Utter Drivel From Cumbria ツ

fun wiv fonniks

2012-01-29T16:19:00.009Z

i yam a likul infunt
oos lurnin howta reed
me teechurs wurkin veree ard
too elp me too sukseed
iym awlso lurnin ritin
and howta spel me naym
but fonniks is kwite difikult
cos sownds arnt speld the saym

... bye jonifun ayg 6

JH
Copyright © 2012 Jonathan Humble

Glad To Be A Dalek

2012-01-11T17:06:00.004Z

I'm not your av'rage Dalek,

You know the sort I mean,

All bent on domination;

Giving vent to all that spleen.

I like to think I'm diff'rent

From other Dalek crew,
Who keep emotions hidden
While exterminating you.
I don't agree with killing,
With plans to subjugate.
The Universe is lovely
And I find it hard to hate.
In fact, I've got my own plan;
I'm working from within!
I'm teaching other Daleks
How to knit and sew and spin.
I run a secret workshop
Where Daleks can relax

And find their inner Dalek;

Get the monkey off their backs.

We try to be creative;

To make things, not destroy.

I run a Dalek choir

Learning Ludwig's 'Ode To Joy'.

So if you see a Dalek

In homeknit wool poncho,

Don't run off in a panic,

Come across and say 'Hello!'

There Was A Merchant Banker

2011-12-20T08:24:00.004Z

I found myself recoiling at a banker's unctuous tone
That wafted through the airwaves from my radio today,
Bemoaning the injustice of a bad press for his ilk,
Defending the enormity of city bankers' pay.
I wondered at my feelings of revulsion for this chap;
Was this some knee-jerk class based jealousy or pers'nal quirk?
I wrestled with my conscience as I pondered deep and hard,
Concluding that in fact this banker was indeed a berk.

... and first against the wall, come the revolution.

JH
Copyright © 2011 Jonathan Humble

Question From A Supernumerary ...

2011-12-15T22:47:00.004Z

I feel a little in the way, a nuisance I suppose;
I'm like a green carbuncle on a supermodel's nose.
A fly found in the ointment, a worm upon a plate,
A banker's contribution to a probity debate.
A vegan at a hog roast, a snake inside a boot,
The water lapping at the feet of mighty King Canute.
A politician's promise, a long forgotten vow,
As useful as a set of wheels and jet pack on a cow.
I feel somewhat superfluous, important I am not,
As vital to the circumstance as camels on a yacht;
And so I have a question, asked with due humility,
Within an endless universe, what is the point of me?

JH
Copyright © 2011 Jonathan Humble

A Postcard From Beyond The Looking Glass

2011-09-01T18:27:00.009+01:00

I said goodbye to sanity one Thursday late in June.

I kissed it fondly on the cheek and gave it a balloon.

It soared into the clear blue sky under a gibbous moon.
I shed a melancholic tear and sang a mournful tune.

I parted from reality, after a pipe or two,

And surfed across dimensions on a wave of irish stew,
The recipe for which was told me by an old gnu,
In transit on a scooter to romantic rendezvous.

The first postcard I sent en route to Lunacy was dear,

I bought it in a kasbah in a back street in Tangier,

From five performing oysters with a taste for yorkshire beer,

And all with scottish accents, which I found a little queer.

The terminal provided for the weary and confused,
Was furnished quite eclectically to calm and keep amused
The screw deficient travellers, who wandered and perused
The waiting room in search of comfy chairs on which to snooze.

My life now is anomalous, with chaos everywhere,
But I've made most uncommon friends, and what we have we share.

I spend my time with Baxter, an eccentric white March hare,

And I am happy here beyond the looking glass somewhere.

... wish you were here ツ