Poem – The Village Schoolmaster

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way

With blossom’d furze unprofitably gay,

There, in his noisy mansion, skill’d to rule,

The village master taught his little school;

A man severe he was, and stern to view,

I knew him well, and every truant knew;

Well had the boding tremblers learn’d to trace

The days disasters in his morning face;

Full well they laugh’d with counterfeited glee,

At all his jokes, for many a joke had he:

Full well the busy whisper, circling round,

Convey’d the dismal tidings when he frown’d:

Yet he was kind; or if severe in aught,

The love he bore to learning was in fault.

The village all declar’d how much he knew;

‘Twas certain he could write, and cipher too:

Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage,

And e’en the story ran that he could gauge.

In arguing too, the parson own’d his skill,

For e’en though vanquish’d he could argue still;

While words of learned length and thund’ring sound

Amazed the gazing rustics rang’d around;

And still they gaz’d and still the wonder grew,

That one small head could carry all he knew.

But past is all his fame. The very spot

Where many a time he triumph’d is forgot. 

Poem – When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly

When lovely woman stoops to folly,

And finds too late that men betray,

What charm can soothe her melancholy,

What art can wash her guilt away?
The only art her guilt to cover,

To hide her shame from every eye,

To give repentance to her lover,

And wring his bosom, is—to die. 

Poem – Mrs Bean 

If there were only a table, 

With a glass on top, 

Nothing else in the room, 

I still would manage to drop.
On the corner of a desk, 

I just cannot miss it, 

Wandering past I come to blows, 

As my thigh takes a hit.
I take a stroll round the shops, 

Down the main high street, 

There’s a crack in the pavement, 

Taking a tumble tripping over my feet.
Clumsy I have been described, 

Knocking over a cuppa coffee, 

When rushing out the door, 

Screaming as I bang my knee.
My party piece has to be, 

Me and stairs we don’t gel, 

I need a hazard warning sign, 

As it never ends well.
From holding a tray of drinks, 

Flying into the air as I tripped, 

To landing at the bottom flight, 

Leaving my front tooth chipped.
I’m that bull in any situation, 

Knocking anything off the shelf, 

From bumping into and bruising, 

Bubble wrap required to protect myself.
I really am the female equivalent, 

Of that character you may have seen, 

On the TV and in film, 

That’s it they call me Mrs Bean. 

Poem – Monsters Ball

Each Halloween the doors of evil open to, 

Ghosts, monsters, witches, ghouls intent to fright, 

Creeping around like the werewolf, 

With fangs so sharp and bright.
Starts with knocking at the door, 

Then I hear footsteps to my right, 

Then tap tap at the window, 

Adrenaline pumping fight or flight.
I peer through the key hole staring, 

At a witch in the porch light, 

Broomstick in hand and cackling aloud, 

I decide to hide try as I might.

I see a spirit dancing in the shadows, 

In search of a new host this night, 

My mind is racing and cannot, 

Quite take in the demon in sight.
The things that go bump in the night, 

On Halloween you get to meet, 

To terrify and invade your worst nightmares, 

There is no trick, there is no treat.