Poem of the Day

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Mystery Man

by Jane Williams

 

I met a man I didn’t know

But he knew me from go to woe

Your name I think is Paris Post

He said deadpan as eggs on toast

 

You enjoy Pine and Mountain Breeze

A little wine and too much cheese

Your tan is Airbrush Number One

The colour of your hair is Plum

 

Who are you I asked by and by

Soothsayer? Psychic? Private eye?

No said the man, nothing so odd

Though mine is an interesting job

 

I move at dawn from house to house

Not quite as quiet as a mouse

And at each one I find a clue

To him and her and you and you

 

Strong and quick and light on my feet

I seize the secrets of the streets

I am without apologist …

Your neighbourhood garbologist!

 

Poem of the Day

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My Nan speaks Nanish

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Hippo or Hag.

It’s a slippery language I’d love to snag,

a scrumptious secret wild horses can’t drag

but Nan won’t let the cat out of the bag!

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Thai or Turkey.

Spying on the neighbours what does she see?

Pishposh! Codswollop! Fiddle-de-dee!

Wagging tongues are barking up the wrong tree.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Belgium or Bear.

She’d teach me if she had the time to spare

but it’s half past a freckle, quarter past a hair,

the proof’s in the pudding and hen’s teeth are rare.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Dog or Derry

wetting her whistle watching the telly,

chewing the fat with great aunty Nelly,

bulging eyes growing bigger than bellies

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Mooney or Manx.

When old photos lull her into a trance

she’s caught and lead in a merry old dance

by teasing bees knees and fancy ants pants.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Cree or Kipper.

Hob-knobbing in her best bib and tucker.

When she married Pop it was a ripper,

he was the monkey, she the dog’s dinner.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish not Gothic or Goop

sucking on eggs or jumping through hoops.

She calls me little chicken noodle soup.

Possum. Pumpkin. I’m her favourite fruit loop.

 

My Nan speaks Nanish, not Persian or Pie.

It’s tricky talk that leaves me tongue-tied

But if wishes are fishes, pigs can fly,

my Nan can speak Nanish and so can I!

 

© Jane Williams