Thursday, 9 September 2010

The Wedding.

Remember the gnome who lives in our garage
along with the small homeless elf he let out space to.
The Wedding.

Remember that gnome who lives at our place,
He decided to get him a wife.
She's a pretty young thing with a shock of green hair,
He's vowing that this is for life.
They married in London, most of their friends
Work in goverment Westminster Palace,
Some came from Zurich, in finance I think,
Her name ? Imelda Jane Alice.

It was quite a big do they had lots of guests,
The presents they had were sublime,
Though where they will put them I really don't know
Our garage is full all the time.
They invited the elf said would he like to go,
But he had a prior booking,
He runs a disco for friends of his kind,
His buisness is now really cooking.

They're home now at last but it's really quite hard
Space in the garage is short,
Though the elf does his best to keep out of their way
He really is quite a good sort.
We are hoping they might find a place to themselves,
So that they have a quieter life,
As they constantly have a procession of elves,
All wanting to meet the new wife.

So if you have a couple of rooms going spare
And don't object to the genus of gnome,
Just let me know and I'll pass it on
That they're getting a lovely new home.

Jill West.

Tuesday, 25 May 2010

Oldies Lament.

Oh crickey! I'm creaky, I'm cracky and sqeaky
It sounds like a shot when I bend or I squat.
When I come down the stairs (which are very old),
Which makes the most noise
When my knees creak with the cold.
If I were a tin man I'd get out the oil,
Get my joints moving, decrepitation to foil.
Condriton, Glaucosomine I take every day
I swallow them gladly with tea,
But whatever I do the creaks won't go away,
I don't think I'll ever be free.
I have to accept old age is upon me,
You won't see me running or dancing and prancing,
That's just the way it's got to be.

Jill West

Wednesday, 24 March 2010


The potholus is a crafty type related to the mole
But instead of pushing earth up he likes to dig a hole.
The mole likes soil that's soft and warm to push towards the light
The potholus digs downwards and packs the stuff in tight.

The mole likes lawns and grassy spots to make his little hump,
Potholus digs the road up and causes cars to bump.
The motorists just hate him as they drive along the lane,
Such dangers and discomfort cause a lot of pain.

The gardener is one who causes moles to fear,
Potholus hates council trucks, although the're fairly rare.
When he smells the heated tar he's quickly on his way,
He's off to wait for snow and ice to dig another day.

Jill West.
P.S. The translation from Latin to English is pothole.