Grandad Behan is 80

Across the earth,
There’s joy and mirth,
Whate’er one’s race or deity.
In every place,
Old foes embrace
And kiss each other on the face.
White and black
Get back on track
And slap each other on the back
For Grandad Behan is eigherty.

Croats, Serb,
Peaches, Herb,
Iraqi and Kuwaiti
Are all united
And delighted
That their love is now requited.
Finns and Lapps
Are happy chaps,
No longer argue over maps,
For Grandad Behan is eighty.

Far off in Rome,
‘Neath Peter’s dome,
The Pope speaks to the laity.
“Let us pray,”
They hear him say,
“And give our thanks to God today.
Let quarrels cease
And wars decrease
And may the whole world be at peace,
For Grandad Behan is eigherty.

Mr. Putin
Stops disputin’
Matters grave and weighty.
And, off the cuff,
Declares “Enough!
I’m tired of all this dismal stuff.
I’ve changed my stance,
I’m off to France
To ask Sarkhozy for a dance,
For Grandad Behan is eighty.

Captain Jack,
His eyepatch black,
Cries out, “Ahoy there, matey!
The winds prevail,
We must set sail
And run before the southwest gale.
We must make land
Tonight as planned,
For shipmates, you must understand
That Grandad Behan is eighty.

From Katmandu
To Timbuktu
From Ho Chi Min to Haiti,
In every state,
There is a trait
To shout out wildly “God is great!”
The churchbells ring,
The angels sing,
The Golden Eagle’s on the wing
For Grandad Behan is eighty.

And up in space,
The Martian race
Joins in the fun and gaiety.
They rub their knees
And hop like fleas
And squeak like rabbits eating cheese.
They’re swigging jars
In roadside bars –
The atmosphere is great on Mars
Now Grandad Behan is eigherty.

It’s just around the corner

If you keep very still, you can hear it
Its breathing is shallow and faint.
It sounds very small
Just around the next wall
But I’m told that it definitely ain’t.

There are many who gallantly jeer it
With the carefree abandon of youth.
But you’re right to be wary,
It can be quite scary
When you’re a bit long in the tooth.

The advice is – you shouldn’t go near it,
But no-one can alter their fate.
Although you go running,
Its devilish cunning
And will always be lying in wait.

It doesn’t have much to endear it,
It’s horrible in the extreme.
Its ugly, its hideous,
Its sly and invidious,
As if you are in a bad dream.

If it was a bear, you could spear it,
And its plans would be terminally wrecked,
But its hide is so thick,
You could use a large brick
And it would have little effect.

But strangely, there’s no need to fear it,
There’s no substance behind the façade
And, as it comes nearer,
Its face becomes clearer
And somehow does not seem so hard.

But Mon, you should be of good cheer, it
Has still a good twelvemonth to go
‘Ere you’re captured, defeated
And mercilessly treated
By the big terrifying Five-oh

A minor guest at Declan’s wedding

I’m a very minor guest at Declan’s wedding,
Wond’ring if I should be at the ball.
For hours I’ve clutched my gift of satin bedding,
Wond’ring who to give it to at all.
People I don’t know are buying drinks for me.
Too clearly I can see where this night’s heading.
Somebody is explaining fam’ly links for me –
I’m a very minor guest at Declan’s wedding.

I’m a very minor guest at Declan’s wedding,
The husband of a cousin seldom seen.
I have been warned ‘bout toes and careful treading,
Sound advice when kith and kin convene.
I think I’ve said the wrong thing to a bridesmaid,
Precisely what my darling wife was dreading,
And what a diff’rence misplaced fam’ly pride’s made!
I’m a very minor guest at Declan’s wedding.

I’m a very minor guest at Declan’s wedding,
The groom’s great aunt just slapped me round the face
For pointing out the pounds she should be shedding –
She took my comments with a lack of grace.
The pint consumption steadily is mounting,
The warm and friendly feeling slowly spreading.
I’m conscious of the fact my wife is counting
But I’m a very minor guest at Declan’s wedding.

I’m a very minor guest at Declan’s wedding
And loos’ning up with ev’ry pint of stout.
The hem of my wife’s cardi is unthreading
And there’ll be hell to pay when she finds out.
I’m taking snaps of everybody dancing,
My wife says most are only fit for shredding,
But sev’ral might well turn out self-financing –
I’m a very minor guest at Declan’s wedding.

.

Contrary to the above, this hugely enjoyable wedding between Declan Brennan and Sharon Phelan on 31st May 2008 went very well!!

22

Behold the two swans as they glide up the river,
Glissading along with such effortless ease.
The hint of a breeze sets their feathers a-quiver,
Swimming or resting wherever they please.

The cygnets are grown, they are out there exploring,
Discovering places where waters run deep.
They splash with excitement when rapids are roaring,
Complaining at length when the banks are too steep.

The fast-moving stream where the waters would tumble
Is calm and untroubled as age-weathered glass.
The crash of the ocean’s a far-distant rumble
And life is serene now as slowly they pass.

The beech trees stand deep in the water’s reflection,
The butterflies dance through the blanket of haze.
The swans have succumbed to the river’s direction
And float in contentment beneath the sun’s gaze.

Through meadows and copses the river keeps winding,
As petulant Spring is left far, far behind.
The sun watches regally, scorching and blinding,
His course, like the river, but vaguely defined.

Behold the two swans in the calm Summer weather
Gliding downstream to the great river mouth.
A long way to go but they’ll make it together,
Tails to the north as they drift ever south.

21 my darling daughter

It’s twenty one years since the day of your birth,
Since first you appeared on this unprepared earth.
If I’d have known then how much trouble you are,
I’d have looked for a refund and bought a new car.

