The flip side the funny.., p.1
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       The Flip Side & The Funny Side, p.1

          Pam Crane / History & Fiction
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The Flip Side & The Funny Side

& the Funny Side

Poems by Pam Crane

Copyright 2017 Pam Crane

Thank you for downloading this free ebook.

Forward to Index of Poems


All people that on Earth do dwell

Have made themselves a living hell.

Hence the admission I must make:

Creating them was my mistake.

I made an error once before -

I bred the dreadful dinosaur;

I thought my dragons would be fun

With scales that glittered in the sun;

With mighty bodies, tiny brains

They fought and foraged on the plains

And some with feathers learned to fly

Through Gaia’s prehistoric sky.

But after millions of years

With nothing much between the ears

And only fit to be destroyed

I zapped them with an asteroid.

Began again. I made an Ape.

A bigger head, a better shape.

They seemed to know that I was there,

And soon were swarming everywhere.

“Come on!” I said, “Be more like me!

I’m hungry for your company!”

We painted caverns in Lascaux,

I breathed on Michelangelo;

Their voices overflowed with words

And music richer than the birds.

They made so many, many things,

They filled the sky with metal wings,

Their cities with expensive light

No longer wanting sleep at night.

They went from slates and scrolls and prayer

To sending pictures through the air,

From foot and horse and sailing ship

To travel by computer chip.

Now they are choking in their cars,

Their litter orbiting the stars.

Too late to save the forest trees,

Too late for fish and manatees,

Too late to stop the melting poles,

To re-establish gender roles,

Too late to stop them wanting more,

To halt inevitable war.

I visited ... I will again,

Disguised as ordinary men.

But will they listen? Not a chance.

I won’t get a second glance

On local hustings, on TV;

No-one now believes in me -

Or even in the smart machines

That model on dramatic screens

The choices and their urgency

That now besiege humanity.

They hear the scientists’ advice

But carry on. And pay the price.

Yet, if they want to have their cake

And eat it, this is my mistake.

I said, ‘Go forth and multiply!’

Now half will freeze and half will fry,

These billions struggling to be

Immortal and a match for me.

Amid the greed, amid the waste,

My dereliction must be faced;

I let the species dominate

And sealed the lovely planet’s fate,

As rarely has it ever been

My policy to intervene.

Must this creation be no more,

Just like the hated dinosaur?

Shall I now let a meteor crash?

Or tomb them in volcanic ash?

Or drown them in the rising tide

Of filth that is their suicide?

Shall all their tears, and hope, and prayer,

And love, not get them anywhere?

I am the God to whom they turned

In vain when ancient cities burned -

But I am the God who tried to teach

Them grace of life and grace of speech.

What can I do? I made the rules

Kept by the wise, ignored by fools.

What can I do? It’s nearly time,

And still the temperatures climb.

What shall I do? I must not make

My third, and very worst, mistake.

Forward to Index

The Luck of the Irish

When luck came up for the cosmic draw

Ireland was left with the shortest straw -

The Paddies were saddled with Murphy’s Law.

Wondrous schemes that were set to fail,

Endless spills from the milking pail;

A sting in every romantic tale.

So when O’Shaunessy found the Grail

Hidden behind a harvest bale

It split as quick as a fingernail

And Father Flaherty at his door

Said, ‘What’s that dirty oul’ piss-pot for?

The glue’s not holding - yer’ll need some more.’

He showed his prize to a journalist

Who conned it off him when both were pissed

And wrote it onto an auction list.

Delaney bought it for half a pig

Then turned it over to hold his wig

Before a jaunt to the hills to dig.

His luck was in and he’d done the trig -

His Granda’s mattock was in the rig

For surely there would be Something Big.

His rainbow hung in the mountain mist;

He chased, and swore, and he shook his fist -

For all that glittered was mica schist.

Back in Blarney Delaney kissed

The Stone, and took an almighty swig

Of moonshine mixed with the local ale;

Summoned the pub accordionist

To set the mood with a fancy jig

And thrilled his pals with a bogus tale

Of holy relics and fairy ore.

