Onesie Day

Today will be a Onesie day,
A day when I don’t dress,
I won’t bother to shower
And my hair will be a mess.

I won’t have any visitors,
So no-one gives a shit,
And even if somebody does,
They can just get over it.

My Onesie is a cheapie,
From a Skipton market stall,
I look a bugger in it,
But I don’t care at all.

It is warm and soft and cosy,
In pretty shades of grey,
Shows off my age and figure
In an most unflattering way.

Delivery staff will curl their lips,
Neighbours will be shocked,
But nothing of this matters
When my door is firmly locked.

Today I have my Onesie on,
Over my pyjamas,
And unbeknown to everyone,
It’s my cosy suit of armour.

Lynne Joyce 21.10.2017 (exactly two months since Garrath died).

On Being Offered A Counselling Appointment At City Hall Bradford.

Verbal FarterThere are places I don’t want to visit,
There are people I don’t want to see
There are are ghosts I don’t want to encounter,
They are all much too painful for me.

My psyche is terribly fragile
My burden of stress is immense,
Such things are emotionally tricky,
Taking risks doesn’t make any sense.

I need to be where I’m protected,
I need to be out of harm’s way,
Safe places and also safe people
Are where and what I need today.

There may be a time, some time later,
When the nightmare is over for me,
I’ll be older and bolder and stronger,
Until then I’ll proceed cautiously.

So don’t ask me to visit those places
Or the people I don’t want to meet,
Don’t organise ghostly encounters,
Wait ’til my healing’s complete.

Even then I won’t want to go there,
Or to meet those from times now long gone,
I won’t want to revisit the ghosts from the past,
Instead I prefer to move on.

Lynne Joyce 17.08.2017

Shapeless Days

The days have lost their purpose,
Their structure and their form
Since I lost the elements
That together were the norm.

I used to have a husband
We planned the days together,
We prioritised commitments,
Work, duty and pleasure.

I used to have companion dogs,
They had fixed routines
And so I used to shape my day,
Around canine Kings and Queens.

My husband’s in a nursing home
Dying as we speak,
My much belovéd canines
Died in the same week.

My days have lost their purpose,
So each and every morning
I wonder what the day will bring
Other than grief and mourning.

Lynne Joyce 06.08.2017

The Shopping List

(American friends, in England getting pissed means getting drunk.)

Salad veg and toilet rolls
Are on my shopping list,
But I never write the things I need
To buy to get me pissed.

Getting pissed’s essential
To keeping me alive,
It circumvents the crap stuff
And helps my soul to thrive.

So I sneak down to the booze aisle
With shopping list in hand,
Grab wine as if at random
Just like it wasn’t planned.

But anyone observing
Week after dreary week,
Would very quickly work out
What wine I choose to seek.

I’m partial to a Merlot,
I love a Pinot Noir,
And I’ve become an expert
At knowing where they are.

Salad veg and toilet rolls
Are on my shopping list
But they’re the ones that I forget
When intent on getting pissed!

Lynne Joyce 31.07.2017

The Tipsy Fairy

Intemperance, the tipsy fairy,
Lives for clubbing, dance and drink,
The life and soul of any party,
She’s not as selfish as you think.

She flies into each night club venue
And samples everybody’s glass,
Alerts if it contains Rohypnol
And so protects each dancing lass.

In local pubs she tests the bitter,
Guinness, ale and lager too,
Let’s the punters know if water’s
Added to their chosen brew.

In recents times more tests have been
Added to her repertoire,
She’s looking out for moonshine booze,
Cheap poison in a dodgy bar.

Wine producers just adore her,
She is known by every judge,
She helps them all with their decisions,
Giving them a gentle nudge.

She’s been known to hide the car keys
When she sees a drunken waif,
Phone the partner, call a taxi
To make sure that they get home safe.

So don’t condemn The Tipsy Fairy,
She’s more clever than you think,
Her mission is, when she’s imbibing,
To protect us when we drink.

Lynne Joyce 12.06.2017

The Plus Size Fairy

Here we have the plus size fairy,
She is pretty, large and round,
You can always hear her coming
By her transport’s roaring sound.

She doesn’t fly on fairy wings,
Fairy wings are far too weak,
Instead she rides a helicopter
For Fairy duties through the week.

She takes care of plus size ladies
Directs them all to Evans shops,
Simply Be and Marks & Spencers
For plus size trousers, skirts and tops.

She’s a star, the plus size fairy,
She makes her client group look great
Dressed in Simply Be and Evans,
For sexy isn’t just size eight!

Lynne Joyce 11.06.2017

The Fitness Fairy

Fairy Butchers-Dog
Keeps a fitness log
To show how many steps she does each day.

Each workout is a slog,
But Fairy Butchers-Dog
Loves to sweat to keep the flab at bay.

This fairy fitness freak
Works out fifteen times a week,
So has no time for work or rest or play.

At the gym if you should peek
You might see her looking weak,
But she picks up once she sees you look her way.

Dumbells she will heave
To impress you as you leave,
Once you’ve gone she drops them crashing to the floor.

Her design is to deceive
For wants you to believe
She’s a Goddess, not a self-obsessed gym bore.

Lynne Joyce 10.06.2017

Solitude – The Choice.

