The Joys of Spring

Hi old pesky, when I first started to read this, I thought you had put it under the wrong name of humour, but then at the end I had a smile on my face, realising hey! this is funny after all. So thanks for the smile. Yes I thought this was a very clever poem. Jenny.

I really like your poetry, op, because above all it is unpretentious. It is straight-forward and honest and your sense of rhythm and rhyme is excellent. Your tongue-in-cheek humour is pretty good too. More, please. Nice one, much enjoyed. sue

Hi oldpesky, I really hope you can get to bed at some point, with a lot of rest and plenty to drink, hope you feel better soon. Jenny.

Liked, very much, oldpesky, and I really hope you're over the worst;-) Tina

Manflu, a more virulent breed than the other XX chromosomal kind. I think you've described it very well.

Readers gather in crowds from the start Praising the jokes of the pesky old fart Laughing and smiling at his funny rhymes A pleasant diversion in worrying times.

I enjoy a good fart where ever I may be Silent and deadly or prolonged raspberry But as master of laughter you take the crown With your talent for coaxing a laugh from a frown

I like your idea - for the apples I’ll save My doc demands fermented - as cider - the knave Not sure a bright smile would really keep him away As for smiling - I’m doing at least two a day

If I’m addicted to smiling then long may it last Smiles are therapeutic and sweet spells they cast The men in white coats should stay where they be They haven’t a chance of getting any smiles from me

I promised each white coat a packet… If each would wear his own straight jacket And having helped them put them on I shame-faced confessed that it was a con I knew that they had expected money But such a gift would not be funny True to my word - I gave to each… A packet of biscuits and a bonus peach And now they share a padded cell I have to say they don’t look well With fruit and biscuits out of reach Lesson learned I’d hoped to teach Everyone needs a hand sometimes To make sure that their poem rhymes Bananas might come in crazy bunches And have some fairly loony hunches Yet they should still be allowed to be As delightfully different as you and me.

To rhyme with orange there is only sporange Which takes its turn as a part of a fern. Do Asda’s baked beans contain dopamine’s or just fast food for farts? How many tins of said baked beans will fit in one of Asda’s carts? Do dreams inspire films and nightmares soaps? Do hopes become dreams… Or dreams become hopes? Am I writing this Or is it writing me? I think I’ll stop typing And wait and see… Do we need space telescopes? Do we really need rockets? Or do we need zips To seal up our pockets? No money left to feed the poor We need atom smashers? You’re really quite sure? Will they still feed us Will they still heed us When we’re 64! Eternal questions Only answers change Yesterday’s dreams Beyond today’s range What really matters Is it knowledge or man? Eat while you’re able Drink while you can Yesterday’s crazy Tomorrow seems sane The day after that It’s crazy again.

Time, I think, to admit defeet, admit deshoes and then retreat Epics are far too long for me I’ve lost the plot by page 23... So I’ll finish off with a looping part which takes us right back to the start. The Joy Of Springs, of bouncy bed, of bubbling brooks, of leaps ahead. That Spring with Joy when she sprang a leak, sank like a stone; she was made of teak. But the Joys Of Spring are hard to beat, flowers and lovers - feel the Heat. Flowers spring up, lambs spring about, coats are carried, the sun is out. Spring is the promise that Winter has lost, an end to snow, to cold and frost. A time of hope, green shoots and buds, of sunny days, of walks through woods. A time to kiss, a time to squeeze A time of perfumes on the breeze A time to simply sit out and be To gaze in awe at all you see.

I have been reading all these wonderful rhymes and I think they are brilliant and very amusing, you both should get cherries, just for these. I'm amazed at how you both kept going. True poets at large. Jenny.