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Chris Gair Poem
It was in the summer past,
When I had a raging cold.
I felt something move ‘down there’
It was protruding and bold.
No, it wasn’t my male part,
The lump was next to that.
I could feel a bit of discomfort,
When I sat.
I phoned my mum in Elgin,
And asked her what it could be.
‘I will tell you one thing, Christopher,
It sounds like a hernia, to me.’
A weakness in the stomach wall,
The muscle poking through.
To see about some surgery,
Is what I had to do.
Off I went to the doctor,
He would organise the op.
Hopefully in the next few months,
Then discomfort, it will stop.
Eight months later in theatre,
I finally get it done.
They put a needle in my hand,
I don’t even count to one.
Questioning the plaster by my hip,
And feeling as groggy as hell.
The nurses say to me ‘You’ve had your op,
Can’t you even tell?’
Being kept in overnight,
As there is no-one else at home.
The other patients have all gone now,
Me and two nurses alone!
Got a lift from the hospital,
Now staying at Angela and Neil’s
Being waited on hand and foot,
I could get used to how this feels.
I’ve taken the dressing off now,
There is bruising all around.
All my bits a blackened colour,
Praying they don’t fall to the ground.
Five weeks to recover,
By then I should be ok.
Back to work, lifting heavy goods,
Don’t happen again, is all I can say.
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Gair Poem
The Hunter rises in the night sky,
Taurus the bull, the target nearby.
His dogs are chasing, not able to catch,
Maybe another plan, Orion should hatch.
Was he put in the sky, for boasting too much,
About the animals he could kill, with his arrow's touch.
Or maybe killed by a scorpion's bite,
Could it be Artemis, with the arrow's might.
One of the many Greek myths, easily seen,
Along with some of the greatest legends there's been
So beautiful to watch as he rises high,
Could Orion be the 'God Constellation' of the sky?
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Gair Poem
Typing away, their words had met,
Across a computer filled internet.
She was a Taz, he was a Scot,
She, beautifully bronzed, he, definitely not!
She had bought a picture of his,
From an application called ‘Owned’
Shocked at when he got in touch,
‘Not a bloody Scotsman!’ she moaned.
Soon he was to grow on her,
Like an apple on a tree.
Flirting with a Tassie devil?
Surely, not a man like me?!
The devil turned out to be an angel,
Beautiful, smart and sweet.
Chatting and flirting away with her,
Would soon become a treat.
Once he actually spoke to her,
Surprising him, she spoke back.
The conversation was quite fun,
Laughs it didn’t lack.
Sending messages to each other,
From either hemisphere.
Thinking he might go there,
And drink the Tassie beer.
Her beautiful golden hair,
Was styled across her head.
‘I wish I had some of that’
To himself, he actually said.
Her brilliant white teeth,
Gave her a gleaming smile.
She obviously went to the dentist,
More than once in a while.
She has a Volkswagen beetle,
Beautiful, big and glossy.
A roaring red mean machine,
And she’s gone and named it Flossy!
She goes out to all the rallies,
Seeing different types of cars.
Then comes home, opens the ‘bubbles’
Instead of going to bars.
Not going for the ‘Krug’ or ‘Crystal’
She opts for a kind named ‘Jansz’
He begins to think this little lady,
Has too much time on her hands.
Having to end this little ditty,
Before it gets too long.
And not spoiling something good,
By bursting into song.
‘Really pleased to meet you, Nicky’
His words were filled with bliss.
I hope a great friendship, from this will grow,
‘My name?’ he grinned. ‘Oh, it’s Chris.’
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Gair Poem
THE PRINCESS AND THE SWAN
As the storm raged, there were several knocks on the door,
She stood the completely drenched, from her head down to the floor.
This stunning princess was looking for somewhere to stay
Her name is Fiona; well, in this story anyway.
A handsome man answered and to his surprise
Saw this beautiful woman, with the most amazing eyes.
She dried herself off, he sat her next to the roaring fire
This house was a mansion, it certainly wasn’t dire.
This young man placed a pea under the bed of her mattresses
Hoping to find out if Fiona, was truly a princess.
If she was uncomfortable, all throughout the night
It’s true she will be royalty, come the morning light.
Meanwhile, in the garden, under the burdock leaves,
Mother duck is hatching eggs and with a sigh she heaves.
‘They have all hatched, apart from this large egg’
‘Please be born soon’ was all she could beg.
Out he came, bigger, greyer and uglier than the rest
Was he a duck or a turkey, the other ducklings would jest.
Hurting so much, he didn’t know what to do
Joining other birds in different places, away he flew.
Back to the princess, she woke the next morn
Looking all black and blue, forever so forlorn
‘My sleep was horrible.’ Princess Fiona had said.
I cannot go another night in that uncomfy bed!’
And now they knew this princess was real
Out came the loving prince, to finally seal the deal.
Now together they were to become man and wife
Enjoying their happiness and forever their life.
Just like Fiona, the duck did very well
As he was growing, he started to look swell
He waddled to the pond right across the lawn
His reflection told him, he was a majestic swan.
So princess Fiona has found her loving match
As the graceful swan glides, and insects he’ll catch.
This poem now ends, I shall write no more
I’m hoping for the princess, it’s opened another door.
THE END
Chris Gair
23 December 2016
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2017
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Chris Gair Poem
GOLDIE: THE PRINCESS WHO FOUND HER PRINCE
She knocked on the door, completely soaked to the skin,
Hoping that someone was there, who would kindly let her in.