Involuntary solitude
Is loneliness,
Whilst voluntary solitude
Is utter bliss.

No human’s endless prattling
Invades your space
You can dress in old PJ’s
Or expensive lace.

You can decide whether or not
To comb your hair,
You can decide to interact,
When and where.

You can sing loudly and freely
Out of tune,
You can decide to gaze at stars
And watch the moon.

You can eat candy for breakfast,
Chocolate for lunch,
You can drink the purest water
Or Planters’ Punch.

You can determine what to watch
On TV,
You can play loud, rock music
Endlessly.

You can have a conversation
With yourself,
You can be joyfully single
Not on the shelf.

So make sure your solitude
Is voluntary,
Say no to lonely
And yes to free.

Lynne Joyce 29.04.2017

Primitive Technology

Back to primitive technology,
I left my phone behind,
Suffering from too much stress
I’ve got a muddled mind.

I struggle to remember
How to use a pen,
I’ve totally forgotten
The what, the how, the when.

I’m glad I carry primitives
Like pen and notebook here,
It saves me from connecting
From those who’d bend my ear.

Like crashing bores and small talkers
Who really want to chat,
About their sad and mundane lives,
The news and tittle tat.

I scribble as I ride the train,
I bag a single seat,
The seat that saves you meeting
Those you don’t want to meet.

Maybe they’ll be interesting
To earwig or to sketch,
Maybe I’ll write a verse about
Some poor, adjacent wretch.

I really must do this again,
Leave my phone at home,
Use primitive technology
To write a bright, trite poem ( contrived rhyme owned and celebrated)!

Lynne Joyce 24.04.2017

Shopping Centre Lament

Every time that I meander
Round shopping centres seeking lunch
They’re serving Carrot and Coriander
Soup, a dish that lacks in punch.

When did Carrot and Coriander
Soup become so fashionable?
Why does it appear on every menu,
It’s so bloody predictable?

Whatever happened to Cream of Mushroom,
Minestrone and Scotch Broth?
When did Carrot and Coriander
Oust them and incur my wrath?

Cream of Chicken tastes of Chicken,
Mulligatawny tastes of spice,
Carrot and Coriander tastes of nothing,
It’s textureless and isn’t nice.

I guess that for the caterers
Cheap and easy wins the day,
So with very little effort,
Lots of profit comes their way.

The fashion for Carrot and Coriander
Is boring and lamentable
So caterers, serve something else
That’s tasty and delectable.

Lynne Joyce 25.01.2017

Ilkley

Behold, exaggerated poses,
In Ilkley where the snobs look down
Their noses in complete disdain
Of visitors from out of town.

See their amdramatic gestures,
Listen to their accents twee,
Watch their vying for position
Under the cloak of bonhomie.

View them munch in pricey restaurants
And drink where booze is overpriced,
Designer pubs and trendy wine bars
Where every drink is iced and sliced.

Wonder if this snooty town
Was ever just an average place,
And want to know when it developed
It’s hoity toity carapace.

Behold as snobs look down their noses
And social climbers congregate,
In Ilkley town where they aspire
To be a mini Harrogate!

Lynne Joyce 31.12.2016

Carlisle Wedding

Matron Of Honour

We were standing in reception
When the happy band arrived,
Conventionally attired,
Primped, coiffeured and contrived.

The Maid Of Honour led the charge,
An awesome, swaying mass,
Size 32 in chiffon,
So large no-one could pass.

I know wedding conventions
State that she must wear a dress,
And have a little posy,
But this woman looked a mess.

I swear she was the ugliest
Bridesmaid in the world,
But dressed up quite appropriately,
Face made up and hair curled.

Then there came the bride
On this, her happy day,
Slender by comparison,
But sylph-like, Hell, no way!

The costume theme was burgundy,
All star players had it on,
Looking at the ugly bridesmaid,
All the French supplies have gone!

Two smaller bridesmaids followed on
Bouncing as they came,
By their chatter I concluded
They share the happy couple’s name.

I heard a mighty thunder
Entering the room,
I think you’ve guessed what caused it,
The footsteps of the groom!

The bridegroom made the bridesmaid look
As slender as a reed,
I hope the hotel knew about
Their massive need for feed.

As I observed I visualised
Them walking down the aisle,
And I confess this vision
Made me break out in a smile.

I really, really wish them
A very special day,
But that monumental vision,
Simply will not go away!

11.06.2016

Glittery Things

Glittery things always find me
Wherever I happen to be,
They leap out from jewellers windows,
From magazines and the TV.

I can never resist all that glitter,
I buy them without hesitation,
I have them in every colour,
I swear I could bling for the nation.

My favourites are constantly changing,
From purple to green then to black,
I work though the hues of the spectrum,
Once through the rainbow and back.

Black is the shade of the moment,
Shiny black diamonds and such,
Black spinel is a much better option,
It doesn’t cost nearly as much.

The necklace that found me in Stratford
Is shiny and lovely and bright.
I’m wearing it for a tribunal,
I’ll keep it on through to tonight.

It matches my glittery earrings,
My rings and my bracelets as well,
So sparkly that no-one will notice
That I’ve got the black eye from Hell!

Lynne Joyce 20.10.2016

Airedale Transvestites


What’s in Aire valley waters
That makes Transvestites bad,
So crazily implausible
You think they must be mad?

