Wonderment...
For Elinor
Wonderment…
Si G Stratton
Published by Simon Stratton at Smashwords
Copyright 2010 Simon Stratton
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
What others are saying about Wonderment
“I don’t know what Wonderment is.”
-- Dr. H. Singh G.P.
“Jesus was the first publisher - a book called ‘The Bible’. He’s a billionaire now.”
-- Mrs. Tupperhockysticks, Grambly Lane, Surrey
“This book is simply brilliant.”
-- Howard Charles www.bookquotes4cash.com
Hello
You're amazing. Go on, stand up and say it. 'I'm amazing'. Shout it from the rooftops, jump out of the bath and run down the street saying it, write a letter to your nearest relative asking them to repeat it a thousand times in the Ra language of the Tibetan highlands to a bandashi goat while rutting a sandwich maker over and over again until they promise you free egg and cress bagels for life.
You see, life’s hard.
There’s war… there’s a boss that should be in a circus… there’s stolen yellow sunglasses with a tint of anger, there’s tablets for nakedness, there’s scribbled notes in the dead of the night that speak of money thoughts, there’s fun vegetables that fail their courses, there’s keys for light-bulbs, there’s a herb garden of fresh toothaches, there’s racist nipple hairs, there’s borders of rhythm and cores of Reality TV, there’s gaps where there’s words and words where there’s a WiFi link, there’s a man shouting right now that his arm fell out due to a leprous wizard, there’s a bunch of flowers sitting behind the laughter, there’s eight bottles of champagne in an empty box, there’s a pair of ski socks that you wear to prevent your feet from exploding, there’s a clock ticking down to the end of your life and there’s not enough time to follow the yellow brick road to your dreams while the bulldozer of time pushes you towards your grave. Look – behind you, there’s a strip of lights crying under your partner who is sharpening a blade to bury in your back while you cook a meal of lettuce and despair.
Life’s shit.
But you deserve to be happy. Others should be envious of you. Others ARE envious. I am, you sound awesome. Others should want to be with you or be you or be both at the same time. You’ll inspire others. You’ll do it again. And again. You won’t know it. You’ll be modest, you’ll be arrogant, you’ll be you. Brilliant and complicated. Loved and hated. It’s all about you.
You're amazing. People should know.
This book is for you.
P.s. What’s your name again?
Contents
I’m Worried About that E-mail I just Sent Because
I Went to the Doctor Because the Voices Told Me To
Old Lady at the End of the Pier What’s Your Story?
Don’t Start What You Can’t Finish
Part II
Cardiff Bay Hates Rollerbladers
Everyone Has at Least One Book in Them
Part I
Where all aspects of life are covered.
-A quick fable-
Above cold air too far to fly,
I once did happen to espy,
A bird struggling ‘gainst the cold,
With frozen wings that would not fold.
That bird did fall to the ground,
With more a thump than it should sound,
A glacial ball of frozen fur,
Scared to what might now occur.
A passing cow noticed not its state,
And on that bird it did defecate,
But what that cow did now excrete,
Contained an awful lot of heat.
The bird defrosted all way through,
Was warm and happy, it was true,
It began to sing out loud and gay,
When a passing cat stopped on its way.
The song was loud and easily heard,
And the cat dug in to save that bird,
It cleaned him off that saviour moggy,
Then ate him whole save that was soggy.
The story that I tell you now,
Is not ‘bout bird, cat or cow,
But if you wish some rules to follow,
I will recount the story’s moral.
A person who sh*ts on you when low,
Is not necessarily a foe,
And someone who’s help he does then lend,
Is not necessarily a friend.
And if you’re in a warm and happy place,
Don’t stick your neck out, show your face,
If you’re warm and happy there,
Be contented then with your fare.
~o~
-Sports-
Cute ball girl out of focus on my TV screen
Cute ball girl I hope you’re over sixteen
Cute ball girl when a shot is out you shout ‘over-rule’,
Cute ball girl I realise you’re not a ball girl at all,
Cute line judge the TV turns on you again,
Cute line judge you’re older than Tutankhamen.
~o~
-Technology-
I’m Worried About the E-mail I just Sent Because
I’m worried about the e-mail I just sent because I didn’t get a reply,
Were you offended about the syntax because words never lie?
Were you offended about the length, because quality counts,
But you know I’ve got money because you’ve seen my bank accounts,
Did I not put a smiley face where a joke was demanded,
Or did I put LOL which made me sound retarded.
I still want the egg whisk,
I really do,
But I don’t want to blow the sale,
Because I put ‘Kind Regards’ instead of ‘Thank you’.
I’m worried about the e-mail, I didn’t get a reply,
You’re the cute girl in the office and this is no lie,
I checked and I’m pretty sure it’s not sexual harassment
To ask if I look good with my ass bent
Over the photocopier, but apparently it is.
~o~
~o~
-Health-
I Went to the Doctor Because the Voices Told Me To
I went to the doctor because the voices told me to,
He said, ‘You’re hearing things, punch me in the face.’ So I did.
It turns out he didn’t actually say that.
Or that I should pull his trousers down and sleep with him while he was unconscious.
~o~
-Old Age-
Old Lady at the End of the Pier What’s Your Story?
Old lady at the end of the pier what’s your story?
When you were young, did you teach yourself how to act,
Get your bags packed,
And head into London looking for glory?
Did you think you would meet all the stars there,
Dance with Ginger Rogers and meet Fred Astaire?
Did you start off small, and find a nice a pub,
Acting out new plays above the hubbub?
Did an agent discover you who wasn’t an agent at all,
But a pimp with a suit on, playing you for a fool.
But you weren’t to be fooled, oh no, you knew his game,
You got out, but too late – with an addiction to cocaine.
Did your best friend, at the pub, die of Aids,
Which upset you, and all the other barmaids,
Did your addiction get worse, until to get a fix,
You went back to the pimp and started turning tricks.
Did a real agent come along – he loved you – he’d seen you act,
But the pimp told him you’re a prostitute and he tore up the contract.
Did you have no money, and no way to escape,