Tag Archives: death

Seen and Heard

A warm September afternoon.
I have just seen a butterfly flit by, ever so slowly.
But it looked natural, casual, nonchalant, cool.
It just made me annoyed.
Why can’t I do that ? It’s like… only half of me works. If I were indeed a butterfly, the right wing would do nothing ! One of the problems being a lefty : one side is neglected. All my farts veer to the left.
I have just heard a faint noise, coming from outside, no doubt a lefty butterfly who’d just let one go. I wonder what these creatures eat, have never seen one eating. Some say they live a day. Not a lot of point being alive at all ! I eat to live. I’ve never eaten a butterfly. Well, one doesn’t, does one.
In a few hours, that farted out butterfly will have snuffed it. There will be no funeral. No other butterfly is going to give a damn and none will ever remember it ever existed.
So I, this lefty farter, who has never eaten a butterfly – am I any different ?
If there is to be a funeral, something out of my hands, will I be talked about ? Or will the conversation during the post-funeral luncheon turn to lighter things.
I think my farts will be remembered.
Very comforting !



Here’s some news of Dracula
He’s a guy so regular
Who goes for the jugular
Why is he so popular?

We know he likes a nibble
We like to see him dribble
A protest is so feeble
Gasp becomes a gurgle

This a case of grab and smash
Once those teeth start to gnash
Soon, the ruddy lose their flush
Life is over in a flash

On the menu, blood for dinner
For the lord of the manor
Til the poor sod’s a goner
In this gory world of horror

Clearly Departed

I think I’ll have him cremated
Confounded faces all around
Of course I’ve cancelled the coffin
No place for him in the ground

Yes, it’s been a mangled morning
What with him going off so quick
But the wobbling was a warning
And the bucket he certainly did kick

I remember his jumbled jargon
His rattles and runs to the loo
It was clear what was happening
Fizzled farts that said he was through

Now he’s gone, shall I miss him?
It’s no longer a concern
I’ve got a bottled bargain
I’ve got the bastard in an urn

Dead Serious

I’ve been driven to despair
I’ve been driven round the bend
Up the wall
To distraction

I am now beyond repair
Beyond a chance to mend
Off the ball
No reaction

Up and dead I have curled
I’m a word to the wise
I was a fool
I got married

I am dead to the world
I am dead behind the eyes
Dead and gone
Dead and buried



My poxy house is full of knick-knacks
People who come say I lack taste
They look up to the ceiling, see the cracks
Yes, I’ve a bad name, I’m disgraced

They see on the floor my dirty socks
Something they didn’t expect
They hadn’t come around here for shocks
Won’t be long before they disconnect

Those slinging mud make sure it sticks
With their hate and spite, they come on strong
But there’s repercussions no-one predicts
At a place and a time that are wrong

Abandon all hope for those who enter
This is not a guided tour
But I will show them the wine cellar
And the vintage bones to explore

Balkan Blues

I’m in a bit of a jam
People out there don’t give a damn
But I’m innocent as a lamb
I’m a nice guy, I really am

I don’t quite know where to start
I was in a play acting a part
Suddenly, I just had to fart
Co-star had an attack of the heart

A doctor arrived, proclaimed her dead
‘She worked too hard’, the writer said
Alas, the play just couldn’t go ahead
Lots of boos, money back instead

And whilst the spectators booed and brayed
I asked ‘Does that mean I won’t get paid?
It’s a mockery, a masquerade
That’s the last time I play in Belgrade!’

Death Ride

I hear so much a daily whine
Who on earth is on cloud nine?
The old sage gave a nod and winked
‘Mankind is due to be extinct
This is the overriding fear
The next war is to be nuclear
A world in which structures melt
People hit below the belt
The future won’t be rosy or sweet
Not when Death rides in the front seat
Can we say the truth is now latent?
Even more so, isn’t it blatant?
Whilst the silly blab and chatter
The wise ones reach for the shelter’