A Bellyful of Laughs - Helen Laycock

A Bellyful of Laughs


Life getting you down?


Cheer yourself up with this collection of endorphin-inducing, some may say, hilarious poetry.


Some may not.


Warning: those with a weak heart should refrain from indulging in such frivolity.


Sugar and Spice

Our Arnie’s had a crisis – it’s what you get mid-life.

He wants to borrow all my frocks and dress like me, his wife.


At first he wasn’t serious; I thought it was a laugh

until I found a rug of hair clinging to the bath.


Our Arnie’s chest and armpits were shaved smooth as a plum.

His legs took on a lustrous shine, and as for Arnie’s bum…


He took himself to Debenhams, the big department store,

and came home with some frilly pants and a bra (size forty-four).


He was doing DIY for me, hanging up a rail,

when I heard his deep voice growl lament, ‘Oh no, I’ve broke a nail!’


He took my silver dancing shoes which really made me rankle.

Still, he got comeuppance proper good when he twisted his left ankle.


He’s been wearing false black eyelashes which he flutters, bats and blinks

and he leaves his plucked out eyebrow hairs scattered round the sink.


He now sits with his knees pressed tight and has bought a lace nightgown.

His pinkie sticks out when he drinks and he leaves the loo seat down.


When he saw his birthday gift from me, he thought he’d gone to heaven –

said he’d always wanted a make-up bag filled with Number Seven.


He’s discovered Long Tall Sally, a shop for those who’re big

and he bagged himself a bargain – his own long ginger wig.


I’ll have to learn to live with it. He wants to be called ‘Hilda’,

but I don’t know how his workmates feel. His day job is a builder.

One of my adventures...

Jonathan Pinnock has published one of my poems on his fabulous new website, 'Spilling Cocoa Over Martin Amis' which invites poets of humorous poetry to submit.


I often take pen to paper when something peculiar happens in my life. It’s good to see the funny side of situations!


Fortunately, I no longer bear the emotional scars.


Feel free to like or comment (not about my riding skills… obviously).


If you want to hear more of my adventures, why not visit my BLOG?

Chomp Champ


Her smile was sincere and beguiling,

but most noteworthy lay underneath.

(In dentists’ historical filing

are reports of my grandmother’s teeth.)


Her dentures weren’t just acrobatic

and musical’s shy of the mark;

their adventures were often dramatic,

like ‘that time’ with the pug in the park.


Artists and players adored her,

devouring the raucous applause…

Of course, when they then turned towards her,

the clamorous source was her jaws.


Invaluable, Gran was, each Yuletide –

shunning scissors, she tore off the tape.

While we carolled and wrapped at the fireside,

she’d sit with her portal agape.


It was not just the porcelain prowess –

her tongue was a muscular beast

which attained an award while at Powys

for a challenging gobstopper feast.


Limp and lifeless, ’til called into play

then the tension and strength would abound.

The range of its outward display

had globally broken ground.


With oral-isation cohesive,

each element did its darn best,

but, at times, a fail in adhesive

meant Granny was put to the test:


a pip or a seed deftly burrowed,

along with a stale Hovis crumb,

into granny’s soft wobbly furrows

impeded her skill. ‘Ow, my gum!’


‘I’ve got summat lodged in me molar!’

Granny’d shout as she spat out her gnashers.

Our drill was to drop her and roll her,

then she’d tell us that we were all ‘smashers’.


Alas, Granny’s no longer with us

but her memory always lives on…

though what sometimes gives us the shivers

is her teeth have not sung their swansong.


They are something of exercise bunnies

doing park runs and parkour and tricks.

The dogs get a run for their money

now they’ve mastered the fetching of sticks.

Published by Visual Verse, March 2018

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