I wouldn’t say it was cold this weekend but…
The snowman we built demanded to come inside,
Luke Skywalker was found in a dead tauntaun on the drive.
The freezer was the warmest place in the house,
I lived in an electric blanket and refused to go out.
But while I shivered and slowly turned blue here’s the thing,
I was reliably informed that it’s nearly Spring !
I hope so.
Some people say a cat
Is simply just a cat.
Cat’s simply like a lap,
That is flat.
They love a nap.
Unperturbed they never flap
Or stop to chat.
That’s all there is to a cat.
Or is there more to them than that?
A cat can proudly walk,
Or quietly stalk.
Chide you hourly with a squawk,
Their version of back talk.
Watch you keenly like a hawk.
As opposite to you as cheese to chalk.
So really a cat is never just that,
No cat is simply just a cat.
Cat picture is of the wonderful Snow, kindly supplied by my good chums the Williamsons.
Check out my other poem about cats here
Bloody snowy weather go away
Don’t you know it’s nearly May?
I want to shelve my winter clothes,
Plus turn off the heating in my home.
I’m so fed up with being cold,
Bloody weather do what your told.
It’s cold on the bus this morning,
Frost coats the inside of the window.
Making my morning commute,
A chilly mystery tour.
Cold breath escapes mouths,
Rising slovenly into the air.
As hands huddle in pockets
While collars are all turned up.
I scratch at the glass,
Wondering where we are.
Cars shoot by, cosy wombs of warmth,
Sparking jealously as I shiver.
My iPod plays summer songs,
Fake warmth into my ears
While my toes cringe
As winter bites hard.
I contemplate getting my pen out
To commit my cold to paper
Thinking better of it
My hands remain in my pocket’s toasty nests.
Cold doesn’t inspire, or does it?
Does nature’s chill not slow synapses
But instead produce
A hot spark of creativity?
Surely without the inspiration of cold,
We’d never have discovered fire?
Lucky ancestors I think
As I wonder when I’ll arrive and feel warm again.
For any commuter delayed today on their journey
( Apologies to the original writers of mud glorious mud ! )
A cold commuter was standing one day
At the bus stop that was near his abode.
He gazed at the snow that peacefully lay
Clogging the paths and the roads.
Backed up the traffic all stood still
Of a bus there was no sight.
The commuter tried to ignore the chill
As he wished for a bus on which to alight.
Snow, snow, wonderful snow
Nothing quite like it to make things go slow.
So follow me don’t stop, down to the bus stop
And there let us shiver in wonderful snow.
Now more commuters began to arrive
At the bus stop that had no bus.
Like worker bees that can’t reach the hive
They began to grumble and fuss.
And still the snow continued to fall
And the roads get more backed up.
As lorries and cars tried not to stall
And still there was no sign of a bus.
Snow, snow, bloody awful snow,
Britain is now on a giant go slow.
So follow me don’t dither, try not to shiver,
As we wait for a bus in the wonderful snow.