Yes we are the Wrinklies,and I hope to make this a place for fun,a few poems,a little about our family and other animals!

St.Mary's of all Saints Church affectionately  known as The Crooked Spire,a famous landmark in Chesterfield

www.chesterfieldparishchurch.org.uk

W. H. Davies

Leisure

WHAT is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?— No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare. 

Here among long-discarded cassocks,
Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks,
Here where the Vicar never looks
I nibble through old service books.
Lean and alone I spend my days
Behind this Church of England baize.
I share my dark forgotten room
With two oil-lamps and half a broom.
The cleaner never bothers me,
So here I eat my frugal tea.
My bread is sawdust mixed with straw;
My jam is polish for the floor.
Christmas and Easter may be feasts
For congregations and for priests,
And so may Whitsun. All the same,
They do not fill my meagre frame.
For me the only feast at all
Is Autumn's Harvest Festival,
When I can satisfy my want
With ears of corn around the font.
I climb the eagle's brazen head
To burrow through a loaf of bread.
I scramble up the pulpit stair
And gnaw the marrows hanging there.
It is enjoyable to taste
These items ere they go to waste,
But how annoying when one finds
That other mice with pagan minds
Come into church my food to share
Who have no proper business there.
Two field mice who have no desire
To be baptized, invade the choir.
A large and most unfriendly rat
Comes in to see what we are at.
He says he thinks there is no God
And yet he comes...it's rather odd.
This year he stole a sheaf of wheat
(It screened our special preacher's seat),
And prosperous mice from fields away
Come in to hear the organ play,
And under cover of its notes
Ate through the altar's sheaf of oats.
A Low Church mouse, who thinks that I
Am too papistical, and High,
Yet somehow doesn't think it wrong
To munch through Harvest Evensong,
While I, who starve the whole year through,
Must share my food with rodents who
Except at this time of the year
Not once inside the church appear.
Within the human world I know
Such goings-on could not be so,
For human beings only do
What their religion tells them to.
They read the Bible every day
And always, night and morning, pray,
And just like me, the good church mouse,
Worship each week in God's own house,
But all the same it's strange to me
How very full the church can be
With people I don't see at all
Except at Harvest Festival. 
 

A LANGUID CUP OF TEA

Your passion is my pleasure
Your desires served at leisure
Your hands coil round that treasure
Yes - a languid cup to sip.
In these tearooms they bewail,
The lack of pies and rustic ale,
While all those ladies quiver frail,
For that slice of cake you bit.

You know I crave this most,
To spread butter on your toast,
Among the condiments to coast,
For that moment marmalade.
With those fine white pearly teeth,
You'll provide me with relief,
And restore my lost belief:
The crunch of teeth relayed.

You can reach across to grasp,
Biscuits firmly in your clasp
With a warm vivacious laugh,
By those lips moistly defined.
I would love to plant a kiss,
But such behaviour is amiss,
And would have me soon dismissed
From the table of your mind.
 

Please Mrs. Butler

Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew
Keeps copying my work, Miss.
What shall I do?

Go and sit in the hall, dear.
Go and sit in the sink.
Take your books on the roof, my lamb.
Do whatever you think.

Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew
Keeps taking my rubber, Miss.
What shall I do?

Keep it in you hand, dear.
Hide it up your vest.
Swallow it if you like, love.
Do what you think best.

Please Mrs Butler
This boy Derek Drew
Keeps calling me rude names, Miss.
What shall I do?

Lock yourself in the cupboard, dear.
Run away to sea.
Do whatever you can, my flower.
But don't ask me!

          Allan Ahlberg

http://www.squirtsplace.com/miscfun/LittleBittyCutePets.swf

The Road Not Taken
Robert Frost

 Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, And sorry I could not travel both And be one traveler, long I stood And looked down one as far as I could To where it bent in the undergrowth; Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same, And both that morning equally lay In leaves no step had trodden black. Oh, I kept the first for another day! Yet knowing how way leads on to way, I doubted if I should ever come back. I shall be telling this with a sigh Somewhere ages and ages hence: Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- I took the one less traveled by, And that has made all the difference

.