He sold his luck to a hundred more -

Till time ran out on the bar-room floor …

Forward to Index

THE electric CHAIR

Old Mrs Husband wonders where

She can buy an electric chair.

Does she need help with rising, sitting?

Somewhere comfy to do her knitting?

Or does she need a seat on wheels

To whizz through Markses for bargain meals?

Old Mrs Husband laughs and answers,

‘I can swing with the Strictly dancers.

I can outpace the smartest feet

From top to bottom of Mostyn Street,

And lunch is at an hotel - my chief

Indulgence, fillet of rare black beef.’

Old Mrs Husband smiles and rises.

‘Life should be filled with nice surprises.

I like to party and love Design.

Friends are coming for cheese and wine;

I want to hear a delighted shout

As chairs light up when the lights go out!’

Old Mrs Husband winks and adds

‘What would really excite the lads

Would be a proper electric chair

To strap them in for a trendy dare.

But all the Gruesome Gerties had gone

When I went looking on Amazon!’

Old Mrs Husband’s evening Do’s

Are in the papers and on the News.

Her centrepiece is a heated couch,

A fit masseur in a posing pouch -

And oldies queueing from everywhere

For treatment in her electric chair!

(... Old Mrs Husband is still on-line

Implementing a dark design;

She keeps in touch with a Texas jail

Hoping they’ll have a chair for sale.

She has the cellar with mains supply,

And her life-long list of who must die ...)

Forward to Index


Next to the gatepost, by the tree,

Messages wait for Sniffy and me -

Enemy poo or friendly pee?


Follow the perfume round a bend ...

Out for adventure we find our friend,

Pleasure expressed at either end,


Off to the woods, beside the stream,

With bones to bury and dreams to dream,

Three escapees are the perfect team


Chasing tails in a badger hollow,

Marking trails for our friends to follow,

Who can resist a stinky wallow?


For lunch we find an exciting farm,

Chivvy the sheep but do no harm ...?

Outrun the shouts of enraged alarm -


Rapt in splendour of wool and mud,

Only the tiniest hint of blood,

Sniffy is dancing respect to Spud

Whodunnit ...

Down to the town for a scrumptious tea:

Soulful eyes on a human knee

And off with the plateful - it was we


Then into the square to greet the pack

Smiling to have their heroes back,

Eager for all the hunting craic;


Forward to Index


A lady in the dock today

Was charged with causing an affray,

Criminal damage, and assault -

But swore it was her victims fault.

The pensioner told our reporter

She was shopping with her daughter

When a fascia caught her eye:


‘Now, I was taught to spell,’ said she,

‘And handle the Apostrophe!

My parents didn’t fight the Hun

For all we built to be undone.

If we are to be civilised

Our English Grammar should be prized.

Staring upward, getting madder,

I said, “Susan, get a ladder.”

Flexing bi- and quadriceps

We stole a window-cleaner’s steps.

As Susan footed, up I went,

And scrubbed until my breath was spent.

In tiny falling flakes of red

The rogue apostrophe was dead!

Too late the fryer and his queue

Ran to the doorway; I and Sue

Had quickly taken to our heels ...

And then we heard the whoosh of wheels

Behind us. How could I resist

Copping a pavement cyclist?

My blood was up; now I would do

Something I always wanted to.

My bag of eggs and milk and butter

Toppled the blighter in the gutter.

What a fracas! What a scene!

After the police had been,

The paramedics, biker’s Mum,

While waiting for a brief to come,

I took the chance to really hammer

Home the need for proper grammar;

Someone had to take a stand

To get bad punctuation banned.

And as for cycles on the path ...!

I vented years of bottled wrath

On PC Jones, who didn’t seem

To care, and simply let me scream.

And so I whacked him with my brolly.

Yes, I was a total wally.

Yes, I’ve had to pay the price -

Six months suspended isn’t nice.