I’ve no LGBT prejudice,
Each to their own say I
But why are our transvestites
So uneasy on the eye?

The clothes shops here are wonderful,
The shoe shops just as good
So smarten up Airedale TV’s,
I really wish you would.

Get lessons on your make up,
Do something with your hair,
Disguise that Adam’s apple,
Remove your facial hair.

Update your appearance,
Glamourise your style,
Make yourself believable,
Adopt feminine guile.

Instead you choose to clomp around
Like Navvies in a dress.
Blue shadowed chins and awful wigs
Make you look a mess.

OK guys, it’s up to you,
Your statement and your choice,
But make a little effort
And you’d have a stronger voice.

Aire valley water’s content
That makes Transvestites bad,
Really should be purified
So they wouldn’t look so sad.

Lynne Joyce 21.08.2016

Unicorns

Unicorns fart rainbows,
It is easy to see why,
They get their rainbow colours
From Earth and sea and sky.

Nibbling on poppies
Gives the bright red hue,
Grass gives them the green one,
The sky gives them the blue.

Yellow is from sunshine
They gather when they fly,
Orange from the oranges
From trees as they pass by.

Lavender and lilac,
Make their breath smell sweet,
And give the purple colour
So the rainbow is complete.

Unicorns are dainty
So when they need to pooh
The dig deep then they bury it
For that’s what Unicorns do.

Unicorns are magic
So from their pooh there stems
Something of great value,
Bright, sparkling, precious gems.

Rubies, sapphires, diamonds,
Topaz and emeralds too,
Opals, zircon, tourmaline,
All come from Unicorn pooh.

So every time you’re wearing
A pretty, glittery stone,
You’re watched over by Unicorns
So you’re never quite alone.

Lynne Joyce 12.01.2016

Data Fairies (For Andy May’s Children)

Data Fairy

Data fairies have big teeth
So they can cope with megabytes,
Through the air, between devices,
On their busy daily flights.

They carry them in rigid baskets
For most of them are Microsoft,
They all know Microsoft is fragile
So they’re tentatively held aloft.

Sometimes big dogs help them out
With big loads they call pet-a-bytes,
They keep the fairies company
And guard them on their late night flights.

Fruit bowls help them carry Apple
Images, iTunes and Mail,
They’re such a boon to Photoshoppers
As their Big File baskets never fail.

They have some fun with Android users,
Often messing with the user name,
That’s Data Fairies making mischief
And Android users are fair game.

Wifi paves the fairies’ highways,
Highways only they can see,
Highways that they fly along
Safely and efficiently.

Data Fairies suffer boredom
And mischief making makes this better
So sometimes they will misdirect
Your message, photograph or letter.

They spin it round the Town Hall clock
In a whirling, fairy fairground ride,
Making sure it gets there late,
Then giggling, they run and hide.

But mostly Data Fairies teeth
Glisten in a happy grin,
Making sure that things run perfectly
In this data driven world we’re in.

Lynne Joyce 23.05.2016

Awkward Situation

How do you deal with awkward situations,
Ones when you’re expected to have fun,
But find yourself in company you’d rather not be near,
Do you stick it out, pretend or simply run?

What if this situation was created
By a friend who thought her friends would suit you too,
Introduced you to some people that you hated
In that strange situation, what’s to do?

And if your friend said “Let us do it next week,”
Same place, same time, same company, what fun!”
How quick are you at making good excuses
Without shocking or offending everyone?

Here’s how I dealt with such a situation,
I bit my lip, avoided eye contact,
And when it came to next week’s invitation,
Judicious lies are also known as tact!

18.05.2016

Madame Shriek at The Chicken Shack

Please save me from shrill women,
Especially when they’re French,
My hearing’s being assaulted
By a shrieking, manic wench,
Who thinks that conversation
Is a competition,
Together with her partner
They make the supposition,
That if they both get louder
And interrupt their friends,
They’ve won the competition,
And thus the contest ends.

They revelled in their bullying
That made their friends retreat,
Deafened by their volume,
They made a quick retreat.
The shrieker and her husband
Don’t really give a care
About the people near them,
They only want to air
Narcissistic verbal tactics
In tones both loud and shrill,
Not knowing that their antics
Make me want to KILL!

The Chicken Shack, 15.05.2016

The Typo Fairy

There’s a fairy in my keyboard,
She’s a naughty fairy too,
For every time I type an ‘i’
She beats me with a ‘u.’

She messes up my spelling
And leaves me feeling vexed,
For her partner is a Gremlin
Who is called Predictive Text.

She likes adding punctuation
The wrong kind in the wrong place,
She’s particularly fond of
Leaving out the space.

She likes to switch and mix up
Adverbs with Adjectives,
And occasionally slips in
Split infinitives.

My readers must believe that I’m
A literary fool,
But it’s the naughty fairy using
The keyboard as her tool.

She mucks up all my e-mails,
She botches my reports,
She scrambles all my letters and
Confuses all my thoughts.

Together with her partner,
The Gremlin, Predictive Text
They make my work unreadable,
So my readers are perplexed.

I bet this fairy’s cousin
Lives in your keyboard too,
And screws up all your writing,
For that is what they do.

There’s a fairy in my keyboard,
She is dressed in shades of grey.
I wish I had a magic wand
That would make her go away.

