Why The Long Face? September 15, 2010

It’s driving me crackers,

the thought of the knackers,

I’ll end up as Pedigree Chum!

So, “Why the long face?”

Well, I lose every race.

It’s hardly surprising I’m glum.

Just look at my jockey,

short-sighted and stocky,

too lumpy a load for a horse!

I lurch from the gate

with his back-breaking weight

to find he can’t follow the course.

The last time he rode me

he took the main road and we

ended up on the M4.

We didn’t get far,

I was hit by a car.

My body can’t take any more!

I hear that they’re planning

to send me for canning.

I could have been famous, a winner.

But now they’ll just bin me,

they’ll dice me and tin me,

and serve me to Spot for his dinner…

.

Paul Hughes

The Sad, Mad, Scientist November 28, 2009

I’m worried, Professor, you seem very ill.
Each day you appear to be thinner.
You lie there quite silently, perfectly still,
refusing your breakfast and dinner.
I know that your submarine sunroof went wrong
and drowned quite a number of men.
The balsa-wood barbecue didn’t last long,
but get up and try, try again.
Your toilet-seat microphone works very well;
poor mother felt sick when I tried it.
The clockwork umbrella will certainly sell,
though grandma is still trapped inside it.
So, don’t be unhappy, no, don’t be depressed,
your genius couldn’t be clearer.
I love your inventions, I’m truly impressed.
Each failure brings triumph nearer.
.
Paul Hughes, 2009