Out Of The Box
A collection of humorous verse
Out of the Box
Christine L. Bryant
Copyright © Christine L. Bryant 2014
Christine L. Bryant is hereby identified as the author of this work in accordance with Section 77 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
Contents
A Slimmer’s Christmas Prayer
Bare Back Rider
Zero
What a Waist
The Gravity of Old Age
It’s Never Too Late
Grandchildren
Golden Wedding
Going…Going…Gone Metric
Buyer Beware
Intolerance
Negative Sympathy
Que Sera
Windfall
Back to Square One
Second Opinion
Good Intentions
A Bridge Too Far
I Don’t Want to Go to School, Mum
The Twelve Days of Christmas
Selective Viewing
The Great Outdoors
The Carrot
Indecision
Déjà vu
Spring Fever
A Cog in a Wheel
The Magic of Christmas
Strife on the Ocean Wave
Odds & Ends (Part One)
Odds & Ends (Part Two)
Kids Corner:
Bottom Burps
My Grandma Has a Funny Neck
The Queen of Hearts
Little Bo Peep
I Think My Dad is Spiderman
Goal!
When you’re watching your weight, it’s so difficult to be good at Christmas. One can only pray…
The Slimmers’ Christmas Prayer
Our Turkey
Who art well roasted
Crispy be thy wings
Thy meat be lean
Fat is obscene
On hips, as it is on waistlines
Give us this day our chocolate log
And forget all the calories
As we forget clothes that pincheth against us
And feed us not unto inflation
But deliver us from bingeing
For mine are the peanuts and the ice cream and the gateaux
Till ‘ere I recover
Amen.
And they thought talent shows were a new idea…
Bare Back Rider
‘I do have ears, you know,’ Miss Godiva whispered low
As her grooms discussed the increase in her weight
‘I must ride throughout the town with my tresses for a gown
And if you two don’t move quickly, I’ll be late.’
In her dressing room that night, she conceded they were right
Poor old Dobbin had been slower by a head.
And as she trotted by, people scarcely blinked an eye
Even Tom had found some work to do instead.
‘We could do with something new!’ someone called, as she rode through
‘We’re sick of looking sideways at your belly!
We want some acrobatics, we want singers, we want dancers
Let’s have talent we can vote for on the telly!’
Never one to hang about (except when bits popped out)
Miss Godiva put the concept to her mate
‘What a capital idea,’ said the honorary peer
‘We can charge a one groat entrance at the gate.’
‘No more need for you to ride, I can tax them once inside
Maybe serve some ground up beef between some bread?’
‘Don’t give up the day job, dear,’ she answered, with a sneer
‘I’ll fry some bits of chicken up instead.’
So Audition Day arrived and all performers that survived
Were ushered off to Boot Camp at the Hall
They were given sparkly clothes and a dousing with a hose
As most of them had never washed at all.
But despite the glitz and glam, their performance was a sham
And the viewers booed and jeered them just for fun
The last to have a go, Miss Godiva stormed the show
And in just two days, she’d shot to Number One.
Which only goes to show, when your figure starts to go
There is always something else that you can try
But take my tip, dear soul, unless your act’s top hole
Find the nearest horse, and just keep trotting by.
Quite a few cats have adopted me over the years and they’ve tolerated me with remarkable fortitude, particularly at feeding time.
Zero was something else. A four-legged eating machine…
Zero
I found a tiny kitten, a scrawny little mite
I fed him up all through the day and then again at night.
He soon progressed to several tins and biscuits by the cup
I thought to call him Hoover, the way he sucked them up.
Sometimes he wolfed down so much food, I thought he might go Bang!
I had to fit a dog flap, for his belly overhang.
He howled at every mealtime, and emptied every bowl
I thought to call him Santa when he ate the turkey whole.
‘He must slim down,’ the vet declared, ‘or face the Rainbow Bridge.’
I threw the tins, and fitted chains and padlocks to the fridge.
I even bought prescription food, for cats of ample girth
I thought to call him Ozone, when I found it cost the earth.