Lynne Joyce 10.05.2016

The Welcome Thief

Something stole my lovely face,
My lithe and comely figure,
It took them to another place
And left me something bigger.

Where once my face was smooth and firm
Lines and sags abound,
Where tight, pert butt and boobs prevailed
Now all is loose and round.

They also stole my memory
And left me full of doubt
About what I am doing,
And what my life’s about.

I get up to the attic
To do something but when
I get there I’ve forgotten,
And I have to start again.

My 20 20 vision
Was taken long ago,
When it will take my hearing
I really do not know.

It took my credibility,
It robbed me of respect
So nowadays I’m treated like
I have no intellect.

This unforgiving bounder
Has got me in a rage,
But as it’s victim I am lucky,
For this thief’s called Old Age.

15.04.2016

Whingers

I really can’t stand whiners,
Whingers drive me nuts
They complain about a matter
But won’t get off their butts
To do something about it
And get the problem mended
Because a resolution
Would mean the matter’s ended.

Then they would have nothing
To whinge and whine about,
So they carry on complaining
And don’t sort the problem out,
For whingeing’s what they’re good at,
Its how they get attention,
So solutions to their problems
Never get a mention.

When next I hear them whingeing
I’ll say “You drive me nuts.
I’m tired of your complaining,
So get up off your butts
And get the matter sorted,
Please, don’t complain to me,
Because I’m tired of hearing
Your negativity.”

I realise condemning
Whiner’s lazy butts,
Has turned me into one of them,
That’s why they drive me nuts!

31.03.2016

Underwhelming


He’s working on the art of underwhelming
And taking it beyond a PhD
Underwhelming takes an awful lot of research
All conducted without curiosity.

He is working on his research without interest,
With no stimuli to sharpen up his mind,
He interviews the dreary and the boring
Lesser mortal members of mankind.

Mousewives, bureaucrats and civil servants
All fit within his underwhelming scheme,
People who take holidays in Clacton,
Those in suburban semis fit the theme.

Folk who drive a Vectra or Cortina,
People clad in beige from head to toe,
Men who wear their socks when wearing sandals,
Women who tie their hair up with a bow.

Men who comb their hair over their bald patch,
Girls whose hairstyles state their wedding day,
People who buy clothes in Marks & Spencer’s,
For M & S is who the underwhelming pay.

He’s studying the art of underwhelming
And taking it beyond a PhD
Underwhelming takes an awful lot of research
So I’m praying he doesn’t talk to me!

Lynne Joyce 20.03.2016

Dowdy Dressing


I fear I’m now a very dowdy dresser
Who hides in shades of camouflage and beige,
When once I was outrageous and flamboyant,
I guess it’s just a sign of my old age.

Where once I sported amethyst and scarlet,
Now navy blue is my idea of smart,
No tourmaline or flashy shades of orange
Can make old biddies like me fit the part.

The part that says invisible and silent
Is what is right for old girls such as me,
That we must fade away into the background,
And do whatever we do, quietly.

I’m getting rather tired of dowdy dressing,
Invisible is not my cup of tea,
So if you see an old girl dressed in scarlet,
You never know, that old girl might be me!

Lynne Joyce 20.03.2016

Obnoxious People At Piazza De Espana

Why are some people obnoxious,
Why do some people have to be loud?
Why do they feel the need
To outdo and out speed
Everyone else in the crowd?

What’s the joy in being offensive?
What’s the pleasure in being rude?
What’s with their squawking,
Like third class street hawking,
Aggressive, offensive and crude?

Why do the buggers object when
They are properly told to be quiet?
Why do they resent
The message that’s sent
In order to calm down a riot?

Why, oh why, did they have to be English
And thus make me ashamed of my race,
Where’s the English reserve
That I’d like to conserve?
Why won’t they get out of my space?

But sadly these folk are obnoxious,
Offensive, aggressive and loud,
So I feel the need
To depart at great speed
And move on to a different crowd.

I suppose that I ought to feel sorry
For this deeply unpleasant pair,
When as ugly and fat
And stupid as that,
Surely life cannot seem fair.

27.09.2015

Postcode Prisoners

Those who shout out “I was born and bred
In these parts” and have never led
A life outside the place where they were born,
Treat people who are not from there with scorn,
Take great pride in their ignorance and sneer,
“You can’t trust folk who don’t come from round here!”

Trapped inside their tiny, postcode prison,
They don’t have much experience or vision,
But proudly claim that their town is the best
Whilst knowing bugger all about the rest,
Make insularity a source of pride,
And ridicule the people from outside.

The area they call their neighbourhood,
They claim to be the source of all that’s good,
Not seeing that these claims are made elsewhere,
By inward looking idiots who share
Parochial perspectives and small minds,
And ignorance about all other humankind.

Other people, other places we experience,
Should open our minds, enrich us and make sense,
So, no matter what our place of birth,
We should be glad to share this lovely Earth
With fellow human beings of all kinds,
Except of course, those with tiny minds!!!

Lynne Joyce 04.03.2009

Silly Hats In Calpe

I wonder what the age is
For wearing silly hats,
I see them all the time here
On preposterous old bats.

Bats of either gender,
And somewhere in between,
All wearing stupid headgear
In beige and pink and green.

