Happy Landing

Ena Tuck ran out of luck
the day she ran into a truck.
Ran out of life at half past seven
and wandered gently up to heaven.

Saint Peter met her at the gate,
said grumpily,"You're very late,
you were due at half past three,
the store is closed-I've missed my tea,
and I don't know what I can do
to find some wings and things for you."

He pointed to a jumbled heap,
"You look through those - I'll go and eat."
He coughed a little holy cough,
jumped in his cloud and floated off.

Some wings she found were not a pair,
A harp in need of much repair,
A battered halo much too small,
a dirty cloud inclined to stall.

So there she was with unmatched wings,
an untuned harp with broken strings,
a tarnished halo without fit
and no clean place for her to sit,
on a dirty, of-white cloud
in torn and tattered, unwashed shroud.

But off she went and tried to sing
a melancholy off-tune hymn,
looked pure and sweet as angels should
and plucked her harp as best she could,
on a cloud that chugged along
in rythm to her tuneless song.

Angel Tuck had more bad luck
when in her holy shroud she stuck,
an angelic yet still clumsy foot.
That's how it was that she retraced
her path to earth in such great haste
for ancient wings that aren't a pair
just can't keep angels in the air,
so Ena fell wings over toes
and where she fell, God only knows.

But Ena got a pair of wings,
a snow white cloud and harp with strings,
the earth had moved around y'see,
the time was just on half past three.

Love Hurts

I knew a man called Tom MacPherson,
He was a very clumsy person.
Two left arms and two left feet,
The clumsiest man you'd ever meet,

Each step he took, he fell down twice,
He tripped and stumbled all through life,
Accidents that COULDN'T happen,
Were Tom Macpherson's daily pattern.

Now you may doubt and you may scoff
But he fell in and he fell off,
Everything you'd care to mention,
Although it wasn't his intention.

One day in spring he fell again,
In love this time, with clumsy Gwen.
Her two left feet and two left arms,
He thought her most appealing charms.

Of course you'd have no doubt at all
That they were married in the fall,
And at the altar said, "I do,"
While falling down a time or two.

A honeymoon of carefree bliss,
They fell of that, they fell off this,
But they fell more in love than ever
Having accidents together.

Weeks of love, of joy and rapture,
Bruises, cuts, a tiny fracture.
Sweet memories shared of true romance
Travelling home by ambulance.

But now here comes the tragic part,
A bit to wring the hardest heart.
They both were fell on by a horse,
It was an accident - of course.

Life's ups and downs are unremitting,
Their end was sad but strangely fitting.
An ending flat, yet sort of neat,
The horse y'see - had four left feet.

The Washing Machine

Mrs. Brown was quite ecstatic
About her brand new automatic.
Filled it up near to the brim,
Slipped on the soap and fell right in.

She was really on the go
Jerking wildly to and fro,
Water gurgling, rushing, flowing,
Shirts and sheets all to and fro-ing.

There among the suds and bubbles,
She reflected on her troubles.
Considered that she'd never been so,
Pushed around so much by Rinso.

So there and then, she promptly planned,
To change and use a kinder brand.
Because the water too was hot,
She'd change to Cold Power, like as not.

While Mrs Brown was cogitating,
With all her bits and bobs vibrating,
Arms and legs and dirty socks
Tangled up in soapy knots.
Her inside organs disarranged,
Quite suddenly, the cycle changed.

Now Mrs Brown was all a-whirl.
Indeed a very home-spun girl,
Spun and sprayed to make her whiter,
In places that did not excite her,
And areas that had attention,
She doesn't even care to mention.

So Mrs. Brown is quite convinced
That to be spun and deeply rinsed,
Not once, but twice, will quite suffice
To keep her undies looking nice.
But, before they go to wash,
She thinks she'd rather take them off.

The Old Lady Who Lived Up A Tree

A religious old lady made her home in a tree
(Felt closer to heaven at that height you see.)
Took a bible, a cat and her old rocking chair,
To live in her nest 40 feet in the air

The first night by habit she put out the cat
And vaguely remarked on the loud, mewling splat,
"That's rather a pity, I'm sad that it's gone,
But eight lives it's had, and there goes the last one."

The birds grew to love her and took it in turns,
To feed her on insects and fat, juicy worms.
Fruit pips and beetles of succulent flavour,
All manner of tit-bits they brought her to savour.

And she in her turn, read from the Good Book
To the sparrow, the robin, the blackbird, the rook,
And each Sunday evening as daylight grew dim,
They'd perch in the branches and whistle a hymn.

Now was it her diet or was it the hymns?
That made her grow feathers and bright, coloured wings.
Birds gathered around to witness the sight,
Of the pious old lady's first venture in flight.

She picked up her bible and murmured a prayer,
Unfolded her wings and took off in the air,
But the Lord didn't listen, or forgot His great love,
And she shot down to earth without help from above.

She sped past some starlings who stared at her plight,
Her wings flapping madly, and bible clutched tight.
"Toowit" said an owl, and "Toowoo" said it's mate
As she hurtled past to an ominious fate.

I know what you're thinking - a miracle's due,
From the Man At The Top, but this really won't do.
I'm sorry to say that she had to go SPLAT!!!
Right on the spot where she'd dropped her old cat.

And the moral to this, (if moral one sees)
Is that wings are for birds, and birds are for trees,
Where pious old ladies should never be found,
For it really is best if they stay on the ground.

