Sunday, September 26, 2010



The words in blue are the first words of
Regina Spektor’s song 'The Call'
'It started out as a feeling which then grew into a hope'


It started out as a feeling
As I lay there in my bed.
I gazed up at the ceiling
Knowing overwhelming dread.
I knew that I was suffering
From some terrible malaise
Which would carry me off in agony
In only a matter of days!
I felt my forehead! It was hot!
But I shivered all the same!
No doubt I'd caught a bad disease,
But I didn't know its name.
I dragged myself, very bravely,
To Google my dread disease,
'Let me die of it quickly!'
This was one of my pleas!
What if I had a nasty growth
Which grew into my liver?
I sat there at the computer;
All I could do was quiver!
Was it cancer or arthritis,
Or a block in a vital tract?
Was I heading for amnesia?
Was it a vitamin I lacked?
The diseases that were listed
Were dreadful in the extreme;
Dying in awful agony
Seemed to be the theme.
My fear grew into an anguish!
'I'd better make my will!'
'I hope it isn't that one!'
'Oh! That one's nastier still!'
Then I turned to 'hypochondria';
That sounded pretty grim!
If I'd got that my chances
Of recovery were slim!
Yes! That was it! Hypochondria!
I liked the sound of it.
I braced my shoulders to face the world,
And suddenly felt quite fit!



My Saturday Nights aren't fevered!
My temperature's gone down!
At the end of the week
I no longer seek
A night out on the town!

In the days of my youth, I remember,
Shenanigens were a must,
I'd take my chance
On the great romance
Or, at least, a bit of lust!

I'd dream of meeting a lover,
Who'd be dark and slim and tall,
Though I must admit
I wasn't a hit
At the Kensington Town Hall!

I'd be squeezed by paunchy patrons
Who were horribly past their best!
I'd be clutched and mauled
And overhauled,
Grasped tight to a manly chest.

Very rarely, the magic happened,
'Across a crowded room',
I'd think 'Here we go!'
When we said 'Hallo'
And my heart would go 'Boom boom boom!'

But, more often, on Sunday mornings,
I'd wake with that old 'So what!'
The night before
Had proved, as before,
That my property wasn't hot.

And now, as I'm nearing eighty,
I find that my greatest thrill
Is a cup of tea,
The cat on my knee,
A bag of sweets and 'The Bill'.

The young will find that ghastly!
They'll think my cupboard bare.
But I finally found
A man, who's around.......
Asleep in the other arm-chair!


keith sramblings said...

Isn't it strange how the slightest little twinge felt in the night seems terminal! Both poems are sheer delight.

Flying Monkey said...

I agree. Really loved both poems.

Jinksy said...

Lucky you! My other chair is full of nothing but papers heading for the recycling! LOL :)

Susan said...

Especially loved Diagnosis :D

Anonymous said...

My comment disappeared. Both far too close for comfort, but very clever and very funny!

Tilly Bud said...

I like the way you worked the quote into your poem.

I know a hypochondriac so this struck a chord. Nicely done.

Elizabeth said...

I like both poems but the hypochondria is also close to home. Why is it, that in the middle of the night, the only possibilities are ghastly, indeed?


Nara malone said...

Oh, thank you for a much needed good laugh. Loved them bot.