Some like jockey’s helmets,
Have enormous peaks
Made of woven straw or plastic
They look like Mallard’s beaks.

Some caps once worn by Donovan
Are sported on the beach,
It seems good taste and discretion
Is way beyond their reach.

White flat caps are favoured
By ageing Belgian men
While Alpine caps on Germans say
Its World War 2 again.

I’ve worked out what the age is
For wearing silly hats,
It happens when you’re old enough
To become retired expats.

Lynne Joyce 03.10.2015

The Afterthought

I am the afterthought
I am the kind of person who
People think they ought to keep in touch with
But never do.

I am the optional extra,
The peripheral one
Only contacted when I have
Something to give someone.

I am the extra soldier
You recruit when needed,
But when I need help
My needs are never heeded.

I am the distant relative,
Who never makes the party list,
I am “Whatever happened to”
Rarely talked about and never missed.

If you come across me
You either look away
Or say that we must get together
Some fine day.

That fine day never comes
So you emphasise
My isolation
With thoughtless lies.

I am the afterthought
I am the kind of person who
People say they want to keep in touch with
But never do.

Lynne Joyce 13.03.2016

The Verbal Fart

Verbal Farter

Many, many years ago
I perfected the very fine art,
I say nothing when I’ve got nothing to say
Thus avoiding the verbal fart.

A fart is where something awful comes out
And creates an terrible stink.
Verbal farts are dropped by people who lack
The intellect to think.

Verbal farters don’t put the brakes on
Before their mouths let go,
Then the verbal fart pops out
As do the listener thinks ‘Oh no!’

They are sometimes known as a faux pas,
And sometimes described as crass,
But we all know that verbal farters
Are talking out of their ass!

Lynne Joyce 14.02 2016

Racist Single at the Vik San Antonio Lanzarote

Vile Racist

The singles trips arrived today
They’re here in our hotel
Some sad and very lonely
Some here for raising hell.

One man, fat & middle aged,
Homed in on ladies who
Did not deserve his diatribe
Of nasty racist spew.

He wonders why he’s single,
The reason’s clear to see
No one waits to listen
To his vicious bigotry.

He is negative and nasty
And not easy on the eye
So why would other singles
Even want to try?

No one loves a bigot
Except other bigots who
Pour their nasty poison
On the unsuspecting few.

The few can hardly wait to
Escape and stay away
And this explains why this man
Is single to this day.

10.02.2016

Elephants In Bikinis

Large Woman in Micro Shorts

If elephants wore bikinis
They’d head for Lanzarote
For this is where the beach babes
Are overweight and grotty.

Here they size bikinis
By the acre and the hectare,
So lardy people buy them
And flaunt their flesh without a care.

Nobody seems bothered
By excess fat on show,
So Lanzarote is where
Lardos choose to go.

Size 26 in micro shorts
And no one bats an eyelid,
This tolerance is wonderful
And makes me ask why I did.

Am I too conditioned
By the media and the press
Who push a body image
That makes normal feel like less?

Who are the body fascists
That determine thin is best,
Who praise the anorexic
And ridicule the rest?

If elephants wore bikinis
They’d head for Lanzarote
And I think that is wonderful
And the rest is of the world is potty!

Lynne Joyce 10.02.2016

City Drama Queens

Alicante Drama Queen
In every major city
Wherever I have been
There are lots of exhibitionists
And screaming drama queens.

You don’t get them in a village,
You don’t get them in a town,
But always in the cities
Whenever I’m around.

In a village are they hiding?
In townships do they run
Away from me because I like
To draw them, just for fun?

Do they know that I’m a poet
Who versifies their kind,
And gather in the city
To stimulate my mind?

Whatever, I love cities,
For every time I’ve been
I’ve done illustrated verses
About show-off drama queens.

17.05.2013

Ways To Kill A Noxious Person

Noxious Relative

We all have them, be they family, friend or colleague, those who poison the notion of family, friendship or teamwork, the spoilers at the party, the snipers, the underminers, the vicious ones, the petty ones, the just plain mean ones, so you can tailor the title of this verse to suit! You may not carry out any of the actions suggested in this verse but I promise that just reading it with the person in mind will make you feel better!

When they manipulate or bully
And pretend to be OK
With your spouse or child or partner
You have to make them go away,
Though murder is illegal
In your country and your state
Strong doses of pesticide
Weed out things you hate.

So plant a dose of DDT
In their garden spray,
Some in their favourite tipple
Will make them go away,
Then judicious washing
Removes the evidence,
Go on, you can do it,
You know it makes good sense.

You could always hire a hit man
From somewhere quite obscure,
I hear they’re very good at
The noxious person cure,
But ensure that you can blackmail
The hit man that you hired
So that he doesn’t bleed you
When the money has expired.

Take them on a cliff side walk
Somewhere lonely by the sea,
Then push them off the highest point
Into eternity.
But before you do that
Fix your alibi,
Many many miles from there,
You can do it if you try!

Spread a vicious rumour
That the person’s dealing drugs
Then have them disposed of
By rival dealer thugs.
You only have to tell them
That they stole their turf,
Then you leave it up to them
To remove them from this Earth.

If you know mechanics
Tamper with their car
But do it in such a way
That they don’t know who you are.
Rubber gloves, they tell me,
Leave no fingerprint,
But beware of DNA
So leave not the merest hint.

