The Martial Artists (childrens story in verse)

The little white mouse sat and stared

at a wall in a big old house,

just a small crack in the skirting

perfect size for a single mouse.

With a pencil and flat paper

a rolled up measuring tape

he checked the small dimensions

for his tiny white mousey shape.

This place might just be perfect

with some paint and tiny nails

when along came a rat with

a pink wormlike, very long tail.

The rat sat and pondered

holding his super sized limb,

‘you cannot live in there’ he said,

'the nasty cat would find him.

If the pussy doesn’t get you

Then the humans here sure will

with traps, deadly rodent poison

they might even call Rentokil!

They will leave a chunk of cheese

and some crumbs upon a trap,

then wait for a little while

just to hear it go……. SNAP!’

‘not to worry’ said the mouse,

‘many thanks for the tip,

now how do you do sir rat

you can call me Mr Chip…’

‘Oh think nothing of it!’

said the colourful young rat

whilst scratching his lengthy tail,

tipping his bright purple hat.

‘The name’s Cederick La Fleur

and how do you do…

I have a lovely little studio

near the paint and the glue.’

So Chip followed Cederick

with a skip and a hop,

through the lounge and the kitchen

to his little workshop.

‘we have arrived at my place,’

said La Fleur with glee

‘its a bit of a mess…

I am an artist you see!’

Cederick spoke very trendy

said ‘hey man look a round’

whilst he chattered and pointed

telling Chip what he’d found.

There were wood saws and hammers

there were tools all around,

some screwdrivers and spanners

near some wood that was bound

Some tacks and long nails

tap, knock, hammer them through

but when all fixings fail

there’s the paint and the glue.

Chip tip toed through squinting

wiped his feet on the mat

saw great paintings and  sculptures

of mouse traps and big cats!

‘Oh my!’ and ‘oh dear!,

why do you paint things like that?’

‘Well its terribly fashionable’,

pointed out Cederick the rat.

‘I am known by collectors,

all the galleries for sure…

they all know the great name of

young Ceddy La Fleur!’

‘I sell to the Rich and the Famous’

‘Valuable?’…‘erm,  oh yes very,

in fact my best customers

are Micky and Jerry!’

‘I do not know those mice at all?’

said Chip, wide-eyed with dismay,

'I’m not really into celebrities

Nor fashion these days…’

‘Don’t worry’ Ceddy told him

‘now that doesn’t really matter…

your welcome to stay a while

for some tea and a natter…'

So they settle down at Ceddy’s

for some tea and cheesecakes,

they talked cats and dogs

French fromagery makes.


Continued...

