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Archive for the ‘Fun’ Category

Indispensable Friend
(aka Ode to My Hot Water Bottle)
By Nina Spink

 

When it’s cold outside
And the night is long
When spirits are down
Life sings a sad song

At the end of the day
Work’s been a hard struggle
She’s always waiting
With a reassuring cuddle

Whether lying in bed
Or nestling in a chair
Off’ring warmth and comfort
She is always there

When your body is wracked
With those aches and pains
She gently soothes
And the tension drains

Enjoy the relief
That only she brings
Lifting the heart
Softening Life’s stings

So at those moments
When you’re feeling low
Take her in your arms
Feel that healing glow

Surrender yourself
In Heavenly bliss
She’s the next best thing
To a lover’s kiss

 

 

I was inspired to write this for a friend

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War Zone on the 08:15

War zone on the 08:15

by Nina Spink


Its Monday morning in the middle of July
It’s a glorious day, not a cloud in the sky
I am sitting (hurrah) on the 08.15
It’s late (of course) when’s it never been?
You’d not be surprised, it’s a crowded train
It draws out the station – into battle again
Armed with briefcase and an umbrella to wield
Prepared as a warrior with my sword and my shield

Here rides the first knight, no chivalry here
he comes, rushing and shoving – you’d better stand clear
Espying a space, barely visible between
a large bosomed matron and a russet-haired queen
And prising himself there a space if you please
Into which Victoria Beckham would be euphoric to squeeze
Sitting manly astride with legs impressively wide
At an angle a yogi would display with much pride
Pretty girl sitting across, she visibly blushes
furtive glances, lots of nudging elbows and “shushes”
How could he possibly imagine she would want to see
his meat and two veg parked opposite her knee

But maybe his aim was to cause her some tension
She’s hoping his soldier doesn’t stand to attention
He’s obviously oblivious and completely unaware
of the ample bosomed lady’s disapproving stare
as he opens his broadsheet obliterating her view
of her Cosmopolitan, all glossy and new
“Its very kind of you, sir, your paper to share”
Her eyes burning like coals as he smoothes down his hair
Then she continues with sarcasm dripping like blood
“If you looked, I’ve my own magazine I ‘d read …… if I could!”

The sniggering masses sit, stand and jostle
To see colour drain from his face, he’d like to throttle
that woman, how dare she challenge him; she’d have to agree
Even with his legs wide, he’d occupy less space than she.
Their vindictive smiles are for all to see
The self righteous two-faced, preen themselves with glee.
Amidst their knowing looks and nodding heads
Reluctantly he shuffles his feet without shifting his legs.

A most awkward silence now ensues
nervous coughs, jerking heads and shuffling shoes
A rendering of “Power Rangers” shatters the calm
Phone clamped to her ear, she whips up a storm
With no second thought at the top of her voice
for all to hear, cockney gal relates her choice
of venue where they are to meet
“At The Corner Caff…. just off Tooley Street”
‘Ere I’ll give you my other number, in case this one’s dead.
No wait that’s wrong – that’s me mums – use this one instead”
Then she proceeded to screech all her weekend endeavours
Would there be anything left to tell “Shirl” or her “Trevor”.

“London Bridge, next stop”, comes over the speaker
Now is the time for all those who were weaker
not forceful enough to gain themselves a seat
But they now have an edge on which to compete
Eyes dart to the exits to assess the current picture
First out the door is the undisputed victor
Where once a seat was a prize to be gained
Now at the end of the journey, how the tables have changed
For those who had suffered the indignity to stand
Having paid the same ticket price, now have the upper hand
Those seated elect who would try to depart
ahead of those standing would be caught from the start
Those derided seat huggers just had to be stopped
The Standers would wedge them, their escape route blocked

Only experienced travellers know how to avoid
the blocking by Standers, this art be employed
By offering one’s seat at the penultimate stop
Confusing the Standers they need to get off
but remain by the door standing just for a while
They’d worked the system again with their supercilious smile.
As the door opens there bursts forth a swarm
of grey suited bodies to descend the platform
Like an army of ants they cover the ground
scurrying this way and that, the best route to be found
A militia of robots march on their way
Trampling indecision underfoot as they start their new day.

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