Stabbing is too messy
Though it might be fun,
But killing from a distance
Is best done with a gun
And though snipers are expensive
It might just be worthwhile,
Especially if you arrange
To be distant by a mile.

Use your imagination,
See what you can do,
Maybe a touch of grease on
A boot or Jimmy Choo
Would have them skating wildly
In the shopping Mall,
Then make sure they’re pushed off the edge
By a Mafia pal!

Maybe well placed ball bearings
At the top of lethal stairs
Will ensure their beneficiaries
Get access to what’s theirs?
Then they’ll celebrate their passing
In serious, solemn places,
All wearing heavy black veils
To hide their smiling faces!

When they manipulate or bully
And pretend to be OK
With your spouse or child or partner
You have to make them go away,
Though murder is illegal
In your country and your state
A carefully planned accident
Can remove the things you hate!

Lynne Joyce

Sent from my iPad

Silly Hats In Calpe

Illustration to follow

I wonder what the age is
For wearing silly hats,
I see them all the time here
On preposterous old bats.

Bats of either gender,
And somewhere in between,
All wearing stupid headgear
In beige and pink and green.

Some like jockey’s helmets,
Have enormous peaks
Made of woven straw or plastic
They look like Mallard’s beaks.

Some caps once worn by Donovan
Are sported on the beach,
It seems good taste and discretion
Is way beyond their reach.

White flat caps are favoured
By ageing Belgian men
While Alpine caps on Germans say
Its World War 2 again.

I’ve worked out what the age is
For wearing silly hats,
It happens when you’re old enough
To become retired expats.

Lynne Joyce 03.10.2015

Genetic Modification

Sitting in the local watering hole between two groups of expat Essex folk (we sometimes refer to Calpe as Costa Essex) inspired me to write this –

I’m becoming a geneticist,
Not a doctor or a clown,
And I have a clear objective
To calm Essex people down.

I’ll turn their squawking into whispers,
Their screeching to a hiss,
Their bragging into modesty,
Their confrontation to a kiss.

I’ll make their dress respectable
Instead of loud and brash,
I’ll make them spend discretely,
Rather than flash the cash.

Bleached hair, fake tans and make up
Will become yesterday’s news,
And I’ll ensure they listen
To other people’s views.

But my best as a geneticist,
Not a doctor or a clown,
Is with everyone from Essex
I’LL TURN THE VOLUME DOWN!

Lynne Joyce 24.09.2015

Hunter Gatherer Night Out


Observed at The Halfway House, Baildon

‘Ug-ug, grunt grunt’ is what they say,
In a slightly more articulate way,
And while they laugh and slap on backs,
Its clear these creeps still hunt in packs.

‘Ho-ho, arf-arf, ha-ha, he-he’,
Behaving so predictably,
And as you might have guessed here comes,
A joke that features tits & bums.

The volume of their voices rising,
In monologues quite unsurprising,
Competing now, testosterone bores,
With tales of drunkenness & whores.

And now tall tales of workplace ventures,
The fate of friends & wild adventures
‘Did I tell you of the time,
The World, his wife & wealth were mine?’

Boundaries of propriety blurring,
The drinks go down, the words start slurring,
Someone is sick then there’s a fight,
An typical men only night!

Lynne Joyce 15-11-02

Poetic Outsider

I have always been peripheral,
I live on the margins of life,
Only contacted when useful
Or a handy soldier in strife.

I have never been a lynchpin
Or part of a family group,
So no one thinks to contact me
To keep me in the loop.

I have never had a best friend
Or been described as such,
Most people don’t think me important
So don’t bother keeping in touch.

They only contact me when they want
My services for free,
My time, my brain, my talents,
With no reciprocity.

But being an outsider
Made me independent,
I don’t have to follow social norms
On which others are dependent.

I don’t have to ingratiate
Myself into the herd,
I don’t have to obey their conventions,
Or to hang on to every word.

So I live on the periphery
I observe the way others live,
Then I make my own decisions
On whom to know and what to give.

I’m contented on the margins,
As a very astute observer
Who writes acerbic verses
And lives the outsider’s life with fervour.

11.08.2015

Strangled Ducks


Why do some older women
Sound like strangled ducks,
Wear badly fitting dentures,
So each spoken word has sucks?

When do normal sounding women
Reach the duck suck stage?
Is it when they become a Granny,
Or at a particular age?

Does duck sucking start at fifty,
Or even later still?
Is the duck suck stage compulsory
Or a conscious act of will?

When they get their duck suck license
Do their baggy clothes come free,
Cardigans and too short trousers
Sold by a charity?’

Does the duck suck license force them
To cheap hairdressers’ to get
Nasty perms and haircuts
That look like snakes when wet?

I think these older women
Who sound like sucking ducks,
Know that I write about them because
They keep giving me dirty looks!

Lynne Joyce 02.09.2015

Geordie Lasses

Geordie Lass
Inspired by our long weekend in Newcastle.

A Geordie lass’s make up
Is at least two inches thick.
It goes on with a paint gun
And comes off with a pick.

In my travels around England
I never, ever saw
Women like these Geordie girls
Who use cosmetics more.

They start with thick foundation
To even out their skin,
Add powder then some blusher
Carefully blended in.

