Best Fenn Poems
If pigs could fly it wouldn’t be good
You’d have to go out with a brolly
Wear Wellington boots and waterproof suits
Life wouldn’t be happy or jolly
There’d be danger around every corner
You’d think in your car you’d be safe
But unless you’re under some cover
Either you or your car they will strafe
The Towns would be dirty and smelly
And slippery in the extreme
We’d have to employ a small army
In an effort to keep the streets clean
Now don’t you get all of a fluster
For the scientists haven’t yet found
The means of piggy propulsion
Or getting the beasts off the ground
If one day this nightmare should happen
It won’t come as any surprise
If they manage to get piggies airborne
Then the price of bacon will rise
© John W Fenn 17-01-2009
I never saw it coming
It just crept up unawares
Probably this morning
Whilst I was still upstairs
I thought I caught a glimpse
As I had my tea and toast
For just a fleeting moment
Like a phantom or a ghost
It was later that it hit me
And the feeling left me cold
I realised that suddenly
I’d gotten bloody old
Looking in the mirror
For reflections never lie
I saw a total stranger
And he looked me in the eye
Reflecting on the image
And all that I could see
Sadly I concluded
That this, was really me
……………………………….......I never saw it coming
© John W Fenn 20-08-2009
SPIRITS OF THE PARROTS
Two parrots, one red, one blue,
share one large, rotund zoo cage,
just the two of them.
There are plenty of perches,
yet they sit on the same one,
close together,
looking over a feast
of fruit and seeds to share.
They make no noise,
as if in silent prayer
before their meal.
Where are those parrots today?
Where is the cage?
Can we see their spirits
flying past the zoo, over the city,
up and down the state, across the country?
When they fly through clouds
and rest on phone wires,
can they see rallies on street corners,
counter-rallies opposite,
each group waiting for the other
to offend them, just so they can lash out
with swear words and name-calling,
refusing to even look for common ground?
No, most likely, they stay in heaven,
flying close together,
exploring the new Jerusalem,
eating fruit from the tree of life,
the red one and the blue one.
-Jennifer Fenn
Remote controls are funny things
Then, maybe it’s just me
I wave it around for hours
But, still can’t get channel three
It will always find the menu
For the treble and the bass
If remote controls were human
I would slap them in the face
Remote controls are not my thing
Perhaps its my technique
If they could make one voice controlled
I’d only have to speak
It would follow my instructions
And obey them to the letter
A voice controlled remote control
Things couldn’t get much better
I’d shout out my instructions
“Change the channel, fifty four
The volumes far too low now
Turn the sound up, give me more”
If they made this little gadget
Then there’s something I’d be fearing
That knowing my track record
I’d get one that’s hard of hearing
© John W Fenn 03-07-2009
If I could have a word with God
I’d tell him I’m not pleased
Throughout the years he’s toyed with me
He tempted and he teased
He’d lead me up that primrose path
Then with my goal in sight
Spins me round a dozen times
And turn out every light
Seems to me whenever I’m
About to be in clover
Someone pulls the rug out
And I have to start all over
So please God if you’re listening
I’ve never asked for much
The next time I’m successful
Don’t kick me in the crotch
© John W Fenn 18-08-2009
Over in the corner
By the photo of the Queen
Lives a great enormous spider
Trying hard, not to be seen
He is very very hairy
And he’s very very fat
And the last time that I saw him
I could swear he wore a hat
Now he’s lived behind the picture
For a while, I am sure
He moved there from the gap
Between the skirting and the floor
He used to be quite cosy
In his space against the wall
With his appetite for flies
He soon found it far too small
When I walk in the room now
He will give me such a stare
And looks at me as if to say
“I really couldn’t care”
He’s bigger now, it’s frightening
And the family live in fear
When I popped out for my tea
He made the budgie disappear
My minds made up, he’s has to go
And so, I grab a towel
I walk into the lounge, and,
Did I really hear a growl?
My fathers says I’m stupid
Are you man or are you mouse?
