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Skomer poems

Well, now there are some "new" old poems... ones I have dug out of the old visitor book over the course of this summer. Only really of interest to people who have had the pleasure of being volunteers, as a few are distinctly odd!

Contents:

  1. What's the point?
  2. Silverweed
  3. Ode to Fred Tractor
  4. Volunteers
  5. Leaving
  6. Ode to a Chemical Toilet
  7. Slug,slug,slug...

What's the Point?

I'm a puffin with a purpose

Flying out to sea

To get a load of little fish

To feed the family.

I'm a puffin with a beer-gut

Outside the Blue Eight Arms, 1

Who's gone to meet his puffin mates

And show the chicks my charms.

 

 

CHORUS

We're puff, puff, puffins

Standing in a row

We're puff, puff, puffins

Guarding our burr-ows

We've all of us a purpose

Though we ain't all quite sure what...

So we're puff, puff, puffins

Standing in a row

 

I'm a puffin with a purpose

Looking down a hole

I've a feeling that I live here

But, so's this Skomer vole.

So I'll scratch my head and wag my tail

And shake my silly beak

I'll go away and think a while

And let you know next week.

 

CHORUS

 

I'm a puffin with a porpoise

Chasing off a gull.

I think I got a bit confused,

Is this the Isle of Mull?

I'm a puffin with no purpose

Living on the dole

I have to fly to Milford now

To sign on my parole.

 

CHORUS

 

I'm a puffin with a purpose

To feed my chicks unseen.

They're watching from the warden's house

But I've a clever scheme:

I'll shut my eyes, fly in reverse,

And leave the fish at sea

They'll never guess what I have done

Oh WHOOPEE! Clever me!

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1BLUE EIGHT ARMS Burrow number of local pub on puffin study plot where "cool puffs" and "Hot Chicks" can be seen "hanging out". Site of social interaction on an intense scale by birds in the know.

By Miranda, Moira and Marion

 Back to beginning

 

Silverweed

Silverweed and sunsets gold

Bring to mind the days of old:

When life was whole, and so it seems

There was no need for endless dreams

 

By "Bob" (You know who you are...!)

 Back to beginning

 

Ode to Fred Tractor

His tread was wide

His wheels round

His coat was shiny blue

And when he put his throttle down

He thrilled me through and through

 

By M. Bathram

 Back to beginning

 

Volunteers

6 little volunteers

Learning how to dive

One got stuck in a lobster pot

Then there were 5

 

5 little volunteers

Cleaning the toilet floor

One swooned over the Elsan

And then there were 4

 

4 little volunteers

Gazing out to sea

One got **** on by a gull

Then there were 3

 

3 little volunteers

Boiling up a stew

One had to clear the mess

Then there were 2

 

2 little volunteers

Basking in the sun

One got baked like a lobster

Then there was 1

Who sadly could not cope alone

And retired, stressed, to bed

So now they have employed the voles

To do the work instead!

 

By Wilber (with very little inspiration!)

 Back to beginning

 

Leaving

Gentle valley to rocky ledge,

Loosestrife to ragwort, bracken and sedge,

Seaweeds and lichens along the shoreline;

Oh how I wished that this island was mine-

 

And yet I know this cannot be;

This island could never belong to me

For though my heart is steadfast here,

Etched into every cliff face sheer,

I would not always be able to stay

However much I wished that I may,

Nor does the island need me to;

Its beauty is great, but its needs are few.

 

For the island, like a bird, is free

And though it may not belong to me

I see myself in every stone

And know that I am not alone-

 

For many people have pledged their life

And soul to this place, in whole or in part,

And so we make the island's foundation

Within ourselves, with faith in creation

Of this love- that should we be gone long

Our hearts would be echoed in the islands song

For those who love will understand

This our voice of the sea, the birds and the land

 

So wherever you are, this isle can be yours

If you wish it to be, and so simply pause

To remember this love, for where your heart stays

This is your home- and will be always.

Anon

 Back to beginning

 

 Ode to a Chemical Toilet

Our day would just not seem complete

Without attending to your seat

We came to love your little ways:

Your handle that kept dropping off

Kept us amused for many days.

There's nothing like your special smell

We really liked your lid as well.

 

We would wait for fall of night

To make more beautiful the sight

Of daily visits to the pit

To empty you of "it"

And nearly falling in was fun

And we were sad when all was done.

 

We hope you never get the push

For something so crude as a flush.

 

By Ruth with inspiration from Max

Back to beginning

 

 

 Slug,slug,slug...

 

Slug,slug,slug

Why do you go so slow?

If I were a thug

Over you I would mow.

 

Toad,toad,toad

What is the matter with you?

If I were to write an ode

It wouldn't be to you.

 

Sarah feels bad for the babbits

The toads and the blackbirds too

I'll give you lots of biscuits

If you don't cover my floor with poo

 

By Hannah Talbot

 

Back to beginning

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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