Personal Poetry
Personal       Poetry

Farewell Poems

"Pammy's Poetic Pregnancy"

The Mum-to-be in the following poem had all sorts of bizarre pregnancy symptoms. She worked in a unit for hearing impaired children and her hubby had an allergy to cat hair (cats one of her big loves), so they had to have the hairless variety, the "Devon Rex".

Despite disturbing aches in arms,

Nocturnal loo trips (false alarms),

Spud cravings; boiled, baked, mashed or fried,

You'll soon be fully mummified.


Advantages outweigh the bad,

(We're sure that you'll agree too Dad),

When else in life will Pammy be,

A 36, and cup size C?!


You've in your mind that Bump's a boy.

Whatever gender, what a joy.

If Dominic or Dominique,

You'll have fun teaching Bump to speak.


You know Bump's hearing's finely tuned,

As witnessed while George Michael crooned,

Perhaps his music you should choose,

To make your water birth a cruise?


Please let us know what baby's called,

If blue or brown eyed, thatched or bald,

If bald make sure the doctor checks,

It's not another Devon Rex.           


But now it's time for you to rest,

And ponder on your swollen breast,

We wish you many hours of bliss,

But come back soon, as you'll be missed.

"It's a Rap!"

This was written as a rap for an American music teacher who was leaving her home in France to go back to the States. The poem was a leaving gift from her student's parents. Best read with a heavy US accent, wearing a back-to-front baseball cap and sun glasses! The opening line was her catch-phrase with her students.

"Hey! Pay attention or pay the price"!

I got some news, and the news aint nice.

Jeannie's leavin' us, and all her mates.

She's heading back home soon to the States.


Six years in France, and she's made her mark.

Her singing and dancing goes on 'til dark.

But when that jet stream starts to fade,

Her rhythm through our kids will still be played. 


Yep, most of us think she's kinda funny,

With her daily fix of vinegar and honey.

Ask me, that's one expensive hobby,

You drink that stuff, you get a kid called Bobby!


Sure, she's gettin' blonder, and it's not the sun,

She swears blind now that she has more fun!

And our complexions just turn to jade,

As she puts us brunettes in the shade.


The kids will miss her, and that's no lie,

With good old Jeannie they were never shy.

She helped get their emotions out,

With a song and a dance, or a scream and shout.


Kiss her twice each cheek, wave "au revoir",

As she hits the dust in her Mercedes car.

Hope Broadway is your next etage,

Good luck, good health and bon voyage.

"Bon Voyage"

This was written as a farewell to a young couple who spent several difficult years living in a caravan whilst they renovated an old granary. No sooner had they finished the job than they had to leave England for a new life abroad.

We’re really sorry to see you go,

Sally and Callum…and yes, even Joe!

The village won’t be such a colourful place,

Without your cheery old, beery old face!

Along with Danny and Eric and Chris,

Your toils went into the house you’ll both miss.

At times it seemed it would eat all your cash.

Hurrah for the Granary, it’s made you a stash!

We’ll never forget the old caravan,

And how it shook every night!

Nor the wicked twinkle in your eyes,

As you set the heap alight.

You’ve left a mark that’ll always survive.

A bloody great skid-mark now graces the drive, 

From a handbrake turn coming home from the pub,

With the mark in Ben’s boxers a challenge to scrub! 


Prepare yourself Joe for a farewell treat,

With tassles, a thong and a garter.

Bend over right now and she’ll spank your backside,

Miss Whiplash tonight is Anne Carter!

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© Susie Verity 2017