Gretchen

The new employee's name was Gretchen.
She was a waitress in the kitchen
of a large and plush hotel
with a moneyed clientel,
where very rich spent idle days
and meals were served on silver trays.

Head waiter said, "Now listen Gretchen,
two piles of trays are in the kitchen."
"Take the meals in on an in tray,
take used plates out upon an out tray,
a simple yet effective plan
so do observe it if you can."

Gretchen's english wasn't good,
she gave a nod to say she would
but didn't really understand
the effectiveness he'd planned.

She placed a an entree on a tray
and hesitantly made her way
with tray and entree on a platter,
through the hum and buzz of chatter,
that faded suddenly and died
as Gretchen made her way inside.

She looked around in consternation
at the lack of conversation.
Perhaps, she thought, in some distress,
"I haff not today put on a dress",
but glancing down she saw that she,
was clad in all propriety.

Head waiter danced in like a dervish,
screamed, "Gretchen!! - where's the silver service?"
"You've got that entree on an out tray,
entrees on out trays are an outrage,
entrees must always be on in trays,
that tray is plainly one that's out,
of that there's not the slightest doubt,
so take that out tray back within
and put that entree on an in,
take in the entree on the in tray,
surely that is elementary."

Now Gretchen was a proud young miss,
no one talked to her like this,
and with an Amazonian roar,
she felled that waiter to the floor.
"In tray, out tray, what you say,
they eat the entree not the tray."

She took the entree from the out tray
and put it on a silver in tray.
Said with a wide, malicious grin,
"Would you like it out or in?"
then didn't stop to ask him if,
he would like a little fish,
but stuffed a piece of Lemon Sole
well into right and left ear hole.

"More if you want it sir of course,
do help yourself to Tartare sauce."
And then, as though she thought this frugal,
pressed on him some Apple Strudel,
a helping of a Mixed Fruit Muesli,
followed by Vanilla Souffle.
Just when he thought that it was over,
She capped it off with Creamed Pavlova.

She wiped her hands, spat on the floor
and strode off proudly through the door.

The Writer

A man of learning loved to write
It gave him pleasure and delight,
As in a fever he was gripped
Compiling his prolific script.

He wrote while standing on one foot
Then wrote about it in a book,
And when that book was in it's cover
He'd change his foot and write another.

His writing was so microscopic
That he could write on any topic
On the smallest kinds of things,
Like postage stamps and heads of pins
While on his finger nails well-bitten,
Were silly rhymes that he had written.

He hardly had an inch of skin
Where something wasn't written in.
To see him standing in the nude
You'd think perhap's he'd been tattoo'd
And you could read him like a book,
Should he let you take a look.

Some areas of his annotations
I'll leave to your imaginations,
But I have seen a jaunty line
Traverse the contours of his spine,
Detour his neck, streak to his heart,
To greet an exclamation mark!
And there were tales around his wrists
Like bangles filled with asterisks,
While every little squirm or wriggle
Exposed a tiny scrawl or scribble.

Sky-writing was a later fad,
His memory then was getting bad.
He stopped the 'plane to dot an i
And tumbled from the word filled sky.

Well after all, he'd had his time
And written down his final line.
His friends were sad and wore black cloth,
But finally, they wrote him off.

Miss Prim

Way back in 1878
When life was rough yet more sedate,
Before Ned Kelly's stand was made
And Cobb & Co. still plied their trade,
In those times, oft hard and grim,
There lived a spinster, Prudence Prim.

Prudence Prim was sweetly old,
Gentle, kind, with heart of gold
There in her little outback store,
Sold home made lollys by the score,
Plus bits and pieces people sought
And which the monthly stage coach brought.

She dressed in gowns a little dated,
Sombre black and narrow waisted,
High throated necks in modest fashion,
To discourage old men's passion
And she wore a favorite gown,
The day bush rangers came to town.

She heard the shouting and the shots
As she was making acid-drops.
She dropped the drops that she was making,
Heart aflutter, hands ashaking
As without a single knock,
They burst into her little shop.

The leader grinned at her and leered
Through his great red bushy beard,
Stuffed his mouth with 'Chocolate Whirls'
Reached out and snatched her string of pearls,
Took her cash, and then the lout,
Whirled his horse and clattered out.

Prudence looked with much chagrin
At the mess her shop was in.
That night she added to her prayers,
"Forgive me Lord , but they'll get theirs,
For though I'm gentle, kind and sweet,
I just can't turn the other cheek."

She tucked her gown inside her drawers
And saddled up her old, gray horse,
Stuffed home made lollys in a pack,
Strapped it to her ancient back,
And without word to kith or friends,
Galloped off to seek revenge.

Morning came, the local cop
Awakened by a gentle knock,
Found Big Red, the bold outlaw,
Tied hand and foot outside the door,
With trousers down, the buttocks up
Bore the imprint of a womans foot,
And in a place that bore no hints
Was a king-sized bag of king-sized mints.

Miss Prim's exploits right or wrong
Weren't wrote about in book or song,
For no one ever found the links
Between Miss Prim and king sized mints.
Yet I think that this is true,
Ned Kelly must have had a clue,
Because he never took a chance
And always wore his iron pants.

Now next when Miss Prim knelt to pray,
This is what she had to say.
"Forgive me Lord, for I have erred
And for a while my hands were stirred,
To doing things that's best avoided
But I admit, I HAVE enjoyed it".