|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
I have a fat and furry friend
All pink and spotty black.
I grew him from some Camembert-
The smelly little Rat!
He is my very Mouse-Pig
For that’s his very name,
Sometimes I call him Roger
Just like his steptwin Shane.
I like to give him all I can
Though humble poor are we.
I gave him a good character-
2 slices for his tea.
I love my little Mouse-Pig
I love him like a pet.
Sometimes I take him out for walks
And sometimes to the vet.
I dare not let him venture far
For fear he won’t come back.
Last week he almost wandered off
Without his packymac.
‘You’ll catch your death- or even worse!’
I warned in worried tone.
‘There’s things out there what likes to eat
A Mouse-Pig far from home.
‘Don’t worry Dad,’ he answered back
In usual piggy chatter.
‘If anyone should have a go
I’ll cover them in batter!’
Then all at once, without a sound
He sang with all his might.
I’ve never heard a Mouse-Pig
I said in wondrous sight.
‘That’s nothing Pa,’ he mouthed in tune,
And leaping to his trotters
Declared as he flew flying off-
I’ll show those dirty rotters!’
‘Farewell my fat and furry friend,’
I bellied to the sky,
And turning one last time he squeaked,
‘I’m off to find my sty.’
And then he flew right out of sight,
As far as I could see,
And with a little shedding tear
I went in for my tea.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
I came across a Jumpher
A jumphin’ up at me.
It wasn’t very springy
As far as i could see.
It tried to do someothersault,
Impressing like a tree,
But landed with a thumping thud
And hurt his only knee.
‘How come you like to ravel so?’
I bellied like a navel,
While on the other hand i plied
Some custard on a table.
‘I’m only giving all I’ve got-
A hundred miles an hour.
But if you take it at a trot
It soaks you with a shower.
‘I see,’ i said, came out my head,
And nodding fully clothed,
I asked if he’d seen Ninnynook?
A nose that knows no prose.
‘I likes to smell his gravy soup.’
He jumphered like a sweater,
Then driving like a five wheeled horse
Left home wrapped in a letter.
‘Good luck, you leaphing lunging loon.’
I mouthed in Granny’s gums
Then smiling like a holiday
I went to see my chums.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
I once awoke into a dream
And there I saw a sight.
Adrift, a draft of Daffodils
Breezed on a hard day's night.
Still looking up and at the sky,
A Dandelions nest,
Shone down like rays of Buttercups
Alighting up my vest.
“Hello,” I bellied up to it.
And smiling like a wave,
Hoped hoping as I climbed inside
That it was well behaved.
Abound with hobnail boot astride
It turned and travelled on-
Until it reached another place
Where I had not come from.
“It's like a well know strangers face,”
I mused in thoughtish utter.
The one my Fatter used to wear
Before he ground my Mutta.
Then leaping like a jumping bean,
I landed open eyed,
And spied a sandy cobbled shore
where nothing did reside.
“How long,” I said, “have you been here?”
And in a mock reply,
It answered with a knowing look,
Then flew off on a pie.
Alone, I sat beside myself,
For company of course,
And listened while I hummed a song
In tones that made me hoarse.
And then, I swear, as fast as fast,
Beneath a sea of hands,
An orchestra of weeping fish
Grab grabbed me from the sands.
They sat me on a flying Whale
That soared beneath the sea,
And took me home to where he lived
To make us both some tea.
“Oh, what a lovely Plaice you have,”
I told him over grubber,
And with that, getting on all fours
He let me pull his udder.
“Please don't do that!” A Fishcake cried,
“You don't know where he's from.”
But having learned this lessen once
I noticed I had gone.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
What choice has bittersweet despair,
A dying rose,
An empty chair.
Shall I then grieve and weep for thee
And temper broken heart and soul
So I can cherish one more gaze
Of happiness, of summer days
And bristle with abiding love
Of life cast now in shade and brook,
This ebb which pains with force and fate
United soon through heavens gate.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
My Billy.
My Billy, bravest of the brave,
Fought metal tooth and iron cross.
Through Flanders field of bleedin’ red
And on to mourn their loss.
My Billy, full of life and love,
A boy still to his Mam,
Left far behind these cobbled shores
To fight the beast in man.
This trench, this tomb, this hellish hell.
No mortal eye should see.
My Billy, broken limb from life,
Lies far away from me.
One hundred years, one million tears,
One memory thought anew,
My Billy, bravest of the brave,
Gave freedom back to you.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
I gazed upon your face, oh Lord
And the fires of hell extinguished their sting and wept for mercy.
I heard your voice call me, oh Lord
And the army of heaven carried me away.
I felt your love touch me, oh Lord
And i knew i was home.
I am this Earth and Heaven above.
I have not forsaken you as you have not forsaken me.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
If need be Norbert you could now
The asphyx of my flowers plough-
The silence of your boom aswell
Would hyde within my tree so well.
And in this ill of looking glass
As is assumed to all that pass,
I’d reach inside my top and cry,
‘Oh Leary, what a thing am I?’
