A poem about the dark side of the hill

It’s time to explore the mystery at the heart of Jack and Jill. What really happened that day out on the hill?

Where was Jill?

Jack and Jill
went up the hill
but then Jack fell.
What the hell?
Was it a trip?
Was it a slip?
Where was Jill?
Why did she only
come tumbling after?
A strange disaster.

Up Jack got
and home did trot
though in nursery rhymes
you never get up
after a fall
like Humpty Dumpty
who drank ten green bottles
and fell off a wall
and think of baby,
cradle and all.
Yes up Jack got
and that was brill.
But still,
where was Jill?

Jack went to bed
but in nursery rhymes,
you never get up
when you go to bed
after banging your head
like the old man snoring
who never saw morning.
Jack wrapped his head
but he’d internally bled
and soon he was dead
leaving only questions
like who was the beneficiary
under his will?
And where oh where
oh where was Jill?

A somewhat circular poem II

When I was growing up, many many witty children probably asked people named Eve: “Hey Eve, where’s Adam?”

Hey Eve, Where’s Adam?

Hey Eve, where’s Adam?
Hey Adam, where’s Ant?
Hey Ant, where’s Arctic?
Hey Arctic, where’s Chill?
Hey Chill, where’s E?
Hey E, where’s Sun?
Hey Sun, where’s Day?
Hey Day, where’s New Year’s?
Hey New Year’s, where’s Eve?
Hey Eve, where’s Adam?

A somewhat circular poem

When I was growing up, many many witty children asked me: “Hey Adam, where’s Eve?”.

Hey Adam, Where’s Eve?

Hey Adam, where’s Eve?
Hey Eve, where’s Christmas?
Hey Christmas, where’s Happy?
Hey Happy, where’s Ness?
Hey Ness, where’s Loch?
Hey Loch, where’s Smith?
Hey Smith, where’s Adam?
Hey Adam, where’s Eve?

A poem about partial clownery

On 7 February 2022, the PM’s new spin doctor confirmed that the PM is “not a complete clown”‘. 

Half a Clown

So what’s with the frown?
said the circus god.
You’re our first ever clown in
Downing Street.
Yet it’s going around
that you’re just half a clown.

Conduct yourself
as 100% loon,
a total buffoon.
Sit on a balloon.
Put on a red nose
and your harlequin clothes.
Go party with cake.

Or people may think
that you’re not a true clown,
that you’re only a fake.

A parliamentary poem about vision and division

This poem delves into the curious language spoken by only one person in the world:

The Speaker of the House of Commons.

The Eyes Have It

The question is: 
Do the eyes have it?
As many as are of that opinion say eye. 
Of the contrary opinion, no. 

Division. Addition. Subtraction. Multiplication.

The eyes have it.   
So do the noes 
and the ears and the mouth. 
The whole face has it. 

Clear the lobbies. 
Bring up the bodies. 

A poem about bricklaying

To shore up its vote in the northern “red wall” seats captured from Labour, the government this week issued its levelling up white paper.

This poem is designed to provide some helpful guidance to those tasked with levelling up.

Instructions for Levelling Up

Take a red wall
that’s rather small.
Announce it will soon
be ten foot tall.
Add some bricks.
Paint them blue.
You’ve got no cement
so stick them with goo.

Throw cheers and hugs
and the kitchen sink in.
You’ve got no money,
just turbo-charged thinking.
Make speeches. Write papers.
Try nodding and winking.

Hope nobody sees
that beneath the wall


the ground is sinking.

A poem about a man in a hurry

They say that your name can affect your personality… 

They Called Me Adam

All my life I’ve
felt the urge to be
first in line, to
barge the queue, to
not waste time, to
rush towards the paradise I’m trying to find. 

On and on through the
universe and the
metaverse and
God-knows-where. So
long as I’m breathing, I’ll
do what it takes to get back to Eden.

On and on until too late, I
turn around but

no one’s there. It’s
all about Adam. I’ve
forgotten Eve. Did she
fall in a chasm? I
feel a bit peeved but
also relieved.

At last I reach the
Garden of Eden.
Heavily breathing, I
open the gate. It’s
rusty and creaking. I
doff my figleaf and
prance around but it’s
not the same. The garden needs weeding and

would you believe, I’m missing Eve. I
nibble an apple and
decide to leave but I’m
low on funds so I
stand in front and scream out:
Ultimate Magical Venue For Hire.’

Then off I jet
on the trail of yet
another messiah.

A poem about politics ‘n rock ‘n roll

This poem was inspired by the title of the Rock N Roll Politics podcast. 

Politics is Rock N Roll

Politics is Hendrix and Jagger.

Politics is swagger and crash. 

Politics is going to the moon
in a hot air balloon.

Politics is getting punched by trolls
and battered by polls.

Politics is being thrown off the rodeo
and scrambling on again. 

Politics is cocaine. 

Politics is propane. 

Politics is Buster Keaton 
on a runaway train.

Politics is Super Mario,
falling down mountains,
climbing up holes. 

Politics is swinging from high to low,
from yo to yo,
‘til they tell you to go. 

Politics is rock n roll
but it’s the audience who smash the guitar
if they don’t like the show.

A poem about an unlikely saviour

This poem is dedicated to anyone desperately hoping for a reprieve, including the PM Boris Johnson who, at the time of writing, is relying on an unlikely form of salvation from “partygate”. 

The Last Resort

When I’m in the dock
of the heavenly court

When the indictment’s been read
and it’s not at all short

When my praying and begging
have all come to nought

When judgment is nigh
and the demons are brought

When the final sentence
is virtually wrought

When the time has come
for the last resort

I’ll beseech the Lord
to hold the thought

and await the outcome
of Sue Gray’s report.

A poem about Adam and Eve’s daughter-in-law

God creates Adam and Eve – ok. Adam and Eve conceive Cain and Abel – ok. Cain has a wife – hmm. Where did she come from?

Cain’s wife featured in the Scopes creation v evolution trial in Tennessee in 1925. Darrow: “Did you ever discover where Cain got his wife?” Bryan:” No sir, I leave the agnostics to hunt for her.” Darrow: “Were there other people on earth at that time?” Bryan: “I cannot say.”

This poem imagines the moment when Cain introduces his wife to his parents.

Cain’s Wife

Good evening,
said Cain’s wife.
I am Cain’s wife,
otherwise known
as the wife of Cain.
Yes, said Cain,
let me explain. 
I married her.
I am her husband.
She is my wife.
She is Cain’s wife,
the wife of Cain.
Great, said Adam,
what’s your name?
I have no name.
I am Cain’s wife,
the wife of Cain
and that is all.
Yes, said Cain,
she has no name.
It is a shame.
Odd, said Eve.
Let me explain,
said the wife of Cain.
I had waited
beneath the surface,
until the rain came
in the shape of Cain.
and now we live
in the land called Nod
where Cain is busy
building a city
which we must stock.
And so I bore Enoch,
no pain, no gain,
said the wife of Cain,
looking at Eve.
And now I must leave
before it gets light.