Then, with laser-like precision
Their eyebrows are defined,
Next, ever so precisely,
Each eyelid is eyelined.

Eye shadow in rich colours
Is carefully applied,
Next comes their mascara
‘Til they’re Dusty Springfield eyed.

Pencil perfect lipline
Outlines where lipstick goes
Nail polish is next thing
To adorn their hands and toes.

I swear these painted beauties
Must take an hour or more
To put on their cosmetics
Without a single flaw.

My own style of make up
Is by comparison restrained,
But I am not a Geordie,
So I’m cosmetically untrained!

Lynne Joyce 30.08.2015

Snickety Snackety Horrible Bitey Things

Port wine stains spread from a minute puncture
Made by snickety-snackety horrible bitey things,
Mosquitoes, midges, horseflies, gnats and hornets,
All snickety-snackety horrible bites on wings,

Soon I’ll be overwhelmed with the fearful itching
Caused by their snickety-snackety horrible bitey stings,
Then I’ll develop manic paranoia
About snickety-snackety horrible bitey things!

Why do they traverse half the world to find me?
Why is my blood so popular for lunch?
Why do they all ignore so-called repellents?
Why do they choose to turn my skin to bumps?

I look like a relief map of the mountains.
I feel I’ve got live volcanoes on my skin.
And all of this disfiguring discomfort
Is down to snickety-snackety horrible bitey things!

© Lynne Joyce, 01/11/01

The Gang

Collectively they’re stupid,
Boring and banal,
And that’s the social glue
That makes sure they stay as pals.

No intellectual content
Can ruin or distract
From social interaction
Within their stress free pact.

Their conversation’s dreary,
The boundaries are tight,
No politics, no religion,
No cause to be uptight.

Throughout the social evening
Nothing has been said,
No-one’s had an argument,
No spat, no fear, no dread.

And nobody in this company
Has heard whatever was said,
They all had a lovely stress free time
In the land of the living dead.

06.07.2015

Cosmetics Salespeople at Harvey Nicks.

Professionally shallow,
Dressed and groomed without a flaw,
Everyone is dressed in black
On Harvey Nick’s cosmetic floor.

All smiling faces painted,
In obvious house styles
Not a hair is out of place
Atop fixed and whitened smiles.

We are all addressed as Madam,
In a voice that’s insincere,
The superficial caring tones
Brings customers in here.

I wonder if on days off
They wear jeans and scruffy tops,
Leave hair and face untreated,
And shop in bargain shops.

But at Harvey Nick’s they’re shallow,
And immaculately groomed,
Well versed in insincerity,
Painted and perfumed.

22.07.2015

Jeans With Creases

Jeans with creases

There’s something really strange
About jeans with creases,
Worn by middle aged husbands
On pub releases.

All polished up and dusted down
By their dutiful mousewives,
Trying to prove that they are
Meticulous housewives.

The husbands are sent out
For a night with the boys
To drink lots of beer
And make lots of noise.

The audience of pubgoers
Really don’t care,
They don’t give a damn about
What the husbands wear.

Still, the husbands attend dutifully
Wearing jeans with creases,
Happy that they’re allowed out
On pub releases.

Lynne Joyce 05.07.2015

Wrinklies Out Shopping

I love to listen in
When wrinklies go to shop
Hear them talk of who has died
And who’s about to drop.

The rattle of their walking aids
Adds rhythm to their stories
Of new hips and arthritis
And how they’ll suffer with the Tories.

They chat about their ailments,
Never lose a chance to moan,
Then say “I mustn’t grumble,”
In a resentful tone.

Occasionally their families
Figure in their chat,
Children and grandchildren,
Where they are and what they’re at.

I love to listen in
When wrinklies shop and chat
Then I look into the mirror
And see wrinkly’s where I’m at!

15.05.2015

Stupid

Stupid comes in lots of different colours,
Shapes and sizes, races, points of view,
Different times and different circumstances,
And we see it in most everything we do.

Stupid people make their ways through doorways
Then just beyond come to a grinding stop,
Block everyone who’s walking in behind them
So they can’t access the building or the shop.

Blocking seats with bags is plainly stupid
Done by those who think they own the space
Everywhere within a metre round them,
So shift their bags and get right in their face.

Forgetting what you wanted when you get to
The place where you had gone to get it, so
You have to go back to the start point, then you
Remember what it was. That’s stupid, no?

Arriving at a photogenic venue
With all your very pricey camera kit
Only to find your batteries are all flat.
That indicates a stupid lack of wit.

Going out in British Winter weather
Wearing clothes that don’t protect from cold and rain
That clearly shows a special kind of stupid,
Or a curious indifference to pain.

Getting home from supermarket shopping
Unloading all the groceries you’ve got,
Looking for the item that was vital
But was the only thing that you forgot.

Getting on the wrong train, bus or tramcar,
Missing and appointment or a date,
All differing varieties of stupid,
Like turning up too early or too late.

Forgetting the names of those you’ve known for ages,
Or even worse, saying a name that’s wrong,
Asking after the spouse that they’re divorcing,
All verses in the ‘I’m So Stupid” song.

Stupid comes in lots of different colours,
Shapes and sizes, races, points of view,
So before you damn stupidity in others
Confess and own the stupid that’s in you.