But I shall keep a beady eye,

Young man, on your report of my

Crusade, and I shall tell the nation

If you botch your punctuation!’

Well, thats us told. Your Editor

From now on in will honour her

Grammatical authority,

And make it’s rules priority.

Forward to Index


What a boom!

Crack of doom -

Every room

Is quaking

And shaking

Things breaking

From the club

From the pub

Village hub

Running feet

People meet

In the street

As they stare

At the flare

In the air

Any light

In the night

Is too bright

To ignore

And they saw

More and more

In the sky

Flashing by

Very high –

Did a shock

Shatter rock

And unlock

Living light

Green & white

On the night?

Did a star

Fall too far

Leave a scar?

Or a craft?

Don't be daft

They all laughed

Was the fire

In a gyre

Something's pyre?


Sent the cream

Of their team

Men in suits

Shiny boots

In cahoots

With Whitehall

Had a ball

With it all -

What a joke!

Harried folk

Never spoke

In the drama

One farmer

Stayed calmer

Took a swig

Slew a pig

Cut a twig

From the boughs

That allows

You to dowse

(With a fork)

Took a walk

With the pork

In the night

To the site

Of the fright

By an orch-

ard his torch

Hit a scorch

And he found

Something round

In the ground

On the hill

Farmer Bill

Lit a grill

Oh the smell

On the fell

Worked well -

Only then

Nine or ten

Tiny men

With noses

Like hoses

On roses

Guts grumbling

Feet stumbling

Came tumbling

To feast

On the Beast


Bill’s bacon

Was taken


He set

His net

For a bet

Purple eyes

Silver thighs

Were the prize

But the farmer

Sans armour

Had karma -

Raw meat

Was a treat

Razor jaw

Silver claw

Simply tore

At the mesh

And the fresh

Human flesh

How he bled

As they fed

On his head

Not a stain

Of his brain

Would remain

Not a hair

Of him there

Anywhere ...

The police

Found a piece

Of his fleece

It was day-

Light so they

Got away

No-one knows

What still goes

On in those

Silent fells

No-one yells

No-one tells

But each year

People here


Forward to Index


Spawned in a constellation

Deep in the heart of space

A wayward alien nation

Grew to a master race.

Trapped on a wasted planet,

Damned by a raging star,

They built their craft; but to man it

Took them a step too far.

They picked all the politicians,

The cream of the world’s elite,

Great scientists, skilled clinicians -

But nobody off the street.

They left the poor and the sickly

With barely a month’s supplies

And left for the stars too quickly

To see the shock in their eyes.

Silence came to the planet.

A billion souls had died.

Gone were the fools who ran it;

Now the survivors tried.

Gentle with plant and creature,

Braving the Polar sun,

They followed an ancient teacher

In treating all life as one.

Rain came back to the furrow,

Fruit returned to the tree;

New eyes blinked in the burrow,

New fins flashed in the sea.

The star in its violent cycle

Moved on to a blissful calm,

Promising men like Michael

Hope for a struggling farm.

Communities met and traded

And centuries had gone by.

Even the folklore faded

Of the great escape to the sky.

Heading for home one twilight

After his flocks were fed

Michael’s thoughts were of firelight,

A welcoming wife, and bed.

Nothing prepared him for drama,

The scream of metal in air,

And searing the eyes of the farmer

A light no human could bear.

Something the size of a nightmare

Exploded through field and grain;

Michael lay shaking in fright there,

His soul and body all pain.

How could he know what landed

Was full of women and men

Who, hopeless, lonely and stranded

In space, had come home again?

Time had warped on the voyage;

The ship crashed into an Earth

Struggling into the new age

Bringing itself to birth.

How could he know the wonders

That under the hull were sealed?

The plans, the dreams and the blunders

That ended in Michael’s field?

How could he hear the crying

Or know that before his eyes

The last of his kind were dying

Who conquered the earth and skies? ...

Their final act of destruction

The crater that was his farm,

Its years of scanty production

Aborted with all its charm.
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