Walter de la Mare

The Listeners

‘IS there anybody there?’ said the Traveller,
Knocking on the moonlit door;
And his horse in the silence champ’d the grasses
    Of the forest’s ferny floor:
And a bird flew up out of the turret,
    Above the Traveller’s head:
And he smote upon the door again a second time;
    ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said.
But no one descended to the Traveller;
    No head from the leaf-fringed sill
Lean’d over and look’d into his grey eyes,
    Where he stood perplex’d and still.
But only a host of phantom listeners
    That dwelt in the lone house then
Stood listening in the quiet of the moonlight
    To that voice from the world of men:
Stood thronging the faint moonbeams on the dark stair,
    That goes down to the empty hall,
Hearkening in an air stirr’d and shaken
    By the lonely Traveller’s call.
And he felt in his heart their strangeness,
    Their stillness answering his cry,
While his horse moved, cropping the dark turf,
    ’Neath the starr’d and leafy sky;
For he suddenly smote on the door, even
    Louder, and lifted his head:—
’Tell them I came, and no one answer’d,
    ’That I kept my word,’ he said.
Never the least stir made the listeners,
    Though every word he spake
Fell echoing through the shadowiness of the still house
    From the one man left awake:
Ay, they heard his foot upon the stirrup,
    And the sound of iron on stone,
And how the silence surged softly backward,
    When the plunging hoofs were gone.

On Brighton beach some time ago
A boatman by the name of Joe,
Looked up and in amazement saw
A mermaid washed up on the shore.
His eyes bulged as without delay
She rose, and shaking off some spray
Proceeded to remove her tail,
And put same in a near-by pail;
Joe was astounded, rubbed his eyes,
The mermaid then to his surprise
Said in a foreign voice "Ah, oui!
Monsieur, I do not like ze sea!"
From where before her tail had been,
A pair of shapely limbs were seen,
And Joe said "Cripes, this is a case!"
And could not look her in the face.
She said to Joe "Let's get away!
I'm sick of seeing waves and spray
Like jelly wobbling up and down,
Monsieur, let's go and see ze town?."
Joe's blushes matched his ginger hair
For mermaids have no clothes to wear!
He muttered "I shall get it strong
If Watch Committee come along."
Quite a few people stopped to smirk
A newsboy shouted out, "Nice work!"
Some more collected - quite a jam
Watched them about to board a tram.
The tram conductor watched them come,
Then said to Joe "Oi, nark it, chum!"
Joe said to him, quiet as can be,
"She's just a mermaid from the sea.
The tram-man said "Oh, yus, old bean!
And what are you - the fairy queen?"
A policeman quickly hove in view,
Took out his book, said "What's to do?"
The mermaid glanced and said "I guess
I love your Engleesch policemen - yes!"
Sad to relate this copper brave
Fell for her charms, became her slave,
And leaving poor Joe in the lurch
Married the cop in Brighton church.
All she left Joe was the pail
Containing her discarded tail!
Joe, sore at being left so flat,
Gave it to the lodger's cat.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."


"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.


"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed--
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."


"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness, that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said.
"Do you admire the view?
 

"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"


"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"


"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.


"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.

WHEN you’ve shouted “Rule Britannia,” when you’ve sung “God save the Queen,”
    When you’ve finished killing Kruger with your mouth,
Will you kindly drop a shilling in my little tambourine
    For a gentleman in kharki ordered South?
He’s an absent-minded beggar, and his weaknesses are great—
    But we and Paul must take him as we find him—
He is out on active service, wiping something off a slate—
    And he’s left a lot of little things behind him!
Duke’s son—cook’s son—son of a hundred kings—
    (Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)
Each of ’em doing his country’s work
    (and who’s to look after their things?)
Pass the hat for your credit’s sake,
                 and pay—pay—pay!
There are girls he married secret, asking no permission to,
    For he knew he wouldn’t get it if he did.
There is gas and coals and vittles, and the house-rent falling due,
    And it’s more than rather likely there’s a kid.
There are girls he walked with casual. They’ll be sorry now he’s gone,
    For an absent-minded beggar they will find him,
But it ain’t the time for sermons with the winter coming on.
    We must help the girl that Tommy’s left behind him!
Cook’s son—duke’s son—son of a belted earl—
    Son of a Lambeth publican—it’s all the same to-day!
Each of ’em doing his country’s work
    (and who’s to look after the girl?)
Pass the hat for your credit’s sake,
                 and pay—pay—pay!

There are families by thousands, far too proud to beg or speak,
    And they’ll put their sticks and bedding up the spout,
And they’ll live on half o’ nothing, paid ’em punctual once a week
    ’Cause the man that earns the wage is ordered out.
He’s an absent-minded beggar, but he heard his country call,
    And his reg’ment didn’t need to send to find him!
He chucked his job and joined it—so the job before us all
    Is to help the home that Tommy’s left behind him!
Duke’s job—cook’s job—gardener, baronet, groom
    Mews or palace or paper-shop, there’s someone gone away!
Each of ’em doing his country’s work
    (and who’s to look after the room?)
Pass the hat for your credit’s sake,
                 and pay—pay—pay!