Now you could be my lodger sleep by the paint and the glue we will have lots of fun cos there’s plenty here to do!’ ‘That’s super, smashing, great’ Chip said ‘I will move in right away, I will clean, tidy, scrub Bristol fashion, ship shape!’ ‘Superb!’ said young Ceddy ‘I have a live in Chum!’ and measured up the mouse with his little brown thumb. ‘I need an art assistant a hand that you could lend.’ with a shake of the claws they agreed and were friends. ‘Now there is only one thing, a cat lives round the corner just a quick friendly warning she’s savage and ginger! It’s the scary feline model for my sculpture and paintings keep out of the way when she’s salivating…’ ‘Not to worry’ said Chip, ‘I happen to know some Kung Fu The Way of the Ancient Hamster and throwing my shoe!’ Chip revealed all his secrets never known by any another the time spent in China being trained by his mother! ‘I lived there many years Fan Yen Fooey was my mum, she was eating fortune cookies When I fell from her tum!’ The cookies predicted Chip will be a very special boy A mini martial artist No fluffy feline toy! ‘I am known as Mr Chip Wong Fooey The Crown White Mouse Master’ I am hard as iron nails No oriental is faster!’ So the pair began a plotting On fat cat domination to stop the vicious tabby, for artistic salvation! Before they finished planning A purr vibrated through them The pad of ragged paws…… ‘PANIC stations’ in tandem. ‘Run into the workshop, And bolt up the door!’ They jumped under the table And lay on the floor… ‘must face up to that cat,’ said Chip pale faced… '…I was caught by surprise, and my little heart raced…. I will run out of the door, use my mums secret chop, the ‘Exploding Cheese’ strike will make moggy drop!’ ‘tremendous’ voiced Ceddy, ‘get out my brushes, canvas, paint I will capture you in action should be one of the greats.’ ‘A David and Goliath, or George and the Dragon! I will sell it at auction We can buy a Volkswagen!’ Excited the duo spied through the workshop wall to see if the cat was outside, if she was out there at all. Licking great big paws clawing hard at the mat a fully flabby, feline fortress, warlike savage tabby cat! ‘Come on out my little rodents’ she said with regal purr ‘I promise not to eat you just borrow ALL of your fur!’ Continued... Our hero’s shook and shivered all down their tiny spines ‘she wants to skin us both alive that’s not very kind!’ Its time for martial action artistic self defence set up the white washed canvas’ red cross hospital tents. Out of the door Chip pounced followed by Ceddy and his easel nimbly setting up the picture stand lithe just like weasels. The cat was quite astounded that the boys should make a show didn’t no what to say or do should she just hightail and go? She hissed her surprise and took one deadly swipe at the Kung Fu White Mouse Master now this was really a fight. Ceddy’s furious flashing brush strokes blurred paint and coloured oil a scene quite like no other as the fast rat artist toiled. Chip ducked avoiding certain death then shot up like a spring so very close, a whiskers breadth , it was time to do his thing… The painter was amazing His tail now had a brush a cocoon of concentration slow motion film, then silence….hush. ‘and………Action!’ Time to give this cat the chop Mum had taught him to resist Her legendary secret move The ‘Exploding Cheesy Fist!’ Chip span like a tornado On the domesticated cat whilst a whirlpool flash of colours matched the illustrating rat. Chip made sharpest Kung Fu Cry Just like Mr. Bruce Lee’s He fell upon the ginger puss And unleashed the deadly cheese. The Cheese Chop fired down tore the air like fighter jets it screamed towards the stricken cat No! not another day at the vets? With a look of sheer terror And a ghastly, horrid shriek Turned quick fled and didn’t return not even for a peek. The Chinese chop was wasted but it did the very trick, for the cat had done a runner and the cheese had hit the bricks. The painting was now finished and our friends were very rich Ceddy’s ‘David and Goliath’ sold at auction in ‘The Ritz’!!! What would they do together No need to paint and sell Just retire and soak the sun up In a lovely French hotel lets buy a Volkswagen Beetle drive to the South of France just live happily every after in new hats and fancy pants! They bought a flashy motor Frilly trousers made of satin Took the highroad west to Wales And settled for Prestatyn. The End (until..... 'The Passion of Prestatyn')

Goldilocks and the Three Aliens

Goldilocks & the Three Aliens

A golden girl with golden locks

The one who wears the big stripy socks

The one who ran from ‘three bears cottage’

The one who steals other peoples porridge

Through the woods and down the lane

She hopped and skipped, splashed, ran in the rain

When through the clouds a spaceship flew

A whistling saucer out of the blue

Then from the disc bounced three daft aliens

Frolicked into the woods like crazy chameleons

Goldie peered and peeked into their craft

A smile, then a titter, she rolled and laughed

Inside the spaceship was a giraffe wearing pants

A pink fluffy flamingo doing a dance

25 chimps wearing pin stripe suits

Chatting and drinking from champagne flutes

She whispered and muttered in the giraffes ear

What she said wasn’t quite so clear

She showed the flamingo a different technique

And gave the monkeys a hand out sheet

The giraffe just cried and fell off her seat

Then the flamingo danced with two left feet

The monkeys began to scream and shout

Whatever had Goldie told them about.

Goldilocks hid behind a little brown bush

When the aliens returned to a deathly hush

They wobbled and wibbled around their ship

Looking worried like jelly & biting their lips

Who told the giraffe he can't wear pants

Who told the flamingo that she can't dance

And who gave the monkeys a certificate

For free pina coladas and chocolate cake

(mediterranean accent)

‘Wibbledy dibbledy!’ said alien 1

he looked very stern, with a big wobble on

‘dibble lolo quobble’, said alien 2

she looked very angry, like a quivering loon.

