Life on the Edge

I live on the edge, I’m a man through and through
A bit of a rebel, between me and you
I use naughty words when there’s no one to hear ‘em
I’ve never done drugs but I once went quite near ‘em
I stroll in MacDonald’s without even booking
Make signs at the wife when I know she’s not looking
I live on the edge, I’m a man through and through
And no one tells me what to do

I live on the edge, I’m a free-thinking guy
I look my optometrist straight in the eye
I revel in things that are simply not done
“Don’t Walk On The Grass”? I prefer to not run
I wear a thick vest though we’ve got central heating
I’ll pay for a meal then run off without eating
I live on the edge, I’m a man through and through
And no one tells me what to do

I live on the edge in a state of high tension
I happily fly in the face of convention
When out in my Volvo I find it amusing
To fill parking meters I’m not even using
I smile at policemen to make ‘em all crosser
And laugh when they call me a sad little tosser
I live on the edge, I’m a man through and through
And I don’t care who knows it…(between me and you!)

Will Hames

The Hippo

Don't ever bath with a hippo
He won't leave you room for a shrug
He'll keep all the bubbles up his end
While you get the end with the plug

To bath with a hippo's not clever
You need something more your own size
He'll panic and squash you whenever
He gets the shampoo in his eyes

An elephant's worse, I can tell you
The water all goes up his trunk
But don't ever bath with a hippo
And don't let him have the top bunk

Will Hames

Boredom

I've done a jigsaw puzzle. It was mostly grass and sky
I've giggled through the window at the people passing by
I've counted up my marbles: all in all, I've forty three
I've chased the dog and teased the cat and had a cup of tea

I've washed my hands a dozen times with Mummy's special soap
I've tied my sister to a tree. I used her skipping rope
I've called my cousin for a chat. It looks as if he's out
I've tried to play the wat'ring can by blowing up the spout

I've slithered headfirst down the stairs and climbed the garden shed
I've tried to bash the boy next door, but he bashed me instead
I've written off to Santa Claus, although it's only June
I think I'll go insane if they don't fix the TV soon

Will Hames

Fridge Poetry

A while ago, at the Poetry Cafe in Covent Garden, I picked up a little box of random words printed on fridge magnets. I thought my children might find them fun, and for about five minutes, they did. Five minutes was about the amount of time it took for them to establish that there were no swear words in the mix. I've just found the box stuffed under a small mountain of teddy bears and boldly aromatic socks in my son's bedroom. Nobody was watching, so I took the box down to the kitchen and started fiddling around, sorting out the nouns, adjectives and so on into different areas of our magnetic notice board.
This is what I came up with:

TROLL FANG
Somewhere in the mysterious forbidden forest
I found a cold newt potion
Yet there was no rainbow fire carpet
No giant lizard for a troll fang
Ask a small screaming hobbit to leap & dance
These owls of gold are bloody fierce
It must have flown beneath my dragon house

I think I'll leave this up on the board to remind me not to waste so much time. My children think I'm a mystic.

Being a carer

People often say to me, "You're such a noble person, giving up all your freedom and social life to look after your wife." I really don't know how to answer that. It wasn't something I volunteered for, it just crept up on me over a period of years. I used to have a pretty good job with an international trade union, well paid, challenging and varied. Gradually, it became clear that being on call around the clock at home didn't fit too well with holding down a full-time job. I think it was the third or fourth time I woke up with my head on the keyboard of my work computer that I realised something had to give; the job or the marriage. By that time, we had three children, so even if I hadn't continued to love my wife, it was a real no-brainer.
So here I am, going slowly out of my mind with boredom in these four walls and wondering why a person so glaringly unfitted to the role of home maker gets landed with the job.
It's not rocket science, of course. Any fool could do it and a lot of people with room-temperature IQs do it very successfully. What defeats me is the motivation. After all this time, I still have the feeling that I'm just holding the fort until somebody capable comes along and licks this place into shape.
If it weren't for the fact that I can escape into writing and, all too occasionally, performing my silly poetry at various gigs in and around London, I think I'd go crazy for real. As it is, all my latent insanity is channelled onto the page, where it sits and smirks at me.
My pager's just bleeped. I have to go and see what my patient needs. One bleep means, "When you can," two mean "Come now" and more than two mean "Help, I'm on fire!" So far, just one bleep has sounded. Oh no, there goes another one. Can I use foul language on a blog?

Thursday, 25 September 2008

I'm new to blogging, so I hope this works.
Here's one of my silly poems for starters.

I Could

I could eat an elephant on toast, for just a snack
I could climb an oak tree with both hands behind my back
I could whistle "Dixie" while I drink a glass of milk
I could comb a coconut until it's smooth as silk

I could spell "chrysanthemum" without a calculator
I could build a house with two short planks and a potater
I could do most anything, and I could show you how
I could tell the truth, but I'm not in the mood right now

Will Hames
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