The Missis

MAGPIE TALES
http://magpietales.blogspot.com.au/
supplied the illustration

THE MISSIS

First let me introduce myself; I'm a terrier name of Fred.

And, last Friday morning early,  my Missis got out of bed,

Looking, as she usually does, drowsy and all rumpled,

Not exactly attractive, hair awry and nighty crumpled.

'The wretched man wants eggs again!' I heard the Missis mutter;

'He wants them poached, on a slice of toast, with lots and lots of butter!'

Now this tirade was hardly new; I'd listened to it for years.

In fact, I was sick of her moaning, which brought me close to tears.

Each morning I'd stand in the kitchen, waiting for my little snack

And all I'd get was misery and I couldn't answer back!

'Fifteen years of this!' she'd say 'If only I'd realised,

That he was  a brute and I would be constantly victimised!' 

As I say I'd heard it all before; but today there was a change;

A look came over the Missis' face and the look was rather strange.

As she broke an egg into the pan she gazed, transfixed, at the shell.......

She said 'I'll sail away in you, far from this living hell!'

And so she did! Out of the window she sailed into the skies!

When Himself appeared, to eat his eggs, he got a big surprise!

*

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POETIC DISCIPLINE

WITH IT!

Oh Muse! The bargain that you strike is hard,

When you demand that poets keep to rules!

Sometimes our thoughts are undermined and marred,

And all our bright poetic ardour cools,

When you insist on keeping us in check,

With numbered stanza and with counted line!

What mighty thoughts your discipline may wreck!

And how for wordy freedom we may pine!

Between the thought and pen you raise a fence

Which we must straddle should we wish to write,

And all you give to us as recompense

Is the knowledge that our poem's 'in the right'.
Akin to doing crosswords is your rule
And all I want to do is play the fool!
*
AND

WITHOUT !

My love of words
Often runs away with me.
Give me an idea,
Good or bad,
And I tend to run off at the mouth
Or pen
Or computer.
Take your pick!
I write a phrase
And preen.
Then I write another
And another
 And another.
Like a bag of jelly-beans
Tipped up,
The words come spilling out
Until the whole table is full
Of spilt jelly-beans.
People taste a few
And then sicken.
I repeat an idea ad nauseum.
I get flowery
And bowery
And over-powery.
The ideas,
Good or bad,
Jostle to be let out!
What I need is someone 
To tell me when to
STOP!