Toby was a stray cat
Who wore a name tag around his neck
We took pity on it and started to inspect
The cat to see if we could see
If Toby was indeed Toby
Was it a he or she
Because Toby happened to be a girl
We changed that name to Tilly
Which put Toby in a whirl
And made Toby confused and silly
There once was a young girl named Nellie,
Who loved peanut butter and jelly.
She ate till it hurt and extended her girth,
Now they're calling her Nellie the Belly.
There once was a young man named Toby,
Who yearned for a shiny gold trophy,
But he had two left feet and was no athlete,
And his muscles succumbed to atrophy.
Now Nellie and Toby did meet,
And each thought the other was sweet.
They decided to marry and they didn't tarry,
And produced chubby kids with bad feet.
Avoirdupois
The endomorph enjoys our affection
as the comic figure of tradition.
Friar Tuck, Falstaff, and Old Toby
recall rotund revels and ribaldry.
Devils are always portrayed as thin.
the clown invariably has a double chin.
Unlike the hero, who's always victorious,
his wind and walk are somewhat laborious.
Though he's never very heroic,
who honestly ever loved a stoic?
Confronted by his conviviality
cynics think rather jealously:
'It's just that unlike the lean
he's much too slow to be mean.'
Toby comes from London,
But he trains in Richmond,
Has a sporting degree from,
St Mary’s University pond.
Born on 27 September 1994,
And classed as a T33 sprinter,
He stuck it out at the UK door,
Until 2014 when he went further.
In Team GB for the first time,
In 2015 at Doha, Qatar State,
The World Champs. did rhyme,
With many sports people, fate.
Coming third he took a bronze,
So the next year at the Euros,
In 2016 in Grosseto, he had eons,
To win the gold against his foes.
So in Rio he collected silver,
In the men’s wheelchair race,
The T33 in the 100m scamper,
In which you grit and brace.
I haven't been writing as much lately as I'm working toward finishing my degree. I apologise for that but I promise good things to come!
This one is for a good friend and co worker, Ben W. He's not a soppy poetry kinda guy, but he enjoys his pipe as much as I do. If you get this reference, you gain bonus points!
--
Perched on a log; Old Toby sat;
His furry feet, bare on his mat.
He draws on his pipe; hot it glows;
And blows smoke in such small O's.
Silver whisps do take the night air,
From a heated bowl; one to share.
The scent of pipeweed; hints of spice;
Burns through the stem, and soothes like ice.
The heavy taste sleeps on his tongue;
Teasing his heart; filling his lung.
His head wanders to lands afar;
The Elvish girl beneath her stars.
He sips on his stem but twice more,
Then tips the embers to the floor.
Be taught to teach no rhyme in foot
Could I write A little neater tutor
a good writ does not think he pens paper
My spelling is what you say professor
Wrong no sense trying to argue that point
Can I take a stab at grammar ain’t where
Maybe I could do something else my coach
There is always faith to be like someone
Could be a pundit that was intended
I will learn from the best one of us all
I’m sorry Auntie that your love is now lost
You survived and feel all alone
The pressures in life you must endure
For your children are now grown
We went and paid our last respects
Viewed his lifeless body , gave our last kiss
Your life with him has now come to an end
Your marriage was full of laughter and bliss
He died to soon you must think
Twenty-three years was not very long
We shed our tears and said good-bye
Why I know you ask this is so wrong
He led a good life, you had a chance to be his wife
You will miss his smiles
You will miss his sense of humor
But remember he walked many miles
Don’t think of him as gone away
A new journey he has just begun and he’s in peace
In a place of warmth and comfort
I know your pain will never cease
Days will come and days will go
Dry your tears
For he’s better now, no more pain
Remember he’s an angel now with no more fears
Dedicated to Auntie Margie
11-13-07