In arguments always you claim the last word.
If you’ve an opinion, it’s going to be heard.
But one time this confidence took a great toll,
When you winked at the President and prayed for her soul.

Twenty one, twenty one,
Its time to stop messing, there’s work to be done.

Your room is a bombsite in lilac and pink.
The state of it’s driven your mother to drink.
Anyone tempted to enter, beware!
Lord Lucan and Shergar might well be in there.

You “work” in your room, but you keep the door closed,
Break out in a rash when some housework’s proposed.
We spend both our lives trailing round in your wake
And tidying up all the mess that you make.

Twenty one, twenty one,
Life as an adult ain’t half as much fun.

You’re helping us both, you presumably think,
By leaving your dishes and cups by the sink.
Thank God for the fairies who take every cup
And rinse them all out and then wash them all up.

You drive like a demon and frequently curse
When Gary does not let you into reverse.
But it is your fault, the mechanics all say,
For choosing a car that is patently gay.

Twenty one, twenty one,
Please don’t fix your hair when you’re doing a ton.

You go to the Vortex and pity all those
Poor middle-aged fellers who stand there and pose.
But though they’re quite sad, lined up there on the shelf,
You can hardly be called a spring chicken yourself.

You say you’ll commit us and put us away
To get all our cash without too much delay.
But ill-gotten money will always be cursed,
And anyway we’re gonna spend it all first.

Twenty one, twenty one,
A lifetime of struggle and worry’s begun.

From Tokyo City to sweet Budapest,
You’ve travelled the world causing civil unrest.
But though we’ve encouraged you, helped you to pack,
Wherever you’ve been, you have always come back.

The shops in the Centre are your biggest fans.
You’ve been cited by many in their business plans.
It isn’t obsessive, you say it’s not greed,
But how many handbags does one woman need?

Twenty one, twenty one,
And you think we’ve believed all the stories you’ve spun?

The room empties quickly whenever you choose
To carelessly kick off your socks and your shoes.
World domination would soon be complete
If we could just harness the smell of your feet.

Despite all your failings, in one certain field
A special quick-wittedness has been revealed.
In this one regard, you’re as cute as a fox,
For you don’t have the problem of losing odd socks.

Twenty one, twenty one,
This birthday has not got much further to run.

Each night I kneel down and I pray to God that
You’ll snare a rich feller, who’ll buy you a flat.
I maybe the Daddy that you dote upon,
But sadly for you, I’m a sugarless one.

And so darling daughter, I see how you’ve grown,
And maybe you’ll shortly have kids of your own.
Compliment or not, it depends on your view,
But I’m praying that they will turn out just like you.

Twenty one, twenty one,
We hope you enjoyed your big day in the sun.
Twenty one, twenty one,
Its time to stop messing, there’s work to be done.

Valentines Poem 2008

It’s Valentine’s Day once again, love,
The time for emotion and dreams
And I still love you so
With a passion, although
We are coming apart at the seams.

We’d better take care of our bodies,
Now that those fifties are lurking.
Though the aching’s increased,
I still love you, at least,
The parts of you which are still working.

If I delve through the fog of my memory
To the time when you were a spring chicken.
I loved you back then
As much as now, when
Our art’ries are starting to thicken.

I know that your adamant that all
Your aches can be laid at my door,
When I marched you for hours
Past the trees and the flowers
Little knowing the trouble in store.

I know that it’s really frustrating.
This aging is breaking my heart.
But my love still takes flight
When I watch you, despite
The fact that we’re falling apart.

No more will we go rollercoastering.
No canal banks in all kinds of weather.
We cannot run riot,
We must take things quiet,
But at least we will do them together.

The Glorious Twelfth

.

In days of old,

I have been told,
Twelfth birthdays marked the bound’ry.
Upon that day,
Kids ceased to play
And went off to the foundry.
Past childhood days
Were lost in haze
And any toys were hidden.
‘Twas off to work
As Gard or clerk,
And laughter was forbidden.

At twelve years old
The work bell tolled
And drowned the sound of laughter.
Down in the pit
You shovelled coal
And had to be a grafter.
You earned your pay,
Two bob a day,
Or more if you were lucky.
The boss was gruff
And work was tough,
You came home tired and mucky.

But nowadays
There’s not this craze
For sending kids out earning.
It’s off to school
Now, as a rule,
This is the age of learning.
No more do they
Hand up their pay.
In fact they cost us money!
Its now become,
For children, some
Great land of milk and honey.

But Kate, I’m told,
Now twelve years old,
Knows childhood days are finished.
The hours of leisure
And of pleasure
Greatly now diminished.
She’ll clean her room
With mop and broom
Whenever she’s a minute
And make sure that
Her habitat
Has nothing dirty in it.

She’ll walk the dog
And clean the bog
And iron when it’s raining.
She’ll dry each cup
Of washing up
And all without complaining.
At half past five
She’ll sweep the drive
And paint hall, stairs and landing.
Though muscles ache,
She’ll take no break
While she’s still strength for standing.

She’ll help her Da
To load the car
Whene’er they go out shopping.
She’ll clean the brass
And cut the grass
And all this without stopping.
She’ll shine her shoes
And clean the loos,
No matter if they’re grubby.
So when she’s grown
She will not moan
When cleaning after hubby.

So welcome, Kate!
Grown-up life’s great.
We hope you’ll learn to love it.
And if friends say
“Come out to play!”
We hope you’ll rise above it.
You’re twelve now and
You understand
You must accept your duty.
Oh all is changed
And rearranged –
‘Tis born a terrible beauty.