Untitled Magic

Floating on the wind, wind, wind,
Life can be a grind, grind, grind,
Then quicker than the wind, wind, wind,
I realise that I’ve grinned, grinned, grinned.

Everytime I read, read, read,
Getting my brain fed, fed, fed,
I wonder if I read, read, read,
More often than I feed, feed, feed.


You see what I did there?



Jeremy is at it again. I wish he would just sit in the corner and shut up. Just because no one loves him and he has to look after my bananas doesn’t mean he should get all angsty and write poems…
But… he gave me this one and as his posts seem to double my page hits to 6 or 7, I thought FINE!


By Jeremy

Wrapped tight
In my chrysalis coccoon,
I close my eyes
Tighter still,
The spots of red and black appear
Upon my retinal diary. Here
I’ll stay
A day,
A year,
At least until my fear

Sweetest dreams
Are allĀ I pray for,
Tiny tunes
Is what I wait for,
Birds awake
To wake me too.
Heartbeat take
A moment to


The lizard

This morning, Jeremy left his corner for five minutes to visit the toiley. I went to have a look at his area and found: a bottle of water, a used tissue, and this notepad. I took a photo of it to prove that he is the untalented waste of space that I’ve been telling everyone he is.


A poem by Jeremy

Last time, I introduced you to the gang who work here with me at the Monkestry. I briefly talked about Jeremy and the little he does here.
Well, Jeremy seems to have enjoyed his five minutes of fame and has written a poem, ‘for your readers to read.’
I hope you enjoy…

I Cry
I cry when it rains,
Upon the tourists.
They have paid a lot of money
For their holiday to just be ruined.
Like that.
All of a sudden.
Not that it’s anyone’s fault,
Or anything.
I just don’t want them
To go home and then
Bad mouth our country
Because of the weather.
Monk Monkey forces me
To sleep in a corner of the bingo hall.
That is all.
And this is why
I cry.

By Jeremy