grazing on broken biscuits.
Poetry is an opportunity to learn
a Tuesday session to which we return.
Poetry means lines that rhyme
but with us not quite every time.
A verbal bonanza
written in some strange stanza.
Poetry is the calm in the storm
a break from the humdrum norm.
So for us the 28th September
is a day to remember
for the nation's celebration
of so much poetic exhilaration.
Biscuits: Box of Broken Biscuits
Tuesday, 19 September 2017
At Headway we're not averse,
to speaking tosh and nonsensical verse.
Twaddle, gobbledigook, bunkum and double dutch,
we speak them all fluently with a very fine touch
Yet the posh speak tosh to impress,
littering their language with dross to excess.
Whilst Trump slates all the news as phoney,
and runs the White House by tweeting baloney.
Codswallop, gibberish, drivel and tripe,
ignore the tosh speakers - don't believe their hype.
Tommyrot and hyperbole creating a fug
close your ears it's all just humbug!
Biscuit: Tosh chocolate and hazelnut biscuits