Nonsense poems

Here are a few nonsense poems written for my own amusement.

The scat in the hat

I done a poo in a hat

You can’t say fairer than that

I done a poo in a lake

A girl fished it out with a rake

I done a poo on a lathe

It started out slight but turned into a swathe

I done a poo on a cat with no legs

They washed it all off, now she sits up and begs

I done a poo on a runcible spoon

But the dish ran away at the sight of my moon

I done a poo on a jellicle cat

I wonder what old Thomas Stearns thought of that

I done a poo on a fisherman’s wig

The volume was large as the meal had been big.

It took him three years to get rid of the smell

With the strict application of strong-scented gel

I done a poo in a radial arc

You’d do the same being chased by a shark

I done a poo on my doctor’s white glove

The aim had been mainly to show her my love

I done a poo thrice a day for a year

To break a world record I’ve always held dear

I done a poo in a patented style

The judge fined me dear for infringement of bile

I done a poo on a rare Jackson Pollock

By way of critiquing that mad alcoholic

I done a poo on some Japanese prints

My Hokusai’s hues have been subtler since

I done a poo on some Japanese prince

He endured it with grace though the smell made him wince

I done a poo on my surgeon’s cream bun,

Now a colectomy’s put an end to my fun.

Ludic

A lewd ichthyosaurus loved language so blue.

Dictionaries of slang he consumed till he knew

All the words queer and common alluding to loo.

Dick, ‘the sore arse’, a lewd English prof, to his zoo

Took a ludic thesaurus, fed that to him too.

Now with ludic thesaurus the lewd ichthyosaurus

Writes sonnets of love to a blue kangaroo

Foe’s Amour Met I

The belle of the ball

She cracks me a smile

I smile at her back

She cracks

I smile at her crack

She smacks at my bell and my balls

Smack the small of her back

A Double Bed

My love, my coquette, once in innocence wallowed

She doth no longer seem an innocent swallow.

My love my cock ette once, in innocence swallowed

She doth no longer semen innocent swallow

Perhaps, my love, only in jest did my ode err –

Perhaps my love only ingested my odour?

Posteri(ori)ty

The origami master, in folding never ceased

But lacking fresher spirit, his later works de-creased

The fading of old master in the art of folding paper?

The farting of old paper – the fate of olding parper?

The faster molding of old master folding paper ape a

sharper shape a paper raper apercuberotixoticktock tick tock…

The artist’s ‘I’ dissolving, inner symmetry corrupt

The barmy origami magi airily…

   Fold here

  ↓

Erupts! A past origami magi rots… a past pure.

Paper upset at, orimagi magi rotates pure pap.

  ↑

  And here

 

Though in time fame, talent, breath depart us

As long as you inspire us, we live on in our flatus

Eternal truths

You’re never alone with a mirror

You’ll always be big to an ant

A nomad would go mad confined to a home

Add a leg to a leg for a pant

You’ll never get eggs from an otter

A dwarf on a stilt remains short

A random mélange of beef, bird and blancmange

Never tasted like anything ought

Greatness

If my shoes are caked in dandruff,

My jeans streaked with

Gobbets of earwax

If I seem high, and with every

Loping step, I appear on the edge of falling

If my voice is faint, far-away, and

My eyes peer at the distance through

A jungle of hair

If I keep my

Turds in a bag

Or you see a back

Spattered with shit

It is because I stand

On the shoulders of giants

 

 

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