that I should read
a poem about
I wish, I wish
that I had ever written
a poem about a fish;
upon my dish
or swimming in the sea,
swimming up to me
telling tall tales
of Davy Jones’ Locker
and rare white whales.
So, where do I begin?
Sardines in a tin?
There is a difference between the two – if only we knew.
when a salmon is in the pink
it should be left to do what salmon do;
swim the sea to Wollamaloo
or Timbuctu –
isn’t that what salmon do.
As you can see
I don’t know that much about fish
in the sea;
but, here’s the rub…
know even less
One day at the auction…
I bought a folding fruit knife –
it was a bargain at eighteen pounds.
I’ve been doing the greengrocer rounds…
but, I have been unable to find
any folding fruit
it’s driving me out of my mind
and pushing me down the chute.
Well, I haven’t yet found
any impulse to buy.
Biggles gets the giggles.
One day, Biggles got the giggles and couldn’t fly straight; then he steamed up his goggles – he was in quite a state.
Algy and Ginger could only look on
as the pilot James Bigglesworth looped the loop – then he was gone.
“Special Offer – Limericks 20% Off!”
The forger did forget he was forged
Ate an apple until he was gorged
Copied a copious amount
To a bank note account
An Incident Involving a Dragon.
The Dragon flew out of the West;
a direction which surprised me, at best.
I’d been watching the North for a week and a day;
I was certainly thinking he’d be flying that way.
But, he’d circled around;
Surprise was a weapon he had,
And when he arrived
He various townspeople fried;
Unhappy they were to flambé.
As they say, ‘All dragons are awfully bad!’
“When is a Pilchard?”
“When is a Pilchard?”
When is a Pilchard not a Sardine?
When is a Herring a kipper?
When is a Cod not a present from God?
Should I ask me a fishing-boat skipper?
And what are Bloaters and Bucklings?
What is this fish that I see?
And why is it swimming off sideways,
has it some Crab in It’s fish ancestry?
Is there a place where good fishes do go?
To waggle their fins when they’re weary,
Do they head off to school?
Do they know about snow?
Do they call other fishes ‘my deary?’
When they swim in the sea,
do they think about me,
and write poems on beings with legs?
Do they sing of our ways,
as upon us they gaze?
an answer to these question begs.
“How goes the day? Swimmingly?”
Do You Read These If They Don’t Have A Picture?
‘Plinketty-Plonketty’ Peter Penquite (the second ‘e’ of which is pronounced thus giving it the full three-syllables of silliness – ‘Pen-Kwit-e’) was, shall we say – yes, let’s – quite pernickety.
Well, that’s a story for a post far longer than this one.