Why do herds
suddenly appear…?
Maybe it’s because you’re a farmer carrying a large bale of… hey!
What?
Those cows.
Yes?
They’re herding this way.
Ah! I see, you are a punster.
Yes, and the name farmer is derived from the old ‘Fermor’ which meant tax-collector.?
But, my name is not Farmer it’s Doug. And I have a shovel.
“Clang!”
Touché, Doug.
That’s Mr. Doug, to you.
Touché, Mr. Doug.
Précisément!
Queen Mary was hairy
Queen Jane was plain
Queen Anne was a man
Queen Caroline was…
… well, a porcupine?
… Queen Sue was not a gnu
“Who? We’ve never had a Queen Sue!”
Oh.
Well, Queen Alexandra was… a candelabra
… Queen Josephine sold paraffin
to a puffin
that had considerably less than nuffin’
Queen Gertrude
(of Hamlet fame)
was particularly rude
to a fellow who interrupted her interlude
(and ‘he’ was particularly lewd!)
As for the kings…
There was an old woman who did,
though what she did she always kept hid,
she brushed under carpets,
bought fruit at fruit markets,
and she’d polish the bedsheets, God forbid.
Some more on this woman who did;
she secretly kept some things hid;
she was a spy for the Russians,
kept house for the Prussians;
she walked a thin line, yes, she did.
Furthermore, about this woman who did;
she was caught out when trying to bid
for some documents old,
that she wanted to hold
and pass to her contact, Leonid.
Finally, on this woman who did;
she was caught by a man in Madrid;
he was a double, you know
agent So-and-So-So;
who went by the code name of Syd.
In the land of Yenom
all was topsy-turvey;
the Slemacs and the Snobbigs
ate potatoes for the scurvy;
the hurdy-gurdy salesman
couldn’t carry off a tume;
but the little six of Sdnomaids
sang sweetly to the Noom.
I’m Not Shakespeare – a song (W.I.P.)
I’m not Shakespeare
But, I’m the closest thing you’ve got;
My name’s not William
but I write an awful lot
just like he did
when he was alive;
I’m not Shakespeare
and my latest work
is Veronese Gentlemen 5.
My stick stock
has been depleted;
Napoleon was defeated –
where did he keep his armies?
Answer: up his sleevies.
“Groan.”
I was drowning when I wrote this,
please excuse me if the words are blurred…
I was there at Bosworth Field
when I waved ‘goodbye’ to Richard the Third.
I was lonely as a cloud
approached me and it asked the way;
I didn’t know where I was,
so I sent him off to Carbis Bay.
Off to the island,
an adventure to find;
a voyage by boat;
we love when we float;
(we think)
we wouldn’t like it
if we were to sink.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #Adventure, #Island, #Looe, #poetry. #poem, #StGeorgesIsland, Cornwall, Kernow
On any given Sunday
(for they are truly ‘given’)
you can find a person
(not a parson – they will be in a church)
in the garden;
or, if they are not there,
then they shall be found somewhere else.
I can say no more than this,
as even saying this
has stretched my resources
to near breaking.
PS this is not a poem
(even if it looks like one).
Who am I
to spoil
the sanctity
of the unblemished page?
Why, I am the writer…
… of course.
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