There once was a squirrel named Tippy
who loved ice cream that was chocolate chippy.
He’d wiggle and grin
as he dipped right in
that tiny-paw thief was so lippy.
Ultimately, only my sister can decide whether to let them know or they should be let known that she’s in a deep hole mentally trying to do her dissertation proposal. We are strongly advising she does something to help herself. Course leaders can only empathise if they know what's going on for students.
I’ve been giving silly solutions to her struggles – stopping for the day and giving our parents piercings, stopping for a day and emailing Mrs Coventry inviting her to Binley Mega Chippy in Coventry. The spring rolls there truly are MEGA.
Lucky me is just looking forward to getting my chicken on a bike tattoo with my self-drawn sweet, the only assignments I’ve got being ones I give myself. My current assignment is chilling waiting for my Jasmine Rice to cook as I write this, a katsu curry and carrot cupcakes already made.
When she’s working and studying and working, my sister often doesn’t have the chance to eat. She’s just got her laptop – hopefully she’s going to send that email. That email will be the only thing she needs for them to grant her a break from going down.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The snowy slopes called, Come out and play!
The chipmunks strapped into their tiny sleds~
Yip-yip-yip! through the powder they flew,
acorn goggles on striped daredevil faces.
Squeakers lead the way leaving fresh tracks in the snow.
Chippy followed, attempting a flip.
But face-planted straight
into a gentle puff of snow.
The squirrels jeered from their oak trees,
You call that a jump? More like tragic!
Till Squeakers nailed a backflip so grand.
The crows gasped, That’s rad, that’s magic!
The dusk settled-the slopes bathed in crimson gold.
The chipmunks share tales by a hot cocoa den.
Tomorrow? More chaos—more speed, more air~
‘cause winter was made for the small and the brave.
It was the last order rush
All full of fun and chat.
As the door swung wide
All turned to look at what.
He wore his hat pulled low
He wore his dark hair long
And his spurs jingle jangled
Like the rhythm to a song.
His leather chaps dragged
And scraped along the floor
And you could cut the tension
As he stood there in the door.
Someone started laughing,
Then another one or two,
Great guffaws and giggles
You know the way you do.
He glared at us with slitted eyes
One hand hovered as if to draw
And as the laughter increased
Glared at us all once more.
The last Gunfighter?
Survivor of the few?
But rather out of place
In a Saturday chippy queue
He walked out defiantly.
Such an amazing sight,
Ok I suppose in Tombstone,
But on a Barnsley boozy night?
Milk bottles we would rinse out and return.
Pop bottles take back to claim the tuppence.
Kellogg’s cartons collected for the kids
To cut and paste and learn creative art.
Unburnt cinders reclaim from last night’s fire
And add to burn again with today’s coals.
Rinsed food cans collected by rag-bone man.
Blue sugar-bag take back to the Coop
To be filled once more with weighed out sugar.
Cut up old clothes to use as cleaning rags.
Collect carthorse droppings for garden plants.
Newspapers take to chippy for free chips
Or use to roll and twist as fire-lighters.
Naught went to waste in those austere times.
I will very very probably do it again
Anyone who knows me and has a brain
Can see that Biden's old and lame
Now's the time to reignite my reign.
MAGA folks love me and want me back
They need our country set on track
For what I have all others lack
Of running stuff they know sweet jack.
As to DeSantimonius, Short Pants Pence and Chippy Cheney
That they'll burn out I'll wage you money
I'm the one that's smart and funny
My golden touch makes all things sunny.
So once these midterms are sown up
I'll squeeze lame Joe just like a bug
Show the world that he's a dud
For I’m the man, I know it in my gut.
It was the last order rush
All full of fun and chat.
As the door swung wide
All turned to look at what.
He wore his hat pulled low
He wore his dark hair long
And his spurs jingle jangled
Like the rhythm to a song.
His leather chaps dragged
And scraped along the floor
And you could cut the tension
As he stood there in the door.
Someone started laughing,
Then another one or two,
Great guffaws and giggles
You know the way you do.
He glared at us with slitted eyes
One hand hovered as if to draw
And as the laughter increased
Glared at us all once more.
The last Gunfighter?
Survivor of the few?
But rather out of place
In a Saturday chippy queue
He walked out defiantly.
Such an amazing sight,
Ok I suppose in Tombstone,
But on a Barnsley boozy night?
