Colin West



Tomorrow I may put the shot,
Or on the other hand, may not,
For yesterday I put the shot,
But where I put it, I forgot.


I sent my javelin travellin'.
It whistled through the air,
It hit poor Fred upon the head
(I wasn't aiming there).


I'll queue here for the high-jump trials,
For I can jump higher than you,
Even if I cannot jump the best,
At least i can jump the queue.


One needs finesse
To play tennis,
But Dennis seems to lack it.
He's much too small
To spot the ball
And with his racquet whack it.


My problem with the cricket pitch
I never know the vicket vitch
The batsman is supposed to guard
From the other, it's too hard
For me to vork it out alone
(Ve don't play cricket in Cologne).




The saddest spook there ever was
Is melancholious because
He can't as much as raise a sneer,
Or laugh a laugh that's vaguely queer.

He hasn't learned to walk through walls,
And dare not answer wolfish calls,
And when big ghosts are rude and coarse
And shout at him: "Your fangs are false",

He smiles at them, just like a fool,
But wishes they'd pick on a ghoul
Who's heavyweight and not just bantam;
Why pick on a little phantom?




I once gave a thirsty giraffe
A coconut just for a laugh
(I knew that he'd lack
The considerable knack
Of breaking it clean into half!)




Parsons, priests and country vicars
Love the food of city slickers;
They go to cafés with their vergers
For crinkle chips and cheesyburgers.
They shake on ketchup, spread on mustard,
And wash it down with prunes and custard!   


Maria Wheatley


Do you long for, just as I,
To rest and lie in a meadow's care,
amid the sweet smell of scented flowers?
To hear the proud skylarks singing
their midsummer song of joy and mirth.
Watching clouds turn into unicorns,
gracefully meandering across the sky.
To hear the bees sip red clover
then busy on their way.
So glad am I to rest awhile,
at last in meadow's arms.
I pray that others may feel the same.
For I will never tire, no not I,
of being with Mother Nature,
amid the sweet smell of scented flowers.



Before the silver alter I kneel,
awaiting the lifting of the veil
Listening in the silence for the sacred word
To sound amidst a thousand images.

Like the first born bird ready to fly
from the mother's warm breast,
Seeking freedom in the skies,
Seeking rulership of the four winds.

And, yet, in the silence,
I hear a thousand whispers,
from North and South,
East and West,
Will I ever stand, will I ever fly?

In the One dream of all dreams,
I stand in white and gold,
blessed by the One Priest,
whose wisdom is known by
the few who seek the jewel
of ageless time.

With seven tears I cry this will
for I have been given to the Unknown,
as a bride, daughter of the Earth,
And when the veil is lifted
By the hand I know holds mine,
married with my heart am I
And no other shall see
The Key of Destiny given to me
for married with my heart am I.


Kit Wright


Some time in my lifetime I dug a big hole in today :
Fell in. Now something keeps slinging
The dirt in my eyes in my ears on my tongue on my hands
And I can't see, hear, speak, touch or crawl away.

Next time I shall build a log cabin in British Columbia
High in the Rockies, sit whistling away,
Cans of the good times stashed in the roof,
In my hands a big blue shotgun, and stay.