Frogs and Princes


Frog Prince

You dreamed of a prince on his charger
Or a frog to transform with your kiss
There’d be happiness ever after
So how did it come to this?

He should have rode into the sunset
And left you there pining for him
But the mistake you both made
Was you let him move in
And now it’s all going wrong.

Men look rough in the morning
Their habits are messy and vile
The truth will be gradually dawning
Frog into prince takes a while.

One kiss ain’t going to do it
It takes more patience than that.
It takes time to smooth the rough edges
But no-one tells you bout that.

Can and can’t


Poet Andrew Green
Can and can’t

You may think you can
You may think you can’t.
Whichever you believe
Will be true.
For if you don’t think you can
Then surely you won’t
But believe and it’s likely you can.

‘Maybe’, ‘might’ and ‘I’ll try to’
Are enemies of getting things done
Commit in your heart; say,
‘I can and I will’ and the goal
Will surely be won.

India’s Plastic Problem


Once if you went to India
They’d warn you to watch your tum
They’d speak of Delhi Belly
And other joys to come.

But now there is bottled water
You can buy it anywhere
And they don’t tell ‘would be’ tourists
That they will get the runs.

So now they moan about rubbish
They say it’s everywhere
They forget it’s for our stomachs
That much of it is there.

India’s day starts with sweeping
It’s done with a bunch of twigs
And then the rubbish they burn it
It’s always been that way

But those wretched plastic bottles
They just won’t burn away.
So the rubbish made of plastic
Alas will often stay.

So tourists if there’s rubbish
Before you express disgust
Just remember the problem
Is partly caused by us.

The Royal Flag


There’s a flag over Windsor Castle
To show if the Queen’s in or out.
The Union Jack flies if she’s not in
Her very own flag if she is.

It’s hard for the common people
To know how hard royal life can be
For to haul up a flag
When you go out or come in
Is really an an awful drag.

Imagine the situation
If the Royals go out
For the day, but see,
Out their car’s rear window,
That the flag is still flapping away.

“Bloody hell” says the Queen to Phillip,
“We’ll have to turn right round.
We can’t let them think we’re in when we’re out
You’ll have to get the damn thing down.”

So they have to go back and sort out the flag
You can see what a drag that must be
If they’re out for the day
But the flag’s up its pole for everyone to see.


For SouldierGirl and everyone who has known the grief of losing a child.

My grief first borne was like

A wound fresh made that bled

And nought could stem its  flow.

But as it healed

I’d pick the scab

And want to see it red.

I feared that if it healed you see

I’d have to let you go.


The wound I bore

Has hardened now

I wear it as a scar

I run my fingers down its length

And know an inner strength.

Lost Hour

I lost an hour of my life today.
Why does it have to be that way?
I’ve never ever got the plot.
Something to do with northern Scots.
So farmers in far northern parts
Needn’t milk cows while it’s still dark.
My body clock gets over ruled
For Scottish farmers, Scottish schools.
Leave our local time alone.
It’s bad enough when you cross a line.

So thanks to scots on certain dates
We oversleep or get up late.
Maybe if they get home rule
We needn’t change the clocks at all.
It doesn’t seem quite right to me
It could be solved more easily.
Why not leave the clock alone
And milk your cows a different time?

No daffodils

I never see a daffodil
Or anything as wonderful.
I’m stuck inside a metal box
And all I really see is lots
Of traffic; other passing cars
Same tarmac road for miles and miles.

We cut the country we pass through
Our passage like a gaping wound
And yet the road has brought me here
To gaze upon those rolling hills.
And is there poetry to catch
When stuck within a metal box?

So much for all the nature Poets
I can’t be one and don’t I know it!
Stuck here instead on tarmac road
That stretches on for miles and miles
Frustrations of a modern life
Instead of golden daffodils.

And yet the road has brought me here
To see in passing what I’ve lost
And gaze in passing through a screen
At nature as she might have been.
I gaze upon the rolling hills
Yet leave a scar where I have been.