Chicken

Chicken

For some it’s finger lickin’ good, 

And tastes nice with some chips, 

The Colonel’s secret recipe, 

Feels spicy on my lips, 

For most it is a Sunday treat, 

As roasting suits it best, 

Cos after chopping all those sprouts, 

I think you’ve earned that rest, 

It’s good to eat in Walkers crisps, 

That yummy crunchy taste, 

But don’t eat all those bags at once, 

It’s not good for your waist, 

And sometimes it’s not just a food 

For insults it can be, 

But as I dared to write this poem, 

I am not one you see.

Explanation

This is another case of someone challenging me to write a poem. Blame the internet. If you want to suggest any to me, just tweet me @philverney.

Scrambled Eggs

Scrambled Eggs

Boiled and poached and scrambled and fried,

Are there some types that you have not tried?

Soldiers with butter, dipped in the yolk,

After the tap the shell you have broke,

Fluffy and yellow and ready to eat,

Topped with some bacon a real nice treat,

We all have our favourites, so let’s take a poll,

To finish this poem well that is my goal,

The scrambled are winners, I must tell you that,

But make them too salty and they shall be spat,

So now at the end we cheer our best dish,

Let’s scramble those eggs dear, this poem’s your wish.

Explanation

I feel I need to write a short explanation for this one, in case you all fear I've gone completely mad. Basically, I was challenged to write a poem about scrambled eggs. I like a challenge, so I did!

Dreams

Dreams

Each and every single night,

Before we go to bed,

The neurons in our little heads,

Jump up and start to spread,

This special troop of little gems,

Tonight they’ll run the show,

For what we really want in life,

The seeds begin to sew,

The visions in these little dreams,

We're not always quite sure,

But hold on tight to something nice

You know there will be more,

For sometimes they are naughty,

And sometimes they are nice,

I hope for you tonight’s will have,

That extra bit of spice.

PhilTube

PhilTube

Descending right down into this great lair,

It's really a shame so much I do care,

The yellow and green in front of my eyes,

The storm in my body brews up and does rise,

Westminster, Embankment to Temple, Blackfriars,

I must remember my mind's just a liar,

The House and the Street and the great Monument,

It's time to go searching, anxiety we hunt,

The tingling, the shaking to just catch one's breathe

Remind myself here that I do not face death,

Just sit it out breathe and let the fear pass,

The person you want reflects in the glass,

It comes to a slow and the station does show,

Be proud of yourself you continue to grow.