Tuesday, 23 February 2010


To coin a phrase, the other side of the coin,
Toss a coin, coin-slot, pound coin, coin operated,
Coins in a fountain, foreign coins, coin collector,
Coining it—what is a coin?
A coin is a round piece of metal called money,
Coins are getting smaller and worth less.
Coins look like medals and, like loins, get tossed.
A coin can be a tip or found in the street.
You can fit coins between your toes, if you have feet.
Coins are circular symbols of value,
There are a hundred 1p coins to the pound,
It would take far more than a hundred though to cover the ground.
Coins mount up and wear holes in pockets,
A coin can be contained in any decent locket.
Coins aren’t always round they’re sometimes multi-sided,
If there should be a triangular coin hasn’t been decided.
Coins buy things in shops,
It’s obvious really when the penny drops.
A coin is a form of currency currently,
Currency is a form of addiction inflicted on us all.

Monday, 15 February 2010


A fool, aloof, fools no one.
‘There’s no fool like an old fool,’ any old fool can say,
Oblivious to the fact that two old fools might meet and talk each day.
Tools rhymes with fools, but bad workmen (proverbially) blame the former.
A fool gets hot under the collar when he overindulges in korma,
Although this curry is mild, the fool will hurry—the child.
Children are not exactly fools, but they are naïve,
Fools, however, wear a sign that says: THE END IS NIGH!
A clever person who perceived that END is EVE misspelled expelled a sigh.
While a fool who is quite happy can still be seen to cry,
Many people are foolish, but wise folk don’t know why.

Tuesday, 2 February 2010


Mutiny—mute, a knee caps it all
In London (UK’s capital),
Capital letters removed from the upper case
On a pile of luggage,
Spells disaster for their pessimistic discoverer
Only to discover her strength lies not in words, but in mime.

When arrested, just in time,
The mime artist, who’d turned to crime,
Was asked to come along quietly.
Quiet Lee was an unlikely PC,
And the mime artist’s arresting officer,
Ending this criminal’s spree.

Lee dreams of a crime wave,
In the sense of a farewell to all crime,
But, he knows, farewells are not full of bus tickets.
Pus thickets septic presence—
With no bearing on the welfare of farewells—
Shelter acne-ridden gamblers,
Hedging their bets while seeking proverbial birds in the bush,
Their hands, which—
If they held birds, would be employed more valuably—
Push, displace leaves and leaves them
Beating about the bush.