Best Spanner Poems
For two weeks o'er Christmas; let's straighten the bend, or flatten the curve
Lets just get on the mend.' Give amazon and others a holiday space
And more Important yourselves' just step off the goods race
For there's two weeks of freedom, maximise it and how'
Hit percentage throw a spanner
Explore a new kind of WOW.' Take the freedom on offer!
Its that time of the year, take from the takers'
Lessen your debt, cancel fear, in only two short weeks
Look upon it as done, it will lessen your burdens
It could be pure fun.?
Spend much less, use some reason; look' don't be a debt cow!
Push coersion to the roadside, flatten the curve, that is starting now.!
My neighbour her name is Matilda
She used to step out with a builder
She loved the exotic, but became quite neurotic
When his lovemaking no longer thrilled her
Her plumbing was starting to go on the blink
And her toilet was leaking and so was her sink
She needed a man and she needed him quick
But her builder had fallen and cracked his joystick
Her cistern now broken, she needed the loo
So called out a plumber called Malcolm, she knew
He arrived with his tools and his six pack too
Her fantasy answered her dreams had come true
She succumbed to his charms and fell into his arms
Tattooed and muscular he was all she could wish for
But whilst they were frolicking her builder returned
As he gave her a rollicking, showing Malcolm the door
But Matilda and Malcolm were besotted
Malcolm’s spanner in hand, her builder she swatted
Now her love life’s exotic she’s no longer neurotic
Malcolm’s full of surprises in all shapes and sizes
Surprising Matilda each time his spanner rises
19th November 2018
Competition: Make me actually LOL
Sponsor: Nina Parmenter
Contest Strand Choice N
Sponsor Brian Strand
Things bloom more beautiful when breaking down.
The nave now ploughs through foams of flowering trees,
a frozen caravel. Kissed by the breeze,
the river surface suddenly seems to frown
exquisitely. The apse’s jaunty crown
of weeds above one (sightless) eye would please
romantic poets. What was once a friese
lies strewn about, a shaley shanty-town.
We love whatever withers, atrophies.
To see a calked construction founder, drown
beneath its own detritus, by degrees
slough off its shape and, sinking to its knees,
expire, is satisfying. Velvet gown?
We’d much prefer to see a soiled chemise.
A lake? A cloud? A mountain? Megan Fox?
If we acknowledge Beauty in these things,
what are we saying? As when Smokey sings,
or girls emerge in slinky summer frocks,
something’s taking place outside the box
of regularity, and sprouting wings.
How might we classify these happenings?
A rupture in the norm? The whole Baroque’s
built on this very point. If Beauty rocks,
what is the special quality it brings,
and why is it so pleasing? Beauty flings
a spanner in the works of Orthodox,
and laughs at Workaday. It mocks
our essence, lurks in quirks, and smirks at clocks.
“The Wordsworth ouevre is cretinous. Discuss.”
The Long, Laborious Quest, The Sparrow’s Nest,
The Noble Oak of Guernica, Addressed –
We can’t escape the feeling he’s a wuss.
His subjects are unconscionable, plus
the rhymes he uses are a facilefest.
If only he were even half in jest!
His humour’s unintentional, and thus
more entertaining than he could have guessed.
Yet something in his scribblings seems to wrest
significance from dross, analogous
to Newton’s differential calculus,
invented by the by, at whim’s behest.
When Wordsworth falls apart, he’s at his best.
I have some favorite tools I use,
Whenever I ply my trade,
From the hammer in my leather pouch,
To the retractable cutting blade.
I also love the spanners I have,
One metric, the other in inch,
When I use them to tighten to my car,
The small electric motor winch.
And the ratchet, socket and circular saw,
Displayed inside my shed,
I love these names said loud and proud,
From mallet to Phillips Head
And I use these tools every day,
I use the chisel, the grips, the wrench,
I love disappearing all the time,
By my old warn wood workbench.
After reading a couple of poems about spelling and grammar, i questioned about the the correct use of affect vs. effect and had a bit of a play around with a few words.
Silent One ... this is for you. :-)
Started reading some poems about English spelling and grammar,
I brought up affect and effect which threw in a bit of a spanner.
Does anyone really understand the difference between the two?
I like to think I’ve got it but the truth is I don’t have a clue.
I set myself a mission to find out about these two words,
What I didn’t realise was, there is actually a third.
Affect is to change or cause an influence in a particular event,
Effect is when a change has occurred, so that answers that argument.
But as I investigate further, when S is added to effect it changes the entire meaning,
It means personal belongings, my head now hurts, oh why did I start intervening?