Pirate Joe was drinking rum from a keg
Fell overboard and a shark had his leg
They hauled him back in
And stopped the bleedin
And chippy fitted him with a wood peg.
Of good quality you could see the grain
Joe said " it's great to be walking again
But as time went by
Wood started to dry
And wet rot set in because of the rain.
One day his peg fell off with a loud thump
And now Joe has one good leg and a stump
But the story I'm told
He had one made of gold
Now he drags it with a hop, skip and jump...
Written on 22nd July 2022
Chippy and Chipper,
playing in my yard;
a hoard of blueberries
surround tiny hole
near my garage door;
Chipper pops out and lightening
dashes for my pear trees...
a pause says, "hello"...
the foraging resumes and
the morning ritual has begun.
I've got a "chip" on my shoulder
Maybe cause I'm getting older
My attitude is split apart
Angel sweet and devil hot
Sometimes bad sometimes good
I never know what kind of mood
I'll wake up to every time
But it made this silly rhyme
Outside a butcher shop in London Town
I met an old girlfriend and she made me frown
‘I remember boyfriends,’ she liked to acknowledge
‘By naming them all after all kinds of sausage.’
The first time she made a man out of a boy
Was a lad who she now calls young Savaloy Roy
Her next feller’s member was beyond belief
She now refers to him as Pork and Beef Keith
She told me her next bloke she called B.P. Lee
B.P. is black pudding… interestingly
So I asked if she had a nickname for me
‘You betcha,’ she said, your name is Chippy.’
I said, ‘Is that down to me being a carpenter?’
She said, ‘Don’t be daft, it’s short for chipolata.’
*
[in the UK a savaloy is a red skinned sausage, about 8 inches by 1.25 inches, usually accompanied by chips (thick French fries); Black Pudding is a whopping great thing that, on a man, would be inhuman; pork and beef are usually stumpy but with a good girth, and chipolatas are slender, scrawny efforts that only become interesting if you wrap them in bacon at christmas]
Be still the ground below
Wafting from high the leaves
Detached and fall cover before snow
Naked trees gray now barren
Birds still sing as the sun rises
Later now and there’s a chilly air
Squirrels hidden nuts abound in pots
Once gardens flourished now all bare
The old dogs’ gait a bit slower
But I feel that mine is as well
Chipmunks run along the fence
He barks but chippy is fast as hell
Be still I tell him chippy will come back
He looks at me lies down calm
I lie beside him the sky grows black
Fresh fall air dampness in the realm.
I have loved this dish all my life
my mum made it so ever new
but always best at chippy shop
wrapped in newspaper after a queue
Always loved splashing my chips
with vinegar, pepper and salt
haddock or cod my favourite fish
cover with tartar sauce without fault
Loved to have after the match
soccer my fab game, go every week
get my fish supper before go home
real tangy taste so to speak
Remember holidays in my twenties
Blackpool on the west coast yearly
last thing at night fish supper a must
diet forgotten weight high I did fear!
In Scotland, we called it a fish supper
if in England fish and chips was its name
over the years price has changed too high
but even so, its never lost its fishy fame
(I am writing a poem about the classic British dish... fish and chips!)
Sit around and do nothing all day
Alternatively watch the rugby played
Take the wife shopping and pay
Up to the chippy no cooking today
Ring the lads for a pint, wey hey
Drink, drink all your troubles away
Abuse the dart team in their game
Yep thats the way to spend a Saturday
There was a man,
Who lived in wales,
Lived a boring life,
And worked in sales.
He went to the pub,
Almost every day,
At night he came home,
On the sofa, he’d lay.
Chippy every Friday,
He’d have for his teas
Chips and gravy,
And a tub full of peas
He had an umbrella,
To battle the gails,
After all he lived,
In the hills of Wales.
A quiet little village,
The community so sweet,
Surrounded by fields,
Of barley and wheat.
A picturesque place,
A postcard place,
A place to put,
A smile on your face.
His name was terry,
Lived to a ripe old age,
Of ninety four,
Like his wife, Sage.
A boring old life,
But the best that they had,
Enjoyed every minute,
Not a moment being sad.
Terry and sage,
Grew up together,
Shared the umbrella,
And battled the weather.
The nice old lady,
Terry working on sales,
Had the best life,
At a village in wales
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