Let us manage so as, later, we can look him in the face,
    And tell him—what he’d very much prefer—
That, while he saved the Empire, his employer saved his place
    And his mates (that’s you and me) looked out for her.
He’s an absent-minded beggar and he may forget it all,
    But we do not want his kiddies to remind him
That we sent ’em to the workhouse while their daddy ham. mered Paul,
    So we’ll help the homes that Tommy left behind him!
Cook’s home—Duke’s home—home of a millionaire,
    (Fifty thousand horse and foot going to Table Bay!)
Each of ’em doing his country’s work
    (and what have you got to spare?)
Pass the hat for your credit’s sake,
                 and pay—pay—pay!

I read of a man who stood to speak at the funeral of a friend;
He referred to the dates on her tombstone from the beginning to the end.

He noted that first came the date of her birth and spoke of the following date with tears;
But he said what mattered most of all was the "dash" between those years.

For that dash represents all the time that she spent alive on earth;
And now only those who loved her know what that little line is worth.

For it matters not, how much we own the cars, the house, the cash;
What matters is how we live and love and how we spend our dash.

So think about this long and hard are there things you'd like to change?
For you never know how much time is left (you could be at "dash mid-range.")

If we could just slow down enough to consider what's true and real,
And always try to understand the way the other people feel.

And be less quick to anger and show appreciation more,
And love the people in our lives like we've never loved before.

If we treat each other with respect and more often wear a smile,
Remembering that this special dash might only last a little while.

So when your eulogy's being read with your life's actions to rehash,
Would you be proud of the things they say —
about how you spent your dash?

 

TECH SUPPORT:
Tech Support: "I need you to right-click on the Open Desktop."
Customer: " Ok."
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Customer: "No."
Tech Support: "Ok. Right click again. Do you see a pop-up menu?"
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Tech Support: "Ok, sir. Can you tell me what you have done up until this point?"
Customer: "Sure, you told me to write 'click' and I wrote 'click'."
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Customer: "I received the software update you sent, but I am still
getting the same error message."
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Tech Support: "Tell me what you've done."
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Tech Support: "Ma'am, remove the disk and tell me what it says."
Customer: "It says '[PC manufacturer] Restore and Recovery disk'."
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Customer: "What?"
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Customer: "No..."
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 Tech Support: ?!%#$(*&%$
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see the 'OK' button displayed?"
Customer: "Wow. How can you see my screen from there?"
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Customer: "A white one."
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Customer: "How do you spell that?"
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Customer: "No." (clicks the button to log on to our service)
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Customer: "It says 'no dial tone'."
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You need to-"
Customer: "No, that's not it. It does this all the time. I just have
to try a few times, and it will let me through."
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because you're on the phone with me."
Customer: "It must be busy. I'll try again later."
----------------------------------------------------------------
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Customer: "A stuffed animal that my boyfriend got me at the grocery store."
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Customer:" Pentium."
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Customer: "My computer's telling me I performed an illegal abortion." !!!!!
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Customer: "You've got to fix my computer. I urgently need to print a
document, but the computer won't boot properly."
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We're open 24 hours."
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Tech Support:: "What does the screen say now?"
Customer: "It says, 'Hit ENTER when ready'."
Tech Support: "Well?"
Customer: "How do I know when it's ready ?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 
 
  A Drop o’ Chocolate Sauce

You know how it is in your fifties
When your love life lacks whistles an’ bells
An’ you spend every night watchin’ telly
An’ you sup far too much an’ it tells
Then it’s bedtime right after the weather
One chapter then out like a light
An’ apart from six trips to the bathroom
You sleep, pretty much, through the night

Well, that’s how it was in our marriage
If I’m truthful, I liked it that way
Till Audrey got notions quite ‘Cosmo’
She’s a lass who demands t’ have her say
“Gerrup off the couch ya fat bugger
An’ get yer arse down to that gym
An’ perk yer ideas up in t’ bedroom
I want a man virile an’ slim”

I did as instructed that weekend
Booked in at the gym to get fit
I went wi’ a mate name o’ Rodney
Who told me he trained a fair bit
We did thirty minutes on t’ treadmill
An’ I’ve never felt fitter for years
We did weights an’ then hot an’ cold showers
So we felt we deserved a few beers

Now it’s pleasant in t’ Joiners at lunchtime
So we ordered beers two and pies four
An’ we found a free table by t’ window
Where we scoffed ‘em an ordered four more
By this time we’ve shifted some lagers
An’ I gets all gobby an’ slack
So I starts to give Rodney the lowdown
On how I’m right useless in t’ sack

