Why I hate James Bond

(Just a bit of fun)

Why I hate James Bond

My report's with HR, with M, and with Q,
about that philanderer (you know who).
He's a bluffer (makes me nervous),
on Her Majesty's Service
(and from what I can see,
he serves no useful purpose).

He gets everything he wants,
and never has to sign for it,
yet if I poo in Thames House
It's signatures in triplicate.

It's all so unfair, he gets all the best gadgets
with stun gas and lasers and whizzy big widgets:
all I get's a phone with some stupid apps,
his new Aston Martin has special mud caps
that turn outwards revealing a huge scatter gun
(I just sit in an office, on a chair, on my bum).

He's this obsession with Blofeld who, so he claims,
has vile, evil plans and nefarious aims.
But, from the pictures I've seen,
he's cat lover and really awfully quite tame.

He's been seeing a woman of exceptional looks
with whom he's supposedly beating up crooks
and he claims to fight sharks and men with steel jaws,
(I'll wager in bed that he farts and he snores)

But I know the truth, yes, I've worked it out:
She's not what she seems (and he's just a lout).
She's really an agent from a far eastern land.
(Ha! Even his nookie is pay-on-demand)

I've been watching you see for several long weeks
Every move, every contact, awake and asleep
He thinks he's so clever, with his wit and his charm
My report will soon crack the façade of his calm

What? I'm undone, but how can this be?
They've not come for him, they're arresting me.
It's not fair, I tell you, I've committed no crime
(well, apart from the money I took that one time).

and that's locked in safe in deep darkest Devon,
with cameras, steel walls, and security men,
who won't let you in unless the right code is given.
Of course: the PIN that I used... it was double-oh seven!

Squirrel

I wrote this about a squirrel who used to come to my kitchen balcony every day. I hope it works. Just to show that it was an animal that was in my life a lot (and still is), I have attached a picture I took of it with my phone.

Squirrel

Squirrel come, let's play peekaboo
You approach my balcony
But I see you
I look at you admiringly
Because you are so very
Cunning, clever, with a hint of greedy
I see the saliva fall from your chops
As you contemplate the biggest ever nut
And think to yourself, my what's it got
And I laugh at the train
Of obvious thinking
In your one track squirrel brain
The feast of tomorrow's
That you are drinking
But how to bury this over-sized grain?
Perhaps you are not totally
Greedy greedy greedy
But like to face a challenge
Just like me, me, me
You see humans
Who indulge their glut
Pay the price
With extra butt
But squirrels have
To bury their labour
In the ground later
For them to savour
Today your realised that you could not
Lift the damn thing, nope
Not a jot
So I admire your brand
New ploy
Dig it open
And then
Enjoy
So big and round
You hold it tight
And ground and ground
With all your might
But today I think is the
Day when
You'll fill your cup biting end
to end
That coconut?
It's yours, my friend

The narcissist

First of all, apologies for lack of new stuff - have been a bit off colour over Xmas and New Year.

OK, I am, I admit, the world's worst poet (I am worse than the Vogons ;-) )

Anyway, I just wrote this as a desperate attempt to get something down where the verses rhyme at the end. Next stage will be to try my hand at some of that alliteration malarkey but small steps people, small steps. A215 is certainly throwing up challenges with the poetry module!
Hope you enjoy and that it make some kind of sense :)

The narcissist
'I love you, I love you' the sycophant said,
'For you are the one was truly bred',
'To ensure we are all most wisely led'.
He spread wide praise upon the bed,
Then he and the ego were lovingly wed.

'You're wonderful, such a marvellous man',
Said the sycophant, deftly enacting his plan,
(What a servile self-serving sycophan').
'I know, I know, you're my number two fan',
The narcissist said... completely deadpan.

They would sit, and they'd talk, all about Him,
(It got worse, of course, when they'd been at the gin)
And the sycophant's nerve, it grew within,
Until it ached like the narcissist's ear-to-ear grin,
And challenged a small point of contention.

The narcissist started feeling less good,
This marriage once had provided his food,
Then one day, in a very daring mood,
The sycophant faltered and booed,
That's when the narcissist kicked and drew blood.

Now a new sycophant for him to procure,
Who would not (who could not?) resist the allure,
Of one so worldly, so wickedly pure.
A small price to pay, his fawning succours,
The narcissist felt right, able, and sure,

But the hydra, it's heads as we know they are many.
Sycophants? Well they come two-a-penny,
Their luck? Truth be told, they've not any,
And if they say something even slightly contrary,
Master always deems them unnarcissary.

'Lickspittle, come worship what's in my head,'
'Not anymore,' the new sycophant said.
First he simpered, and then he begged, oh he begged,
But too late, for him t'was off with his head,
Another sycophant lies useless, rotting, and dead.

This beast it grows and it grows and it grows,
Casting nets in ever-shallow hallows,
Picking morsels from whatever follows,
Both parties eventually to exchange blows,
As curtains close merciless on lines of death rows.

So, this tale, it then please be a warning,
Shelter yourself, under your own awning,
The sycophant we know is fairly disarming,
The narcissist far much more than alarming,
So, accept not, nor give, thee any form of fawning.