I tried to make him exercise; I dangled bits of string
I ran a mile with tempting treats; he didn’t do a thing.
I put him in the garden, but he didn’t move at all
I thought to call him Humpty, when he rolled straight off the wall.
He took against the special food I served him at each meal
And despite my pleas, he wobbled off to get a better deal
Sometimes I see him, in the sun, from several doors away
They ought to call him Zero, coz he does nought else all day.
Of course, if any of the diets actually worked, it would help. Take poor Mary, for instance. Oh Lord, we’ve all been there…
What a Waist
Mary had a little lamb, with vegetables, for dinner
She’d viewed her body in the glass and felt she should be thinner.
Her flesh, once firm, now overlapped, her favourite clothes were bulging
Her figure went from bad to worse, through plain over-indulging.
She made a vow, right there and then, to find her former self
To watch her diet and exercise, till glowing fit with health.
She saw a vision, months ahead, a sylph-like silhouette
Her skin like cream, her hair a-gleam, her thinnest figure yet.
‘Lose seven stone in seven weeks,’ the magazines were screaming
‘You, too, can have the body back of which you have been dreaming
The wondrous grapefruit waits to help, waste no more time, befriend it
Give tum an acid party, girls, top models recommend it.’
When friendship with the yellow globe proved just too bitter-sweet
She tried the high-in-protein diet and gorged herself on meat
The chocoholics diet was next, t’was manna sent from heaven
She checked her weight. Had she lost pounds? Well, no, she’d put on seven.
Love your fibre. Hang with bran. Could this be her salvation?
It filled her up, but side effects could lead to gross inflation.
She soldiered on, through salad days, though temperatures were falling
An iron resolve was paramount when lettuce was appalling.
S
he gulped down so much water, her stomach swayed about
She felt too scared to walk the beach in case the tide went out
She levered on some lycra shorts to jog around the block
In reckless mood, she checked the glass, but couldn’t stand the shock.
When finally, she gave up hope and vanity subsided
She looked her problem in the face and sensibly decided
Why bother trying to starve yourself to get a better figure?
She dumped the scales and bought herself a dress two sizes bigger.
And to think all this time, what we really needed was a sprinkling of good, old-fashioned common sense. If you’re not happy with the way things are, do your own thing. You’re never to old to make changes.
The Gravity of Old Age
Here I am, I’m ninety-nine, still sprightly, full of tricks
But when I’m standing on my head, I’m only sixty-six
I’ve exercised my sagging skin, and yet, it’s sagging still
Except when standing on my head and then it’s just a frill.
It’s a different world when you’re old and curled and looking upside down
You never have a runny nose and every smile’s a frown
You never dribble when you eat or leak each time you’re laughing
And of course, it’s so much easier to find the soap when bathing.
You never have to use a stick or speak to passers-by
You never have to answer if you don’t see eye to eye
So if, like me, life right way up means every day’s a failure
Just do as I did, board a plane, and settle in Australia.
After all, you’re only as old as you feel…
It’s Never Too Late
I see there’s a rave at the Dance Hall
The poster says Hip-hop and Rap
Wish I knew what they were
Still, I should cause a stir
With my knowledge of foxtrot and tap.
With my go-faster pads on my bunions
And my new plastic hips nice and taut
Seems all that I lack
Is a gleaming six-pack
So I’ll show them the Kit-Kats I bought.
I have several nice rips in my stockings
A mohican and tattoos galore
I’ve got studs in my toes
Two big pins through my nose
And I’m picking up Radio Four.
I should easily slip past the bouncer
When he asks me my age at the gate.
Smiling sweetly, I’ll say,
‘Son, I’m Ninety today,
But in my book, it’s never too late.’
Calling all grandparents. I said, CALLING ALL GRANDPARENTS.
What d’you mean, you were having a doze?
Grandchildren
Children keep you young, they say
I s’pose it must be true
You have seven grandkids
Does it seem that way to you?
Sorry? Have you? All weekend?
My word you’ve got some go
Of course you want to help them
It’s difficult, I know.
