Hello, I'm Joe Thomas,
a member of Shepway Writers
based in Folkestone.

.

shepwaywriters@tiscali.co.uk

.

I like to write short fictional stories but
my grammar isn't good
so I devised a form of poetry that suits my
shortcomings yet still allows me to tell a story.

My tip: Read to the end of each poem...

my efforts always have a sting in the tail!
.
When you get to the end of the first page,
to read more of my stuff
click on 'Older Posts'.
Ta Muchly.
*
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It’s Friday night in
the Rose and Crown.
We’re three beers up,
with more going down.
.
John, Dave and myself
for two hours or more,
have been debating
politics and the law.
.
Suddenly, for no reason,
I’m thinking of death.
Of that moment when
I take my last breath.
.
I’m young and I’m rich;
free as a bird.
To be morbid like this
is plainly absurd.
.
I’m wishing some power
would explain to me,
how I’m going to die
and when will it be.
.
Someone is listening
because all goes still.
No movement or sound,
then - a sudden chill.
.
I’m in a white room.
Where? I don’t know.
A woman appears
in a radiant glow.
.
She has a folder.
My name is clear.
She says kindly,
‘Your future’s in here.
.
But be really sure
you want to know.
You can change your mind;
and be free to go.
.
But once you’ve found out,
you can’t change a thing.
In here it shows when
you’ve had your last fling.’
.
Well, if it’s kismet,
I’ll find out now.
Whatever it is, it
will happen anyhow.
.
I open the folder
bearing my name.
My death is there,
the details proclaim:
.
Heart failure on
March 1st. 2008.
8.20p.m. is when I’ll
meet Peter at the gate.
.
I look up and exclaim,
‘That’s now…today!’
She smiles sadly as
she leads me away.
.
To his two shocked friends
The paramedic stressed,
their mate had died
of a cardiac arrest.
.
The moral is
simple and sublime:
“Forget about tomorrow;
enjoy this day, and time!”

…

Joe Thomas. 2008.

.
GREAT NEWS! That wonderful Chinese/British writer
Anhua Gao’s inspirational autobiography,
TO THE EDGE OF THE SKY
will be re-published in June 2008.
Get it from bookshops or Amazon (5 star rating).
Or, if you fancy an author-signed copy,
Email: anhuagao@tiscali.co.uk
.

LOVE...
.
John dies and reaches Heaven; soon he’s outside the gate.

He calls out to Saint Peter, ‘What’s the password mate?’

.

‘The word is LOVE.’ Peter replies. ‘Spell it out for me.’

Johnny quickly obliges. ‘That’s easy. It’s L.O.V.E.’

.

‘Thanks John, that’s all I require,’ says Peter, with a smile.

‘You’ve passed. Come through the turnstile.

.

‘You’re a member now, so you can cover for me.

Just guard the gate - I won’t be a jiffy.

.

‘You know the drill. If they answer right,

let them through… Into the light.’

.

John agrees and to the rules he adheres,

passing everyone until a woman appears.

.

As the figure gets nearer he wearily sighs.

It's his wife. She’s suddenly died.

.

Of a shrewish nature, she screams in his face,

‘Well no-hoper! How do I get into this place?’

.

John thinks quickly before looking at her

saying, ‘Spell Czechoslovakia.’

*

End.

Joe Thomas.

A Spot of Bother…!

Ted lifted the receiver,
it was Pedro again.
He managed a villa for
Ted in sunny Spain.
.
Set in beautiful country
in rough terrain,
miles from anywhere…
That was Ted’s domain.
.
‘Hi Pedro! What’s up?’
‘Bad news, Senor Ted.
George your parrot has
dropped down dead.’
.
‘Damn! My favourite
prize-winning bird.
He was still young. I’m
surprised it occurred.’
.
‘Senor Ted, it was
over in a beat.
He died from eating
rotten meat.’
.
‘Who fed him that?
Some idiot of course.’
‘No Senor Ted, he ate
off a dead horse.’
.
‘A dead horse?
Is that what you said?’
Oh! Don’t tell me…
NOT my thoroughbred!’
.
‘Yes, Senor Ted. He died
right at the start.
From the strain of
pulling the water cart.’
.
‘Oh dear, what water cart?’
Asked Ted, afraid to enquire.
‘The one we used to
put out the fire.’
.
‘Good lord! A fire?
What do you mean?’
‘A candle, Senor Ted.
It was unforeseen.
.
First the curtains
caught alight,
then everything went up.
There was no respite.’
.
‘So, because of a candle,
my house is no more.
Who lit the candle?
And what was it for?’
.
‘For the funeral of course.
It went well, Senor Ted…
All of the guests were
fully liquored and fed.’
.
‘WHAT BLOODY FUNERAL?
Tell me right away.
Who actually died
and was it foul play?’
.
‘It was your ex-wife.
She showed up one night.
I thought she was a thief
and slugged her outright.’
.
‘Well Pedro what more
disasters can you bring?
You must have thought
of everything.’
.
‘Yes, Senor Ted, that’s it.
But here’s the rub.
I killed your ex-wife
with your Tiger Woods club.’
.
For a long time
nothing was said.
Until Pedro enquired,
‘Are you there, Senor Ted?’
.
Slowly and clearly
his boss said,
‘If you’ve broken my driver…
Man, YOU’RE DEAD!’
.
End. Copyright February 2008 - Joe Thomas.

PSST!
I CAN READ MORE
OF JOE'S STUFF
BY CLICKING
'OLDER POSTS.'

Poets.
*
Could poets communicate in rhyme?
Probably, but not all the time.
It’s not as easy as you might think;
Could quickly drive a poet to drink.
.
To talk naturally in rhyming speech,
Is a target some cannot reach.
But it would be better all round,
If we paused before uttering a sound.
.
Speeches would take longer…
(Politicians wouldn’t mind)
It would slow down the hotheads
And be good for all mankind.
.
So let’s invent this new language
As soon as we can manage
Let’s spread it across all lands
For the benefit of man.
.
Will poets ever communicate in rhyme?
Maybe…. If given plenty of time!
*
Joe Thomas – 2007.