 “Sup up lad, we’re gooin’” sez Rodney
“I’m now on the job……so to speak
There’s a sex shop just opened on Duke Street
An’ they’ve got special offers this week
What ya need is a fantasy catsuit
An’ some toys ya can take up to bed
Some oils to give them theer massages
An’ a greyt tub o’ milk-chocolate spread”
“Ya need some hot shots in yer arsenal
An’ the ones I’m suggestin’ can’t miss
But the one that’s the real doggy’s danglers
Is the chocolate spread – pure bliss
Just wait for a suitable openin’
Then choose an erogenous zone
An’ trickle warm chocolate all o’er it
Get to it. Yer now on yer own”
 
Well, I bought all the things he’d suggested
An’ they even had catsuits her size
Did I mention the wife’s a ‘full’ figure?
Like me, she’s quite fond of the pies
Rodders said I should start wi’ some romance
Get prepared for when Audrey came home
So I did soup an’ chips an’ I served it
Wi’ summat they call Cotes-du-Rhone

After tea the wife goes to watch telly
While I do a quick wash an’ brush
De-oderize an’ then go commando
An’ slap some Old Spice round mi mush
Then I slides alongside on the sofa
Holds her hand an’ then tries a soft kiss
 An’ we’re soon down to givin’ it plenty
Oh Rodney were reyt about this!

So we’re wrostlin’ an’ jostlin’ on t’ carpet
An’ I’m tryin’ all t’ stuff Rodney said
When we comes to a pause in t’ proceedings
So I nips out to get t’ chocolate spread
I can hardly contain mi exitement
Till a thought kinda fills me wi’ dread  
Cos I’ve put t’ bloody spread in the freezer
An’ the bloody spread won’t bloody spread

I stand there an’ think for a minute
Then I re-jigs mi plan of attack
An’ I wangs in in t’ microwave oven
An’ I gives it eight minutes – full whack
They’re clever these microwave ovens
They can heat up the works so I’m told
An’ your foodstuff comes out warm an’ cosy
But your outer container stays cold

 
Now here’s where mi story gets frightenin’
Like I said, the wifes really quite stout
An’ on mi return, she were tryin’ to hide
But she’d left her bare bum stickin’ out
So I creeps up behind her right playfull
Pours chocolate down t’ crack of her bott
Cos I’m not fully graspin’ the concept
That the bloody spread’s bloody red-hot

Well, she jumps an’ she screams like a banshee
Cos it feels like her buttocks’ll melt
Knockin’ t’ jar out mi hand in the process
An sendin’ it skywards, full pelt
Molten chocolate just splattered on t’ ceilin’
The sofa, the carpet, the chairs
It ran down the telly, the curtains, the clock
An’ a dollop shot off up the stairs

Now there’s summat I don’t think I told you
It isn’t our house. Aye that’s right!
Wi’ live wi’ mi mother down Pocklington Grove
An’ she’d gone to the bingo that night
She came home at nine-twenty-seven
An’ I’m certain that time is correct
It’s the time that the two paramedics arrived
It’s the time I sat down to reflect:
 
On mi mother stood there in the doorway
Her expression of sheer disbelief
At mi missus face down on the sofa
Wi’ a pack o’ frozzen peas for relief
At the chocolate all stuck to the photo
Of mi dad in the war (forty-four)
At the big greasy gobs on the ceilin’
An’ the crumpled-up catsuit on t’ floor 

Our love life’s now quite back to normal
Back to no whistles an’ bells
An’ we spend every night watchin’ telly
An’ I sup far too much an’ it tells
We’ll often go out of a weekend
To a nice little caff by the sea
An’ she’ll ask “Would you like a hot chocolate?”
I say “No love. I’ll stick with the tea”

Will I have to be sexy at sixty?
Will I have to keep trying so hard?
Well I'm just going to slump,
With my dowager's hump
And watch myself turn into lard.
I'm not going to keep exercising,
I'm not going to take HRT,
If a toy boy enquires
I'll say, "Hah! Hard luck squire!
Where were you in 53...?"


I'm not going to shave my moustaches,
I'm just going to let them all sprout,
My chins'll be double
All covered in stubble,
I'm going to become an Old Trout!


My beauty all gone and forgotten,
Vanished with never a quibble,
I'll sit here and just
Kind of gnaw at a crust
And squint at the telly, and dribble.


As my marbles get steadily fewer,
Must I battle to keep my allure?
Have I still got to pout
Now my teeth have come out
And my husband has found pastures newer?


Farewell to the fad and the fashion,
Farewell to the young and the free!
My passion's expired,
At bedtime... I'm TIRED!
Sexy and sixty? Not me!