09.12.2014

Seeing Life At The Chippie

Fish & Chips

For my friends who live outside the UK, The Chippie is the Fish & Chip restaurant.

Why don’t politicians
Bring their trouble and strife
For a meal in the sit in chippie?
That way they’d learn about life.

They’d see the obesity issue
Is a really serious matter
With fat folk stuffing their faces
With chips and peas and batter

They’d see the nutrition crisis
With parental smacking of lips
As they guzzle expensive protein
Whilst feeding their children chips!

They would witness the pensioners’ struggle
As they totter back to the table
With one small portion between two,
On a pension that’s all they are able.

With some careful overhearing
And plenty eye mopping tissues,
They’s hear a load of stories
So learn about real issues.

But I never see politicians
Bring their trouble and strife
For a meal in the sit in chippie,
Because they don’t want to know about life.

18.04.2015

I Called Her Me-Me!

Me-Me!
(woman seen in El Coto, Durham on 13.02.2015.)

This one was nothing like the opera star,
When she piled into the restaurant, mouth hanging ajar,
Spilling out her verbal garbage so you could hear it from afar,

No, this one was a gobshite,
Whose intellect was ultra light,
But her narcissism shone bright
On her companion acolyte.

She sat down and started noisily doing her thing
Loudly and vacuously blethering
Looking round to see if anyone was listening,

But no one in there adored
Her performance, we were sooooooo bored,
We could have put our heads down and snored
She failed to get us on board.

Why do people like this woman make a fuss
A huge show off performance for the rest of us,
Noise without much interest, it’s so tedious?

But they will insist
On plying for attention lest a chance is missed
To create endless noise, be it shouted or hissed,
To demonstrate the fact that they’re a narcissist.

15.02.2015

Shipley Wrinklies On Market Day

I sit here, 67, viewing those of similar age
And it seems that being feeble with them is all the rage,
I watch their wheely walkers as they totter round the town
Are they craving for attention or are they scared of falling down?

They have voices that are quavery and hair that’s grey and thin
And it seems they’re lacking confidence in the body that they’re in,
As I view their stooping gait and their tired, pained expression,
It looks like old and feeble has been made into a profession.

Are they from the kind of culture that equates their age with frail,
So if they don’t use their walking aids they’ve had an image fail,
Whatever, I’m bewildered by those who revel in their frailty,
So I’ll go dancing with my toy boy to the best of my ability!

26.02.2015

Verbal Garbage

Oh for the invention of a mouth shaped cork
To plug between the lips of those who love to talk,
Those who rattle on relentlessly and loudly in spite
Of the fact that all they’re saying is utter shite!

Oh how lovely it would be if only they
Could be silenced long before their mouths had gone astray,
Shut up long before they put their foot in it
By droning their relentless monologue of shit.

Would the mouth shaped cork have little breathing holes
To save these verbal excrementers’ bodies and souls,
Or would they have to rely for breathing on their noses
And if suffering a cold, turn up their toeses?

I think, given the option, I’d go for the latter,
To halt at least some of them inflicting endless chatter
On unsuspecting persons such as me,
Who would like to live their lives verbal garbage free!

Lynne Joyce 29.12.2014

Christmas Bad Taste

A Hippo wearing chiffon
Is still Hippopotamus,
A Rhino wrapped in glitter,
Is still a lardy arse.

Anorexics clad in lurex
Are not a pretty sight,
Like foil wrapped Praying Mantis,
Too skinny and too bright.

Old bats in teenage clothing
That highlights all their sags,
With an added bits of lurex,
Makes them hideous old bags.

Fat men in Christmas jumpers
Are not a pretty sight,
The jumpers are too vivid
And invariably too tight.

Its at workplace Christmas parties
When they all come out to play
Where bad taste clad in glitter
Makes its annual display.

22.12.2014

STUPID!

Stupid comes in lots of different colours,
Shapes and sizes, races, points of view,
Different times and different circumstances,
And we see it in most everything we do.

Stupid people make their ways through doorways
Then just beyond come to a grinding stop,
Block everyone who’s walking in behind them
So they can’t access the building or the shop.

Blocking seats with bags is plainly stupid
Done by those who think they own the space
Everywhere within a metre round them,
So shift their bags and get right in their face.

Forgetting what you wanted when you get to
The place where you had gone to get it, so
You have to go back to the start point, then you
Remember what it was. That’s stupid, no?

Arriving at a photogenic venue
With all your very pricey camera kit
Only to find your batteries are all flat.
That indicates a stupid lack of wit.

Going out in British Winter weather
Wearing clothes that don’t protect from cold and rain
That clearly shows a special kind of stupid,
Or a curious indifference to pain.

Getting home from supermarket shopping
Unloading all the groceries you’ve got,
Looking for the item that was vital
But was the only thing that you forgot.

Getting on the wrong train, bus or tramcar,
Missing and appointment or a date,
All differing varieties of stupid,
Like turning up too early or too late.

Forgetting names of those you’ve known for ages,
Or even worse, saying a name that’s wrong,
Asking after the spouse that they’re divorcing,
All verses in the ‘I’m So Stupid” song.

Stupid comes in lots of different colours,
Shapes and sizes, races, points of view,
So before you damn stupidity in others
Confess and own the stupid that’s in you.

09.12.2014