To Think Another Thought Today

To think another thought today
My mind's on other things
Shall I write just now
or see what writing brings.
My thoughts are muddled
They're thinking of -
All manner of strange things!

To fill out forms
To make some tea
To think of poetry.
To have a bath, in
hot water, glea.....
I think I need some tea.

I've had my thoughts
Some words it's brought
But not my poetry.
I feel so glum
I thought I'd have fun.
Oh! Another cup of tea!!

© Nick Rigazzi-Tarling 22-07-09

Routine - a poem

Routine, on Monday, I thought, my
routine is pleasurable
my tasks are so small,
clean, polish, for some,
book meetings for others.

Routine, come Tuesday, I thought, I
am getting on well, my
work is progressing, my
tasks have been, well?

Routine, come Wednesday, I thought, I’d
change my old habits, the
Sun it did shine and
I thought I would grab it, and
Oh! What a tan.

Routine, come Thursday, I thought, if
I rush this small job
Some time I could make up, but,
Oh! !****! Hell!

Routine, come Friday, I thought, the
end of the week, my
boss has gone anal
He will see me next week!

Routine, come Saturday, I thought,
I would be with the kids
Go to MacDonald’s for burgers,
then out to the flixs.

Routine, come Sunday, I thought, there’s
so much to do.
I’ll leave it till Monday,
Let’s go to the zoo.

© Nick Rigazzi-Tarling 21 July 2009

Don’t Go Down The Mine, Dad.

Don’t go down the mine, Dad,
Was the little one’s plea?
Don’t go down the mine, Dad,
For I have had a dream, Dad,
Which could make you leave me.
The father he didn’t listen,
When to his work he trod,
And whilst waiting for the mine lift,
He remembered what was said.

Don’t go down the mine, Dad,
He remembered his son’s plea.
Don’t go down the mine, Dad,
He returned to home, to see,
His little lad’s eyes light up,
To see his Dad was well.
For he had heard of the fire,
That took his Dad’s mates to hell.
Don’t go down the mine, Dad,
Or you’ll be dead as well.


© Nick Rigazzi-Tarling 17/07/2009 15:18

Taken from the song ‘Don’t Go Down The Mine, Dad’
by Robert Donnely and Will Gedes

Our Wonderful Gardener

The gardener comes just once a month
To tidy up the plot,
Roses, weeds and camomile
She certainly trims the lot.
The grass is cut with mower,
The edges are edged clean,
And when it comes to weeding
She really is the queen.
The two hours that she toils
Is really not quite long,
She bends and kneels and crouches,
She cuts and trims and digs,
And quickly gets the job done
And then off to home she ‘jigs’.
The gardeners name is Carey,
She really is the biz,
She wears a leather belt
For all her tools she needs.
She wears her shorts in summer
They’re in shades of green or brown,
Her hair is bright and curly
As she potters out of town.
I hear that she is busy
Other gardens she keeps clean,
She is very nymph like
And looks fit as a new pin.
But talking to her daughter
Last night upon the ‘phone’,
Gardening is not her only pleasure
For she toils down at the gym!


© Nick Rigazzi-Tarling 18 July 2009

The Decorator - The Tea

The decorator has a lonely job, when

climbing up his ladder.

He has to sort out all his paint, or

he won’t have enough. With

sander first he smoothes the wood, of

old paint, flakes and dirt. He

then rubs down with sanding block, to

get to corners better.

Once this is done, he ascends again, too

paint the undercoat. This

coat that will keep the paint, from

flaking like the latter. He

dabs and daubs the undercoat, with

the skill of a seasoned vet. He

smoothes the paint of all its runs, he

takes care of every drip. He

must not over do the brush, or

the paint will be quite thin.

The clouds are building in the sky, the

weather is still sunny, the

winds are picking up a bit, I

hope it doesn’t matter. The

weather forecaster said, “It

may be raining in the west, but

a shower or two may be had - today,

but definitely tomorrow.”

The decorator likes a drink, of

tea, but very strong. He

likes one every hour, to

keep him moist for long, for

he gets very dry, when

painting wood and wall, he

is like the blooming weather, both

wet and dry, forlorn.

The rendered wall is next to do, it

is cracked in several places. He

said that it is very fast, so

filling will be the thing. Re-

rendering will come later, when

more money is required. So

filler in hand, scraper too, to

fill the very job, that

the lady of the household, thought

would be the harder job.

Day two arrives, he

starts to paint the top coat, that

will define, the

colour of woodwork, Gardenia

and Sandstone for wall – sublime.

But first some tea, to quench the thirst, of

decorator, he

will need some time to

paint – this time, for quality’s the key.

Up ladder, once more to the top, to

check the work is right, then

dab and daub, smooth and slide, the

paint brush over wall. It’s

nearly done – but wait

another cup of tea!

“The job has taken two days” it’s

right by what he said. With

drops of rain now falling, “I’ll

have some tea instead.”

“The job has now been finished, the

rain held off, somewhat, but

before you pay me for the job, I’ll

have another pot – of tea.”

© Nick Rigazzi-Tarling 20 July 2009