Wondermentalist

This is the other other warm-up intro poem I promised to put up here. The Company of Leeks

Down through the generations
We’ve been generating leeks
We’ve not won all the prizes
But we’ve had our winning streaks
Won enough to furnish houses –
We’ve had fewer troughs than peaks
In the company of leeks

Rosettes, I’ve had a few
And then some honourable mentions
To see a leek you, yourself, grew
Receiving plaudits and attentions…
When that leek in peak condition
Wins a Best Leek Competition
You feel so cock-a-hoop
It calls for cock-a-leekie soup
Although it isn’t Mum’s leek pudding
…It’ll do

For what is a leek – what is it like?
Let’s sneak a peek – let’s take a look…
A cylinder of bundled sheafs
Tortilla wrap of Welsh motifs
A spring onion on steroids
Upside down Olympic flame
Close relation of the onion
They are Garlic’s kissing cousin
They’re en eco-party-popper in freeze-frame
Or pagan Barbie
A little bit ineffable
A heavy metal daffodil
It makes me feels so affable
The company of leeks

So you can keep your Spanish beach
I’ll stay where leeks are within reach
The tasty part of vichyssoise…
And while the world around me sleeps
Beneath the undemanding stars
I’ll keep the company of leeks

Everyone who came to the last Wondermentalist Cabaret was making a conscious choice not to stay in and watch international rugby on TV, a decision that I feel was vindicated by the quality of the evening. This is a rugby-based poem to acknowledge what they were missing… England Expects

The scrum, the ruck, the pack, the maul

Bulked up bodies, a mis-shapen ball

A red rose on a bloodstained shirt

Oggi, Oi! Oggi, Oi!

Oggi Oggi Oggi – ow! that really hurt!

I read three poems for my warm-up intro on the 23rd. I’m going to put them all up, starting with the second…

The Amazing Memory Man’s Magical Memories

– an unforgetful love poem –

I remember the dress that you wore when we met
The dress with the dots – how could I forget
Two hundred and four – none exactly the same
I counted them all as you came through the door
…gave each one a name

We walked out together, beneath a lumpy grey sky
I see it so clearly now in my mind’s eye,
The pavement, the drizzle, the cars grumbling by…
Ford Mondeo, blue, N76 RBT
Toyota Corolla, white, C213 XPL
Citroen Picasso, red S79 YAE

You kissed me. I missed one. But I didn’t mind.
We were young. We had time.

The restaurant. We held hands. Once more we kissed.
And whispered sweet nothings - well, you did,
I whispered the whole set menu and wine list…
(And what’s really nice is:
I can still recite it, including the prices)

And then back to your place, your face stuck to my face
While my eyes memorised your cd’s
I noticed a book there beside the computer
The abridged Kama Sutra ‘for the hurried lover’
In two minutes, I’d read it – from cover to cover

You said, Hey do you seriously think that kind of thing can impress me?
And I closed the book, and my eyes, and said, Test me…

It really is. The topic had to be ‘something – what are you like?’ There were three suggestions: pants, cardigans and factories. They chose pants. Here’s what they came up with. The set title, Pants – what are you like? Was superseded by a slip of paper simply offering ‘Title Suggestion: PANT RANT’…

Pant Rant

Pants are like unborn dusters

Pants always come out of the washing machine in clusters

Big girls’ kidney warmers

American trousers and really no good

Pants are like pretty lacy obstructors

Tablecloth Tundra with viscose velocity

Big, baggy, beautiful barrier bolstering bravado

Small/large, rose/rancid, black/white, mine or yours

Pants – the cello string of the chilly sadist

Private penile protectors

Brief breaths

Elasticated not masticated trajectory that’s next to me, threadbare on the chair, not worn

Fancy and frilly and flattering to see…

If only, if only they had been smaller and tighter…

My reinforced ‘Y’ brace protectors, keep me confident in those difficult moments

Lace-edged loiterers of the lingerie drawer

The breeze from the softly beating wings of fifteen angels

Genital developing, Paxman enveloping

They are like… slightly sagging, greyly gripping, slowly slipping, libido clipping, passion killers!

Wonderwear

Hats for wide-eared bats

Pants – I’m not wearing any – can you guess who I am?

From the knickerbockers to the thong – a thongabocker is the thang

Pants – what are you like – up, down   on, off in a flash, fawning, poking, stoking, smoking, steaming, lusting, leering out from beneath a lonesome belly button, searching, seeking, most times peeking out at what’s not available

Lucky, tacky, cheesy, slack

Tonga, Sloggi, boxers, thwack

Pants, what are you like?

Crumpled in the corner, lost to lust, and split.

They are moody, go up and down, that’s what they are like

Cheeky, freaky, squeaky clean or crusty

Pants on the washing line, showing off its dance routine – not very modest!

She slid her buttocks between those dark satanic mills

Pants – twin carburetta leg funnels.

Pants – empowering for Superman, but it doesn’t work for me

Why shouldn’t you wear Russian underpants?

Because Chernobyl fall-out!

There you have it.This pants poem was taped together, in the latter part of the interval, under improbable circumstances, by Roz, aka Beryl the Feral, from line submitted by the audience (see photo).