The Beatles
The Beatles released a record
way back in Nineteen Sixty Two
so it's now been Fifty years
since the Fab Four said Love me Do.
I grew up listening to them
me and my sister thought they were cool
John, Paul, George, and Ringo,
four young lads from Liverpool.
They took us on a Magical Mystery Tour
while Paul sang just Let it Be
we felt sad for all the lonely people
but sang along to Please, Please, Me.
We heard all about a Yellow Submarine
introduced to Sgt.Peppers Lonely Hearts Club Band
then taken down a Long and Winding Road
while they shouted I Wanna Hold Your Hand.
I imagined what Strawberry Fields was like
tried to get inside Lady Madonna's head
I wanted to know who this Jude was?
and why the Submarine wasn't Liverpool's Red?
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poem by Kevin Halls
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Listen To Your Mother
'Wait till your Father get's home'
that was what my Mother would say
but he'd see me all well behaved
so I'd be off out again to play.
'Look at the state of your clothes'
that was what my Mother would say
but I'd tell her someone pushed me over
when really I'd played Football most of the day.
'Don't you forget to do your homework'
that was what my Mother would say
but instead of writing about Kings of England
I'd be reading about Footballers like Greaves and Pele.
'Your a right little cheeky Monkey '
that was what my Mother would say
but I'd tell her that she loved me really
which always seemed to make her day.
'I won't be around for ever you know'
that was what my mother used to say
'What do you mean of course you will
you'll be here in the house all old and Grey.'
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poem by Kevin Halls
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A Victorian Superstar
A literary genius was born this day
Charles John Huffam Dickens was he
two hundred years ago in 1812
he wrote great classics like Nicholas Nickleby.
Writing by candlelight using quill and ink
he created stories that will never end
great characters like Oliver Twist and Scrooge
and novels such as Little Dorrit and Our Mutual Friend.
On his shoulder perched Grip his pet Raven
at his feet his dog Timber Doodle would sit
as Dickens wrote for hours and hours
about the exploits of Edwin Drood and Martin Chuzzlewit.
If he was alive today he'd be bigger than Elvis
then again he was way ahead of his time
living in the harsh Victorian era
he would write about corruption, poverty, and crime.
He liked to give his characters wacky names
inspired by people on the streets and in the pub
like Jerry Cruncher, Mr Fang, Horatio Fizkin,
Toby Crackit, Mrs Spittletoes, and Gabriel Grub.
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poem by Kevin Halls
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A Countryside Dream
Harry and his wife were up in their loft
at their home just outside Felixstowe
they were rummaging through stuff
left to them by his eccentric Aunt Flo.
'Old Flo loved to collect antiques, said Harry
she was always going to auctions and sales
so you never know what we could find
look, remember this old painting she bought in Wales? '
They wiped away years of dust and cobwebs
to reveal a picture of verdant fields and a stream
in the bottom corner was the artists signature
on the back were the words: A Countryside Dream.
Whilst looking for the picture and artist on the Internet
Harry suddenly began to sweat and then shake
because unbeknown to his eccentric Aunt Flo
she had obtained a masterpiece by the great Mr Cake.
So the painting went up for sale at Sotheby's
Harry and his wife wondering how much would it make?
It eventually sold for a staggering Fifty Million Quid
this Victorian masterpiece by the illustrious Mr Cake.
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poem by Kevin Halls
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Let's talk Football
Some people like to talk about the weather
or what they watched the night before on T.V.
many go on and on about their holidays
while others chat about Cars or even Astrology.
But I like to talk about Football
as I've got lots of stories to share
like all the great players I've seen
and games when you just had to be there.
My late Father used to be just the same
as a child I'd take in every word he'd say
I'd sit and listen to him for hours and hours
then grab my ball and go out to play.
I often talk about Football in the pub
and even to strangers standing in a queue
'We won the F.A. Cup once you know,
beating Spurs by three goals to two.'
Once a Jehovah Witness knocked on my door
so I invited him in for a cup of tea
within an hour I converted him into a Football fan
he's now a massive supporter of Coventry City F.C.
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poem by Kevin Halls
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Don't want to work in a factory
And what do you want to be
when you are older young lad?
me Sir, I want to be a footballer
or a Brickie just like my Dad.
And if not a great footballer
or a Bricklayer on building sites
I'd like to be a top wrestler
or a boxer who wins all his fights.
But I'd love to be a famous film star
and see my name up there in lights
because I'd hate to work in a factory
on a machine and doing nights.
So as you can see mister teacher
I'm not sure what I want to do
but hang on I really love animals
so I'd be a vet or work in a zoo.
Now I bet your all saying
I wonder what profession
did he finally choose?
was it a life in Hollywood movies
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poem by Kevin Halls
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Is It Really A Beautiful World?
Heard it on the radio the other day
haven't listened to the words for a while
that song called What a Wonderful World
where everything makes you want to smile.
But is this world such a beautiful place?
that inspired the words to this song
when there's so much misery and hate
with unjust wars that are unfair and wrong.
Innocent children dying of starvation
where famine and disease is rife
and here in our so called civilised society
where feral gangs rule with gun and knife.
Greedy politicians and city bankers
lining their deep pockets with peoples cash
while there enjoying Champagne and Caviar
the rest of us make do with bangers and mash.
Elderly people freezing to death in their homes
because they can't afford to turn up the heat
sitting in an icy flat wrapped up in layers of clothes
desperately struggling to make ends meet.
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poem by Kevin Halls
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Tough cat Sam is back
Tough cat Sam is making a comeback
he's out running and getting fit
but Jess reckons he's gone crazy
because he's getting on a bit.
A tough young moggy called Spike
has proclaimed that he's the best ever
he's also been bad mouthing Sam
saying that he's thick and not very clever.
So an angry Sam has said yes to a fight
but Spike has said he's going to lose
but Sam has got back into shape
due to his training and cutting out the booze.
The feline boxing world got really excited
and all the tickets quickly sold out
but Spike continued to taunt tough Sam
calling him an old cat and a washed up lout.
Spike was a stocky built Persian
and caught Sam with a fast uppercut
Sam replied with a flurry of jabs
and gave Spike a crafty headbutt.
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poem by Kevin Halls
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A Boxers Dream (or was it?)
He'd retired from the Boxing ring
but was bored with daily life
he not only liked to hit the bottle
but also his long suffering wife.
Then one day she up and went
which made him drink even more
I may as well be dead he thought
as he lay in a drunken stupor on the floor.
But when he finally sobered up
a gentle voice whispered into his ear,
'You'll be a champion again my son
but first give up drinking Whisky and Beer.'
The Boxer thought he was going insane
maybe the cause of one too many fights?
but the voice kept on returning
throughout the days and the nights.
But slowly he did give up the boozing
and never set foot inside his local pub
he started working out in the Gym
then went back to his old Boxing Club.
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poem by Kevin Halls
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A silent phone call
I sat for an hour thinking of her
wondering about where she was
what she would be doing
and who she was with.
Then again I think of her a lot
because they say if you do that
that person will feel those thoughts
and get back in touch with you.
Who believes all that nonsense anyway
how can someone feel the thoughts
of another person miles and miles away?
I sat there thinking I'm thinking too much
and just as I was going out the door
the mobile on the table started ringing
bet that's another cold caller I thought.
It wasn't a cold caller but my mate
asking if I was going down the pub
told him no not tonight bit short of cash.
Putting my coat on the phone rang again
bet that's my mate going to buy me a few beers
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poem by Kevin Halls
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