‘wibble de libberloo diberrydoon, 

zelibera dibera, sillysausage intwo, 

kitera, libera, dibwibblede bosera

trolley delbella de quobbley moon’.

Cut a long story short, they found Goldielocks

And bundled her into a old wooden box

They fed her with porridge and alien jam

Until she was bigger than 'porridge oats' man

She burst out the box and flew them all home

And told the aliens about Earths angry gnomes

She dropped the giraffe and flamingo on safari

And left all the monkeys to play her Atari

Then the aliens said that they wouldn't abduct

The animals or girls from any more woods

So she ran all the way home, to tell her mum

Of bears, aliens, safaris and how far she had come

Mum called her doctor to see if she was mad

Then rang up the office to bring home her dad

I'm sorry she said to her daughter Goldie

I'm afraid your brain has gone rather mouldy

Since you've been skipping off down the lane

You seem to have gone quite literally insane

So they shipped her off in a big white van

To the soft furnished hospital owned by Pac Man.

Dirty City Underworld

Dirty City Underworld

Saturday morning. 
The sky’s had darkened at around 9.30am
gradually worsening towards lunchtime when the rain began to pour. 
It poured on, after a small inconsolable weep, 
escalating to the unimaginable grief for a dead loved one, 
aching, wave after wave of sorrow from the sky, 
water where for once it could fly
struck from the deepest moist residue hearts from heaven
to the low lying, slowly dying, black filtered clouds, shielding the dismay below. 
Blacker than the pit workers, nay blacker than the ace of spades, 
Clouds like cards dealt by the devil himself.

A city of industry, a grand city of misery 
and a city where you could die without being noticed…
however life does exist here in economy and nature through various statures.
The sound of the liquid flowed through a markets ears. 
Dirty water ran through the guttering, over flowing round the dirty nests 
pissing a vile urea all over the city and the mortified birds long since drowned, 
fleeing to bird hell and as much seed as their gluttonous little breasts could hold. 
To burn in Hells Avery was a damn sight better 
than hazarding the treacherous down sided airways in the city, 
dipping uncontrollably in waterlogged, lack of catch 
down to fetter in a watery wet bed of bile.

Acid rain fell sideways in parallel lines, railway sleepers, reliably heavy. 
Trillions of crawling, hopping and sliding insects fighting, biting, spreading the
splurge, racing from the hungry birds, scampering in the mucky corners, dirge
crevices and cracks, against the city’s stench and bad food 
lying in each gutter, ripe for a birds pecking birds, birds, spiders and turds!
The rain found its way over, piping down, wet flossy fir, 
the Markets surrounding mossy walls, 
over the pavement, along the slab, into the sidings and the gutters, 
the cracks, the drains, in sewers it falls, 
to join the city’s shit, piss, effluent and chemical residue. 
The dirty bath water, skin, bone, blood and spit, 
To flow again with the stink of the city’s after waste, rising shit. 
The blockages began to giggle, gurgle and titter. 

Levels overflowing, rising from the dead, 
from bodies resting murdered, lying buried without heads 
under basement floors, dismembered in rotten bin bags 
under garden turf, souls gathering tattered, smirking, blackened mirth. 
Their time had finally come to rid themselves 
of the pointless deathly existence, ‘live a little’, no more complaining, 
‘lets cause a stink!’ they resound, lets make this place smell like the shithouse it really is. 
‘Pull together all your resources, 
all you dead and waste, lets break out of the dungeons, 
lets hit the streets, let us run with the wind, up past the feet 
of the sad, the noble, the good the unlucky and the ugly. 
Let’s get right up their noses and tickle their throats, 
make them cough and splutter with the smell from the gutter!’.

Yes the waters rose and with them did 
the demons of the city, the real undesirable things, 
the things that we’d thought we had flushed away, 
the stuff we didn’t know existed except for in its rightful place
Underground, in it’s underworld, the scourge of the drowning.