“Poetry?!
“What’s the point?” you ask,
rhetorically.
I move on;
and, when I’ve gone
far enough
away from you,
I recite a quick Haiku
or two;
maybe a villanelle –
who can tell? –
and I shall then end
with a considerable flourish,
on a rhyming couplet
your soul to nourish.
I went to the Olympics,
in search of this very long (and rare) species;
but, like all the other Lepidopterists there,
was sadly disappointed to find
that I had been blind
to the reality of the term.
Anyway, I’m off now to guess
the age of the dress event.
Our local church is haunted,
and there are cats in the belfry,
the font has a leek,
and the cleaner managed
(with some difficulty)
to get the stain…
out of the windows –
it only took a week.
.
On Sunday, when it’s raining,
the congregation sing,
about the whiskers of kittens
of the cats in the belfry,
all creatures great
and small mercies
that appear like birds,
suddenly, and without priory invitation.
.
Our local church is full of ghosts
holy, and unholy,
and one who boasts
about having had a conversation
upon the road to Damascus
with the separated head of Anne Boleyn –
.
if you have any questions,
about the above;
kindly go
in peace and love,
and if in doubt please ask us.
Crowd Anthem: It’s better than none,
it’s better,
it’s better than none,
it’s better…
.
Three lines on my shirt,
who’s to say I’m dreaming?
Nearly 60 years of Burt-
-(‘s son)
my poetic licence screaming,
.
I’ll chew on my scone
until it is gone!
.
Three lines on my shirt,
poetry lies teeming;
Three lines on my shirt,
my scone should have had some cream in;
Three lines on my shirt,
using a semi-permanent marker;
Three lines on my shirt,
the white wash will get darker;
Three lines on my shirt,
and that’s why I’m a poet;
‘it’s not a real shirt!’
someone told me, so I know it.
.
Three lines… (repeat until the very end)
.
On my shirt (add and repeat until the very end
.
… and one dry scone –
it’s better than none,
it’s better!
SD Repeat Ad Nauseum
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #NotSerious, #parody, #Pastiche, #poetry. #poem, #ThreeLines, #ThreeLions, Funny
Sometimes you just see words written down somewhere and they jump out at you in a perfectly formed song…. this is one example of that:
G. C. D
“Not to be sold separately,
G. C. G. C
Multipack, multipack;
G. C. D
Not to be sold separately,
G. C. G. C
Multipack, multipack,
D. C. G
Multi, multi, pack!!!”
It was a quiet day on Verbeaux Sanimaux when the Doctor arrived – the Tardis causing some unexpected excitement, that nobody was expecting.
The dust had barely settled around the (time and relative dimension in space) craft, before the planet’s welcoming committee (of three ducks and a black and white cow) had arranged themselves to greet the visitor (or visitors).
The Doctor opened the door of the strange blue spaceship, and leapt from within, to without.
“Hi, and hello!” he carolled.
The ducks and the cow – observing Verbeaux Sanimaux’s quaint, and old-fashioned, tradition – launched into the three-hour long spiel, that was designed to test the fettle and the mettle of newcomers to their planet.
There’s, a, seagull on me head,
and a pasty in me bed,
and I can’t remember what I did,
or said, last night –
and nothing seems to be, quite right.
There’s an anchor on the wall,
and a lobster in the hall,
and I can’t remember where I was,
or who with, last night –
and nothing seems to be, quite right.
I’ve a lifeboat in me drive,
and me oilskins number five,
and I can’t remember how I got them;
it must have been a night, last night –
and nothing seems to be, quite right.
The boat upon my lawn,
seems lonely and forlorn,
and I can’t remember if it’s mine,
it seems to have a Falmouth number
It must have been such a night, last night –
and nothing seems to be,
in any way,
quite right.
Knock! Knock!
Who’s there?
Cerys! Now hurry up and open this door or I shall kick the uggin’ thing in!
Cerys who?
Cerys Mattick! Now come on and open up this froggin’ door!
Ogden Nash’s ‘The Termite’
Ogden Nash’s ‘The Termite’ with audio
Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good!
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today.
Taken from PoemHunter.com
“We live in the “Duchy”not the “Ducky’” i said.
But, he was still chortling over “The Duckys!” comment that he had overused to the point of distraction.
That’s the thing about Grae, he never quite knows when a joke has gone past it’s ‘Best by…’ date. And ‘Use before…’ also, makes little sense to him.
No wonder he is often greeted by the blank stares of incomprehension, and then had to climb up them, reaching the very top, only to find, that at the bottom of the stares had been the place to stop.
And on with the next pun, please.
“Man goes, in a fruit shop….”
Graeme Sandford 