The storm had caught her, she was normally so pristine,
But this was no ordinary princess, her name was Christine.
The door swung open, a hunched old lady did wait,
Here was another person, drenched and arriving so late.
This hag was a witch, who had just captured two
They were Hansel and Gretel, who were going to become stew.
A bed was made, in which Christine would sleep,
Because of a pea, it was uncomfortable, not deep.
The normally pristine, mentioned to the witchy hag,
Her lack of shut eye, the pea, but not wanting to nag.
‘Never mind that!’ the hag said to Chris,
‘I’ve a couple of brats, who’ve been taking the piss!
They’ve been eating my house and up to no good,
Now I'm going to cook them and then they will be food.’
‘So switch the oven on, my dear princess Christine,
And I shall put on a display, like you've never seen.’
‘You can't do that, you wicked witch. It's not right you see!’
Christine said, ‘I've seen enough, I’m reporting you to the RSPCC!’
Hansel and Gretel were shaking and scared,
We’re they going to die, before being prepared?
But Christine knew there was a way round this,
Using the pea as a weapon, she definitely must not miss.
She threw the pea as hard as one could,
Hitting the witch ‘tween the eyes, where she stood.
Falling to the floor, witchy is knocked out cold,
Princess frees the kids and tells them to be bold.
They heaved the witch towards the oven door,
Gave her a shove ‘n’ a push, then a little bit more.
Into the big oven, this evil hag was put,
With her arse stuck out, they had to give it a boot.
Hey ho, the haggardy hag, is now deader than dead,
So they stayed for a while, eating the house instead.
Having gained their strength, they moved further afield,
A man they would meet and Christine’s heart would yield.
Hansel and Gretel skipped happily away,
Finding a place where they could forever stay.
The princess Christine had found her happiness,
They found a churchman and them he would bless.
Goldie finally got her Prince, he was her loving man,
Blissfully happy with everything, doing what they can.
The doors are now closing on this little rhyme,
And love prevails for these two, ‘til the end of time.
The End.
Chris Gair
23 December 2016.
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2017
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Chris Gair Poem
She elegantly walked thru the corridor, clipboard clutched to her chest,
Of all the days at uni, this certainly had to be the best.
Tall and slender, with rich, red hair. Walking past, teasing. To the eye, very pleasing.
A secretarial look, but in a lab coat, not a suit and slender square cut specs.
Slowly, I was becoming a wreck.
A thick Irish accent, speaking softly, she said 'I want to make you my toy!'
With the words of Sam Beckett from Quantum Leap,
I nervously muttered 'Oh boy!'
The technicians in the corner, were egging me on. My heart raced, legs began to weaken. My face as bright as a beacon.
I finally woke and went to work
Hoping the dream would become reality
Throughout the offices handing out mail
Wishing I could find this stunning female.
At the end of the day, it was not to be,
The trolley, the post and me.
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Gair Poem
The flowing long brown straggly hair
Reaching halfway down her back
A great big smile that didn’t gleam
Her teeth were all but black
But somehow I managed to fall for Cissy
She certainly wasn’t shy
It wasn’t for her attractiveness
So I had to ask myself why
Cissy was a strange female
One of very few words
She quite often lets out a grunt
But I’ve never been chatty with the birds
When I mentioned a club one night
What did I actually mean
Cos when I saw that look in her eye
It was as blank as a blank look could have been
She thought I meant the one in her hand
And was ready to smash my head
So if I hadn’t moved fast enough
I most certainly would have been dead
We went for a few nights out
The wrestling contest was fun
And guess who beat up all the guys
It was Cissy, she had won
We later strolled down to the beach
Far along the shore
Walking for a couple of hours
To where I’d never been before
Cissy points to the distance
Indicating that she must leave
Not knowing whether to laugh or cry
A sigh of relief I heave
A lot of fun I had with Cissy
The last was by the sea
I’ll never look her in the eye again
As love is as blind as love can be
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Gair Poem
I guess, again, that I have been lured,
Maybe Trump is right, a wall there must be.
But I won't be charging Mexico for it,
A female 'game player'?, my heart not cured.
How can someone be as warm as summer,
The next, as cold as the falling snow.
A devious woman, or just unstable?,
Either way, it's a complete bummer.
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Gair Poem
A fearsome gale tearing through Torry,
Took young Dot and Tyson away.
She met a dodger, drunk and ned as well,
Stuck for words, whit wid she say?
Now, evil wis lurkin’ aroon’ the corner,
It wis the wicked witch o’ the North East.
If young Dot wis tae survive,
She wid hae tae beat the beast!
She finally got the witch’s burberry cap,
Which wid help her get aheid.
And all the little casuals happily sang,
‘Heymin! The wicked witch is deid!’
Dot wis noo ready tae find the ‘Big Man’
Her brain wis in one mode.
Noo, a’ that Dot needed tae dae,
Wis follow the Granite brick road.
She found hersel’ back in her hoose,
Bemused at far she hud been.
Now lookin’ at some weel kent faces,
So wis this a’ a dream?
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2016
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Chris Gair Poem
Do we have someone around us
A guide thru life's tough times
Maybe someone to take us away
As we lose the pain forever and a day.
Is there a tunnel with a white light
That when we go, it's astoundingly bright
Is it the end, can there be another round
Maybe it's just cremation, or buried in the ground.
Copyright © Chris Gair | Year Posted 2016
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