The Tears of a King February 15, 2009

I loved that little antelope

but knew I never had a hope;

how could such beauty love a beast like me?

My love was true, I loved her well,

I love you still, my sweet gazelle;

Why did it have to end in tragedy?

,

Each day I sent my love a rose;

I hoped its scent would please her nose.

I sang to her each night beneath the moon.

But all she did was laugh at me:

“oh, mangy-mane, you sack of fleas!

You hurt my ears. Why can’t you sing in tune?”

,

Her insults made me feel so sad,

but they grew worse and I grew mad;

for, as you would expect, I have my pride.

I growled and roared, I bit and clawed,

I ate the doe I had adored;

my darling dish, sweet supper, lunch-time bride.

,

I did her wrong, I can’t pretend

that I was right, I won’t defend

my actions; for I know it’s no use trying.

But surely you ‘ll agree with me

that it’s a great mistake to be

so rude to such a fearsome looking lion.

,

Paul Hughes 2009

The Quest for The Holy Pail May 8, 2008

 

Now lend me your ears and I’ll tell you a tale

of chivalrous beasts from the fields

so listen and learn if our heroes prevail

in searching the world for the one holy pail

equipped with their swords and their shields

their shields

equipped with their swords and their shields

 

 

This pail was the one used by Joseph to feed

the donkey which carried his wife

along into Egypt at such a high speed

away from King Herod, whose anger and greed

endangered Lord Jesus’ life

his life

endangered Lord Jesus’ life

 

 

Awoken one day in their coops, barns and sties

by stomachs which rumbled and moaned

the village resounded with animal cries

“without any breakfast we’ll certainly die!

oh, where is our food-pail?” they groaned

                                               they groaned       

“oh, where is our food pail?” they groaned

 

 

The farmer appeared with a face streaked by tears

and sobbed that the pail had been lost

the animals wept but they all volunteered

to hunt for the pail from Beijing to Tangiers

“we’ll find it no matter the cost

the cost

we’ll find it no matter the cost!”

 

Instructing the blacksmith to fashion their swords

their spears and their armour so bright

they built wooden ships and they clambered aboard

and promising sailors a golden reward

they sailed their ships into the night

the night

they sailed their ships into the night

 

The knights of the animal fleet sailed away

they floated to many a shore

and prayed to Lord God that they might see the day

they’d rest once again in their comfortable hay

and feed from their lost pail once more

once more

and feed from their lost pail once more

 

So listen and hear what took place on their quest

and if they returned safe and sound

be sure that these farmyard braves gave of their best

but was it enough to succeed in their test?

oh, was their dear pail ever found?

ever found

oh, was their dear pail ever found?

 

Sir Graham the Goose landed safely in France

and galloped to Montelimar

when ambushed by bandits he fought with his lance

but could he defeat them? Oh no, not a chance!

so now he is pate foie gras

foie gras

so now he is pate foie gras

 

Sir Bernard the Bull made his way into Spain

but when he arrived in Seville

a wicked man trapped him then wrapped him in chains

and dragged to the bull ring, Sir Bernard was slain

the crowd cheered the matador’s skill

his skill

the crowd cheered the matador’s skill

 

Sir Parsifale Pig sailed away to the East

and ventured through all of Siam

the local folk caught him and had for their feast

his chops, ribs and bacon and last, but not least

they savoured his wonderful ham

his ham

they savoured his wonderful ham

 

The knights of our farmyard tale ended their quest

in bull rings, on menus and plates

we ask you, oh Lord, grant them eternal rest

and treat them with mercy upon their request

to pass through your heavenly gates

your gates

to pass through your heavenly gates

 

You ask of the holy pail: “has it been found?”

why, yes, it was found by the maid

right here on the farm, sitting there on the ground

yes, there, where the chickens are scratching around

my word, what a pointless crusade

crusade

my word, what a pointless crusade!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Paul Hughes 2008

 

 

 

It’s first draft and I intend to leave it a few days before reading it again and making any changes. Let me know if you spot anything glaring.

 

dots and spots March 29, 2008

 

I see the leopard’s spots

and I feel I have to laugh

I spy the tiger’s stripes

and the dots on the giraffe

I marvel at the methods used

to stop one being seen

and wonder why they never think

of simply being green.

 

Paul Hughes 2008

The Legend of Billy McCread March 18, 2008

 

You’ll remember the story of Jake

Ah, yes, that was incredibly sad

And I wonder what it will now take

For you all to denounce me as mad

 

I assure you my stories are true

And I beg you to listen, take heed

For this next tale will terrify you

It’s the legend of Billy McCread

 

Now Billy was an evil lad

His grim demise will make you glad

Once you know how it occurred

You’ll see his death was well deserved.

How nasty is a boy who pulls

The heads from ants, the tails of bulls?

How wicked is the brat who tears

The legs from spiders, ears from hares?

Each creature on his parents’ farm

Had suffered varied kinds of harm

All animals had cause to fear

The day on which he would appear

On Sundays he’d throw stones at cows

On Mondays he’d torment the sows

On Tuesdays he’d pour paint on lambs

On Wednesdays he’d stick pins in rams

On Thursdays he’d tattoo the dogs

On Fridays he liked salting frogs

On Saturdays he’d mock the goats

And inbetween set fire to stoats

He really was an awful youth

Now hear me tell the dreadful truth

Of how he met his gruesome fate

He learned his lesson far too late

In time his victims made a pact

Together, soon, in league they’d act

To put an end to Billy’s schemes

To realise their lovely dreams

Of life without the awful boy

Of times of peace, of days of joy

And so, one night, as Billy slept

The beasts into his bedroom crept

Then with their teeth, horns, hooves and claws

They bit and stamped and chomped and gored

‘til Billy was a gooey pile

Of bones and flesh and blood so vile

A very nasty end indeed

For wicked little Bill McCread

 

The moral, as you would expect

Is “treat all beasts with due respect”

 Paul Hughes 2008