I’ll answer him tomorrow
When I’ve finished moving house
© John W Fenn 13-07-2009
There are Fairies at the bottom of my garden
And they visit every evening, for a dance
They are lovely to behold and very welcome
I just wish they didn’t trample on my plants
Their favourite dance appears to be the Salsa
They do it with such style and aplomb
Much better than last week when they were jivin’
It appeared they’d hit the garden with a bomb
So I do believe in Fairies, ‘cos I’ve seen them
And every night I watch them, in a trance
They are graceful and delightful and enchanting
“Oi, Tinkerbell, get off my bloody plants”
© John W Fenn 14-07-2009
The weeds that grow upon the lawn
Continue growing when they’re shorn
Though treated with a herbicide
It’s no surprise that none have died
The chemicals that you apply
Should make them shrivel up and die
But only seem to feed and nourish
Makes them grow and makes them flourish
Don’t sit there feeling all forlorn
Regarding such a sickly lawn
There’s one solution guaranteed
To eradicate, that awful weed
Get up, go out, put on your coat
Buy yourself a nanny goat
© John W Fenn 21-08-2009
I’ve got a great invention
I use it all the time
It does the things that I should do
It always works just fine
It cleans my room it tidies up
And puts my stuff away
Does chores I don’t have time to do
So I can go and play
I never have to worry
If I run a little late
I find my meals are cooked for me
And ready on a plate
It doesn’t need much maintenance
To make it sweetly hum
Just a little oiling,
With the words “I love you mum”
© John W Fenn 14-02-2009
The sock monster climbs up the waste pipe
And into your washing machine
He’ll hide up in a corner
To ensure he can’t be seen.
Then when you put you clothes in
And you’ve set the washers clock
He’ll dive into your washing
And select a single sock.
This special prize, he’ll carry off
To his secret monster lair
And share this tasty morsel
With his monster wife so fair.
© John W Fenn 03-12-2008
IV
Matriculation
Back to home, Patrick did go,
For in his heart he knew
It was time to study with the church,
That this he had to do.
He told his parents when he got home
That he must go to France
And with great strength, he again departed,
Tears filling this last glance.
Patrick studied his Latin
And the dogma in Lorraine
And in his learning of the scripture,
He did not have to strain,
His past with his present learning
Melded with great coordination
And before year 428,
Hehad earned his ordination.
Patrick journeyed back to home,
His familiy held a feast
To celebrate his return
And his becoming a priest-
He followed in the footsteps
Of his father and grandpa,
Patrick measured up an equal
To the hope, in him, they saw.
One late summer evening,
Patrick had this dream:
Near the Woods of Foccult
Within a mist shrouding a stream
Came the voice of the Irish people
-Together something tremendous-
Asking him to return there,
To, "Come and walk among us!"
Patrick became aware
That in order to play his part
That God had assigned to him,
He would have to depart
Forever from his homeland
So as to proselytize
The heathen Irish pagans,
Though sorrow filled his eyes.
He knew there would be no return,
He would not see home again
Or sit among his family
In their home upon the fenn,
But this was understood by all,
His parents exuded joy
About this wonderful mission--
They were proud of their boy.
So, for the last time from Britain
Patrick traveled North on foot
To find where he was needed,
Where he was to be put.
This time, his journey was as if
He had never seen
The beauty of the glenns and hollocks
Of the richest, deepest green.
Patrick journeyed long and far
Making camp in the twilight
And as the distance grew
He knew that he was right,
"To help my fellow man
Is why, from home, I've gone."
And every day, his camp was broke
Before the light of dawn.
You gots to wear your ‘elmet
It’s a rule what can’t be broke
Suspose you ‘as a haccident
That wouldn’t be a joke
If sumfin’ comes a crashing
And it ‘its you on yer ‘ead
It could knock yer bloody brains out
Then you could wake up dead
.
Yer boots now they’re another fing
You shouldn’t be wivout
They could stop a painful injury
Of that there aint no doubt
Leather gloves and safety glasses
Are essential fings to wear
You needs yer safety clothing
It’s a nasty place out there
.
They don’t make rules for fun ya know
An’ I knows you feels a fool
But the elf an’ safety people
They is there to ‘elp us all
So stop your bloody whinging
Get yer sign, get on yer feet, cos
We ‘as to get these kiddiewinks
Safely ‘cross the street
© John W Fenn 02-07-2009
Cockney
If your bottom should start feeling ill at ease
And then blesses everybody with a sneeze;
Good people please take heart,
it was just a little fart
Which will soon be disappearing on the breeze
© John W Fenn 10-01-2009
Never let an elephant in your house
Get a rabbit or a lemur or a mouse
If you’re going to buy a pet
And you haven’t got one yet
Never, let an elephant in your house
Never let an Elephant in your lounge
He will beg and he will pester, he will scrounge
With his oversized proboscis
He's more trouble than rhinoceros
Never, let an Elephant in your lounge
Never let an elephant in your bed
Make him sleep out, maybe in the garden shed
If you let him in your pit
He will fidget, quite a bit
Never, let an Elephant in your bed
© John W Fenn 03-01-2009
I’m learning how to fly
My Mummy says I’ll be outstanding
She say’s I need to do a little
Practice on my landing
She said to stay low level
And to use my common sense
So I’m practising by jumping
With umbrellas, off the fence
© John W Fenn 11-11-2009