If I have a job to do I find a useful tool
For screwing in a screw I use a screwdriver
For banging in a nail I need a hammer
When I need something really hot I use a soldering Iron
When I want to remove wallpaper I use a stripper
If my tap is stuck and needs turning on I use a spanner
If I want to see sparks fly I use an electric screwdriver
If I want affection I head for my husband ….
He’s bound to have the right tool for the job
Jan Allison
10th July 2014
Have you seen the part time plumber?
He plumbs in winter and a pop-star in summer
During a plumbing job, he will thrust out his spanner
Singing into it “Copacabana”
Crack open an eye on Saturday morn,
and reach out to give him a cuddle.
To find he's been up since break of dawn,
and crouched in a black oily puddle.
Began with the Polo, a fast one I guess,
On day three the engine goes BOOM!
Self serviced the car to cost himself less,
Now there's wires spewing out from the loom.
A holey exhaust, a broken headlight,
and *** burns adorning each seat.
The bulbs have all blown so he cant drive at night,
or too far coz the car overheats.
To top this all off, he then bought a Golf
GTI so it's fast as a cheetah.
It's German, it's black, he's named it Adolf,
The fact it won't start, common feature.
He pulled out the seats and the engine and tanks,
It's now just a sad empty shell.
I put up and put up but still get no thanks,
So I wish these cars would burn in hell.
I'm tired of washers and bolts on the floor,
of my kitchen and hallway and loo.
Got wires and leads and cards off the doors,
Full suspension in my living room.
Im sick of these Dubs, I'm sick of the sight
of alloys and tyres and....just....bits.
The attention these Dubs get from morning til night,
It's beginning to get on my.....nerves.
Just put down your spanner, your socket and wrench
and grab a cold drink from the fridge
Take off your stained jeans, and jump in the bath
Now, where did I put the phone number for the scrap yard?.......
6th September 2011
That’s it the battle is won, the toilet can fight no more
Three weeks ago the flush would overflow.
And kept leaving a puddle on the floor
I looked in the book, it said I needed a spare part
I went to the merchant; “we have none, don’t lose heart?”
I can send you somewhere, and they do have a spare.
So I went armed with lots of new knowledge and credit card
The merchant looked at my list and gave me the part,
I took it striaght home and started the job, it was hard
Then found the part was too short for a start.
I rang them and told what was wrong
Don’t worry come on back,
We do have an extension pack
So I drove the ten miles still full of enthusiasm and song.
I need a spanner for this, mine does not fit
“Don’t worry we have just what you need
Some PVA tape, a washer or two
And then it won’t leak when you’ve peed.”
I turned off the water, I thought that I oughta
Everywhere went dry but the toilet.
So with some intervention, I put on the extension.
But still the floor kept getting wet.
After managing to fit a new isolator
My husband was pleased “how did you do that?”
I said it's a pipe and a nut, not an electricl generator.
It was easy, I said wearing my know- it-all hat.
I twisted and turned, and I taped every joint
I fitted the valve in the top of the cistern.
I turned the water back on and it worked a treat
The arm moved up and down like a piston
The water stopped when it should, and did not overflow
I was happy and yet my feet suddenly got wet
The nuts and pipes still had fight left in them
I sighed gave another turn, it was tight and difficult and yet
I stuck my head under, turned the spanner, one more turn
The book was ok, but it’s doing the job I did learn
One more turn is one turn too much.
It split the washer and pipe, I knew it was tight
When it screeched like a banshee or some such.
The water came out, but the isolator did the trick
Its a good job I had fitted it on
I gave it a turn and the water stopped in a tick
I t was then that I knew I had won
I was upset it was a bummer
But I went and got a plumber
Now I am queen of the toilet I have won.
There is always a way, the optimist says,
Yet the creak of life’s tensions groan low,
They shadow the quake that the floor he walks makes,
And the air as it travels says so.
See the mist pale & thick,
It caresses each tip, every leaf, every needle and frond,
He smiles a wide smile at a metallic knell
Like sweet chiming bells,
Speaking scenes to his minds inner eye.
The paleness surrounds like great steam clouds,
Then a strong rasping sound cuts in with a short rhythmic note,
He sees a blue breaking through, the white tendrils grow few,
he gazes on grey shining ribbons of track
With a curve running clean through fields of sage green.
Wheat silos by pale gold hay stacks.
Then with curses and clumps the foreman climbs up and
Hauls another rasping board to his stage,
“Hey grab hold of this mate! You’re making us late”,
As a bucket of clamps clatters down!