Oh yes, I love them all to bits
They make me laugh all night
Oh no, she’s walking now, dear
Well, yes, he’s very bright.
Computer games? You’re not alone
They leave me in the cold
It’s not because I can’t keep up
It’s because my thumbs are old.
Mine are perfect angels, too
I never have to shout
I’m glad I’m not the only one
Who ends the day worn out.
I don’t worry what I give them
We often have a snack
I give mine everything they like
And then I hand them back.
Remember when trivial things seemed important? Wait a few years…
Golden Wedding
Moonlight becomes you, my darling, he thought,
It highlights the grey in your hair.
Your make-up’s a fright,
And that dress is a sight,
But quite frankly, I’m too old to care.
You shine in the moonlight, my dearest, she thought,
It’s blinding me on your bald head.
You’ve shaved half your face
And that suit’s a disgrace
I can’t wait to get home to my bed.
“Ah, the romance of moonlight,” the waiter observed,
As he shimmied once more to their side.
“What’s the secret, my dears?
Of your long, happy years?
“We’re so deeply in love,” they replied.
For those of you who can remember the comforting weight of threepenny bits, big brown pennies, and the sheer delight (and buying power) of a tiny silver sixpence.
Going…Going…Gone Metric
Sing a song of sixpence
‘Of what?’ the younger cry
A sixpence, dear. A tanner. Half a shilling,’ I reply.
‘A shilling Mum? A Ha’penny?
Don’t tell us – life was fun
In olden days, when cash was cash,
Pre-1971.’
Nostalgia? I admit it
I miss my L.s.d.
Let’s bring the ten-bob note back
And scrap the 50p
Let’s reinstate the half-crown
Start decimal denial
Let’s see things priced in guineas
Now we’re talking style.
Bid fond farewell to farthings
The threepenny bit is dead
The only crowns around now
Sit on the monarch’s head.
A perch is just a fish these days
A rod is just a stick
Will furlongs be around fur long
Or vanish just as quick?
The shopping’s now a nightmare
Conversion charts abound
The meat’s now priced in kilos
Instead of by the pound.
The pint’s been made redundant
The ounce has got the sack
I never thought I’d say this
But I want my inches back.
Well, yes, we know it’s easier
One shouldn’t make a fuss
We’re in the EEC now
(Did anyone ask us?)
The work in tens is simpler
And meets with their conditions
But why’s it always us
That have to sacrifice traditions?
Of course, money can make life so much easier, but it can be hard to come by. What if there were another way…
Buyer Beware
Are you up to your elbows in washing
Whilst you’re dreaming of sunshine and sand?
Do you know you’d just love to be wealthy
With copious cash close at hand?
Are your outgoings more than your income?
Are you dreading the Final Demand?
Fret no more, friend, I have the solution
Three wishes are at your command!
On receipt of a small cash deposit
All the answers you seek could be yours
No more slaving inside in good weather
No more wasting your life doing chores
Do you envy the lifestyle of others?
Are you working when others are not?
Do you see yourself driving a sports car?
Or idling afloat on a yacht?
Don’t delay, send today, for this product
‘Tis a wonderful lamp made of gold
With ancient and mystical powers
A free genie with everyone sold!
It requires no special attention
Just a polish a week will suffice
And the genie can speak any language
(though a smatter of Saudi is nice).
I’m not asking th
e earth for this treasure
Though this lamp is a dreamer’s delight
Just a small, insignificant fiver
And you’ll alter a life overnight.
You may still not have all that you hoped for
If you’re plagued with ambition, that’s fine
But take heart that your small cash deposits
Will have helped me achieve one of mine.
Food for thought…
Intolerance
‘You’re different from me,’ the elephant said,
as it lifted its foot in the air.
‘I don’t like you, mouse, I’m bigger than you,
and I’m going to squash you, so there.’
‘Suit yourself,’ said the mouse, ‘but if I were up there,
I’d put my big foot down, and run.
From down on the ground, I can see all around,
And that man over there’s got a gun.’
I originally wrote this during the years of the 1980’s recession. Just shows you, some things never change…
Negative Sympathy