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
Whilst arching in a turtle-neck
A breeze blew softly by,
Too young to have a nosebleed,
Instead I made it cry.
‘What have you seen, where do you go?’
I wondered up aloud.
‘I’m off to see the Nondle,’
It answered like a cloud.
‘What kind of ventivness is that?’
I arsed as it rolled by.
‘The kind that twickers from the lisp,
And giggles from the eye.’
‘Will there be tea and room for me
Aboard your merry bus?
I’d love to see a Nondle
I’d really make a fuss.’
‘Your snoggling at its finery
Is something to behold.
A notion filled with butterscotch.
A whimsy- ready rolled.’
The breeze, who doubled at the chin,
Continued on its wabe,
Declaring as it gathered speed,
‘Oh, joyous in the dabe!’
And so, with charm and common flare
We followed like a stump.
Growing ever after
To see the Nondles hump.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2016
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
A bullfrog and a butterfly both chanced upon each other.
‘My dear, you are an ugly beast!’ the bullfrog dared to utter.
‘Why froggy,’ gasped the butterfly, astounded by his words.
‘My beauty is unparallel while yours is so absurd!’
‘Ha – ha! Ho – ho!’ laughed froggy so, and with a knowing look, began to tell the butterfly about a guy called Chuck.
His name was really Annabella, a princess not a common fella.
The fairest in the fairest land. with skin of silk and hair of sand.
‘This princess had a Stepmom, queer,’ whispered froggy in old butty’s ear.
She was in fact a wicked witch, who once threw Anna down a ditch,
And with a hocus – pocus spell turned Anna into a frog as well.
Then leaving on her horse and broom she bode poor Anna a life of gloom.
To which the girl did not respond, instead she went and found a pond,
And there she stayed alone and blue and ribbit-ed like froggies do.
Until one day a handsome prince called out towards his squire Vince,
‘young lad remove me from this saddle so i can yonder off and paddle.
And so the squire did as was told and copped the Prince a mighty hold,
Allowing him as Princes are, to paddle eating caviar.
‘Oh woe is me!’ the prince spat out. ‘This caviar has got no clout. It’s only good enough for Ted. The dog i left at home in bed.’
‘What i need is some tasty meat, cuisses de grenoville – a frog to eat.’
Just then, not hearing what was said, poor Anna popped up and ribbit-ed.
‘Please save me from this rotten hell. A kiss is what will break this spell.’
But Anna’s words fell on deaf ears and left her very close to tears.
For Princey in his Royal haste swept Anna up to have a taste,
and there above his hairy lips, Anna dangled from his fingertips.
'Goodbye you glumptious grotty frog, prepare to go inside my gob.'
But Anna, being quick as quick, knew something of a party trick.
And stretching in a ballet pose she swiftly bit off half his nose.
'Oh sacra bleu!' the Prince spat out. 'This creatures eaten half my snout.
My handsome hooters all but gone! A prince without a schnauzers wrong.'
Young Vince, his squire had up till now, been watching like a dozy Cow.
When suddenly, with one big volley, he knocked poor Anna off her trolley.
'Take that!' you nasty noshing frog. He said, as Anna hit a log.
'No froggies gonna eat my mate,' he parried, getting quite irate.
and ending with a little flurry, like Ali, only in a hurry.
The wicked spell was somehow broke, and Anna not a froggy spoke.
'Oh what a simply horrid guy you are to make a Princess cry.
For Princess that is what i am, and not some froggy from Japan.
My wicked stepmom cast a spell and wished that i would rot in hell.
But luck is luck and who would knows, by chomping on your bosses nose,
I'd once again be Annabella. A Princess not a froggy fella.
The moral, and I'm sure I'm right, is goodness always comes out right.'
The words that prissy Princess spoke, did nothing for that Princey bloke,
For having lost his Royal beak, he had no time for moral speak.
Instead he took his vorpal sword and snicker snacked the lousy broad,
displaying as he liked to do, the courage of his 'derring- do!
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2014
|
Details |
Wayne Riley Poem
I didn’t ask for that day to come,
But it did.
I didn’t ask for those words to be spoken,
But they were.
Why I was chosen
I have no idea.
But I was.
‘You’re going to kill yourself.’
The voice said.
‘Commit suicide.’
And then,
Like a meteorite blazing a trail across the heavens
It was gone.
Only a scar in the mind’s eye remained.
And the memory of that moment
More than forty years ago now
Still brings a smile to my face.
I was pre-teens and untouched by death.
Even Elvis had not yet changed me fully.
My father had left long before I could remember him being a father.
And my mother?
She had left too,
Only hers was psychological.
She cared, I suppose,
But she didn’t know how to show it.
Only my grandmother knew how to do that.
And she did.
Unconditionally.
Until she was struck down with mortality.
‘Cancer,’ they said.
‘There’s nothing anybody can do.’
I guess the good ones don’t have choices.
Copyright © Wayne Riley | Year Posted 2018
|
|