So with a spanner in hand he re-joins the gang,
And puts his hand to a galvanised pole,
It’s cold and damp to his grip, and he feels his heart dip,
As he thinks on the way life now goes,
Lost in terraces grey while for hours he slaves,
So far from his Wichita home,
With his quiet English wife and two children besides,
And too soon, into a day nursery they'll go.
But dear God in heaven the sign said 7 to 7,
Is that the start to a balanced home life?
© Joe Maverick 2010
Holier than thou
Not giv’n to pray, they were grey monks
‘Mid the holy band, ole’ Father John
Who was a gansta and wanksta,
Held command with some merry wives
That were healed of un-upright-nesses
Of them was Johanna selle her belle chose
And walke as fresh as is a red rose.
Many ministered unto him their substance.
Such was then pious lusty man of this crowd
This monk possess’d such wond’rous pow’r
To rub out the sin that Satan chalk’d upon
And gave fresh license to start afresh.
Near, in a farm house liv’d this gay dame
Quite clever in throwing a spanner in works
Father John sought the cell ev’ry week
Once a thump at the door, the husband came
Who was dodgy and a nutter
Punished the father with his thick stick.
Till he confessed "no he’d play the priest".
+++
August 24, 2014
Form: Free Verse
I have a bottle of whisky I keep in my house
It is well hidden, like a tiny little mouse
I drink it in all kinds of situations
I drink it down to calm down my chaotic emotions
My house is my life and I share both with my wife
She is nice but she doesn’t always possess a sex drive
I would rather go to bed a drunk, than a frustrated man
I drink my whisky while she snores, and i have lots of fan
Am not a perfect man, my wife nor perfect spouse either
We argue quite a lot, but when am on the whisky she seems nicer
She can say hurtful things that can cause my sober psyche much panic
But the whisky drowns my fears, like the sinking of the titanic
The whisky gets me through difficult domestic quarrels
A drink or two, and you forget your sorrows and tomorrows
Life is here and now, whether or not you own titles and plots
Happiness is a moment like this, inspired by whisky shots
The whisky for me, is like a silent life partner
When bolts are loose in my head, it is my golden spanner
The whisky represents me just like an advocate
Defending me against boredom, so that with fate i can relate
Life outside the house seems to dash unfairly fast
Time gets lost while you are wearing an employee’s mask
But between my house and my whisky, my mind stands still
I don’t know about heaven, but this is how it must feel
Least Developed Nations
Engage in high corruption and wastage
Are featured by poverty amidst plenty
Senior officers are like bats in offices and survive
Through no or faked democratic elections
Developed Nations exploit them eloquently
Every form of treasure is mortgaged
Very few rulers dream of their dark hearts
Even the rulers are spanner-boys in their backyards
Low income per capita shows citizens are rats in a mosque
Organized kidnaps of opposition is game of amusement
Power is concentrated in the hands few man eaters
Economy is always bed-ridden in emergency wards and
Desire to change such governments is suicidal
None of the nations dreams of being a super power
Atomic or nuclear capability is exist as a myth
Time and again they fight proxy wars and are
Interested in doing the dying to make other nations great
Over-dependence and domination are a hobby
Nations in this category are often very wealthy but
Survive by carrying yawning bags to the land of everlasting rains
Cheetah - A Haiku
beamy afforest
a tame, creepy cheetah calls
after the spanner
4/13/19
One time wombat shudders. It was very cold today and a kilt, cape, and long length knitted cloak just was not providing sufficient heat. Must buy some socks he thought. Then wandering around he found out the mouse shop was open. It sold some lovely high quality knitted socks which could be worn over the shoe or boot. So he entered the shop and the mouse sales assistant gave him a pair to try on. They fitted perfectly. Now he could trek across the peaks. Now he would arrive on time for the wedding of mr seal. He had promised to go after all. And he had made them a chair as a present which could be carried at ease over the hills. It was not that heavy. It only consisted of two tree trunks and an oak stump and that was far less than usual to carry that distance. My goodness what weights he had carried before over the treacherous heights. A leaf. A duster. A pin. He remembered them all to the exact centimetre. It was not to be said that a spanner in a basket weighed more or less than a cake in a suitcase. Nevertheless he made his purchase and hurried home to begin on the harness for the chair. Then once the harness was tied, it was up the mountain down the mountain then finally it he reached the destination. Oh my what a fabulous coastline. The seals were very impressed by the chair and the friends of the seal made orders for tables, hanging baskets, and clotted cream ceiling beams. He was very happy now. Quantative quantities quarter quality. And a jurisdiction of a derelict pipe in a picture of a little hamlet. Interesting the bend in a mild lane. Hahaha the toast junior is doing a flip out with an omelette maker. Hahah a scone is blooming with flowers. Xxxxx narration Z Z Z Z