Mr. Abbott
Mr. Abbott bought a
steam powered Stanley
He felt it made him
look rather manly
He has a large
handlebar moustache
Constantly covered in
soot and ash
In his finery,
goggles and gloves
He would wave at his
imaginary loves
Over the hills
and over the dales
He would frequently stop
for supplies and sales
Horses would buck,
cows would “moo”
Whatever the terrain,
the Stanley got through
At the end of the day
back in the barn,
Mr. Abbott, in his chair
would weave a yarn
His stories were
colourful and bold
Renowned for being
exceptionally told
As the years drew past
the Stanley would sit
Stiffening up
becoming unfit
The trusty machine finally
rested in a meadow
Until today,
saved by Jay Leno
Hop along through the fields like the rabbits—
Or I know seven women named Abbott.
Call it ridiculous,
Something ludicrous,
But I’ve forgotten what my analogy is for.
Either way, because of you, my back is sore,
So hop along through the fields like the rabbits—
Or I know seven women named Abbott.
Don’t let them on your case.
Don’t let them see your face.
Sing yourself a nursery rhyme,
Postpone their judgment for another time,
And be free like the rabbits,
Or suffer the wrath of seven Abbotts.
Does anyone remember Abbott and Costello
Goofy as they were, my memories are mellow
Their antics were silly
A bit willy nilly
Bud and Lou were hilarious fellows
WITH APOLOGIES TO ABBOTT AND COSTELLO
“Been to the youth centre again,”
She said, “Guess what band I’ve been to see.”
I said, “NO IDEA, my pet.”
“No,” she says, “We had NO IDEA last month.
After that it was BETTER TO BE DEAD.”
I said, “NOT SURPRISED.”
“No, guess again, daddy.”
“Oh, probably NEVER HEARD OF THEM.”
“No,” she says, “They’re on next week.
WHO was the the band I saw in December.”
I said, “GOD KNOWS.”
“No,” says she, “It was WHO.”
I said, "WHADDYAMEAN?”
She said, “No, that’s next month, silly.
Tomorrow it'll be TOO LATE TO WORRY."
I said, "OK just don't be late home."
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………
Note:
Whenever my teen daughter talks to me about this
or that rock band, she claims I always say disparaging
things such as “Never heard of them” or “No idea”.
She’s right, so this poem is a sort of apology for
my comments. Names of rock bands are CAPITALISED
Day of mourning
for the music world
the red bearded god is slain
upon the stage his blood was spilt
metal will never be the same
a guitar genius
the best there was
his brother Vinnie
sick with loss
no-one else can fill his shoes
he played it all
from rock to blues
Dimebag Darrell
rest in peace
a blacktooth i drink for you
the Hendrix of our generation
live forever like all legends do