I WISH I COULD MARRY LIKE MY SISTER KATE
Miss P. Middleton

I went to a wedding with my sister Kate,
Everyone thought we looked oh so great,
The one teeny thing to rain on my parade?
She was the bride and I was the maid!

When I saw my sis' walking down the aisle,
I could only salute her style,
Kate now has this nice, neat name:
She is a Duchess, yet I'm just a dame.

I wish I could marry like my sister Kate,
Katie's tied the knot with a royal mate,
Ma, she thinks I may soon be hooked,
Westminster Abbey she's already booked!

Now I'm a major hit, I share Kate's fame!
Stylists like me and my slinky frame,
I've gone global I can take my pick,
Many men think I'm the hottest chick,
Many men think I'm the hottest chick.

Now I will twinkle like my sister Kate,
Ha! Who wants the Royal Willy as a mate?
When Katie is kissing the potential king,
I'll be the sister with celebrity zing!

SHREDDED PLANS
By
Anon.

When I was a lad, I had such plans. Endless plans!
I'd be a rock star and appear on stage to wild applause.
And dispense autographs and largesse with a benign smile
And not let success change me or turn my head;
I'd have splendid mansions and bevies of beauties
To pamper me and indulge my every whim.
And, as if this were not enough, I'd be a sportsman;
Not any old sportsman but a proper Olympian,
A champion runner, boxer and bobsledder;
I'd pen the odd novel, sponsor schemes;
And leave my mark on history...! What happened?
I joined a bank.

Naturally, the job was only short-term;
A precursor to the intended endless plans,
It was a case of when, not if, I'd trek
Across the world. Next year perhaps?

I got married in my twenties. Still time to
Do the trek; but how about the mortgage?
We could rent the house and simply push off, I suppose.
But now dinner's ready. We'll talk later.

Thirty-four years, and two grown up children later...
No fame. No world trekking. No running.
And now they won't happen.
Oh, well...
At least I found anagrams.

BURNIN' UP THE CITY
By
Trash

Hi! Hi! ... I'm here!

I am an urban Brit
I am on benefits
I know what I want and
I know how ta get it
You smash a window of a shop.

Take what ya want; a new PC
A mobile phone, flat-screen TV

Anarchy in the streets, riotin', yeah, tauntin' police,
They can't do anythin' to me,
Cos I got Human Rights ya see.

I'm an urban shark, watch me...
BURN THE CITY!

So many ways ta get what ya want
Join a gang, who ya can
Hang about with, meet

And hit da streets!

Burn a car, rob a stranger
LAUNCH YOURSELF INTO DANGER!

Is this red wine I see?
Or is it a Scotch Whisky
Or is it cissy sherry
Ha! who cares about this,
Nick some, run away, get pissed!

Yo! It's excitin' no cash paid
No need to hide away
We're in this union
Unseen by anyone
Ha, ha ha! YOU CAN'T CATCH ME!

THE ULTIMATE ENGLISH HERO
(On L.E. Oates' Demise)


Wilson, Bowers, Evans, Oates, Scott,
Make that final surge for the South Pole.
Will they be first to get there... or not?

They reach their goal in seventy-nine days;
But delight becomes gloom, finding Amundsen's tent...
The note inside it confirming their fear... He beat them by thirty-five days.

Their mission is hijacked, a huge hammer blow
To a million dreams, lying dead in the snow.
Dear God, the fatigue! Time to quit. Time to go.

The men trek back; dazed, cold, hungry, weak.
En route, Evans dies with a head injury;
Oates is hurt, bleeding, frostbite in both feet.

The group must go on though, must go on or die!
But Oates, semi-mobile, succumbs to his guilt:
"I'm just going outside, I may be some time."

His choice - the ultimate sacrifice.
The last three men, just a few miles from camp,
Are doomed to die in the ice.

WRINKLY GLOOM AT 66
Rusty Bones

You will find, folks, as you get on in years
All your parts start to shrink (except the ears)
No more kicks, at mid 66.
When you walk, you're aware of a strange wheeze,
Is it age or a fatal lung disease?
No more kicks, at mid 66.

You may go down with flu or pop to the loo more,
Wallow in your pity at reflux city,
So long in the tooth now, longin' for your youth now,
Recalling all those chances, wasted at school dances,
(Also in a telephone booth... truth!)

Your back locks when walking in a park,
You cough and it sounds just like a bark,
It's the pits, at mid 66.
Getting old, it's a bummer, losing life's Summer,
Stark, foggy days, off walkin in a daze,
Talkin' to the old gents, gripin' 'bout your ailments.
Prostate, foot-rot, ringworm, liver-spots.

Look out, you don't know what it will hit,
It's too late to go all out to get fit;
No more kicks, at mid 66,
I forgot... am I 66?