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

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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

sp; 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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