Here are a few nonsense poems written for my own amusement.
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The scat in the hat
I done a poo in a hat
You can’t say fairer than that
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I done a poo in a lake
A girl fished it out with a rake
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I done a poo on a lathe
It started out slight but turned into a swathe
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I done a poo on a cat with no legs
They washed it all off, now she sits up and begs
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I done a poo on a runcible spoon
But the dish ran away at the sight of my moon
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I done a poo on a jellicle cat
I wonder what old Thomas Stearns thought of that
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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
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I done a poo in a radial arc
You’d do the same being chased by a shark
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I done a poo on my doctor’s white glove
The aim had been mainly to show her my love
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I done a poo thrice a day for a year
To break a world record I’ve always held dear
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I done a poo in a patented style
The judge fined me dear for infringement of bile
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I done a poo on a rare Jackson Pollock
By way of critiquing that mad alcoholic
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I done a poo on some Japanese prints
My Hokusai’s hues have been subtler since
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I done a poo on some Japanese prince
He endured it with grace though the smell made him wince
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I done a poo on my surgeon’s cream bun,
Now a colectomy’s put an end to my fun.
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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
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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
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A Double Bed
My love, my coquette, once in innocence wallowed
She doth no longer seem an innocent swallow.
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My love my cock ette once, in innocence swallowed
She doth no longer semen innocent swallow
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Perhaps, my love, only in jest did my ode err –
Perhaps my love only ingested my odour?
…
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Posteri(ori)ty
The origami master, in folding never ceased
But lacking fresher spirit, his later works de-creased
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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…
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The artist’s ‘I’ dissolving, inner symmetry corrupt
The barmy origami magi airily…
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Fold here
↓
Erupts! A past origami magi rots… a past pure.
Paper upset at, orimagi magi rotates pure pap.
↑
And here
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Though in time fame, talent, breath depart us
As long as you inspire us, we live on in our flatus
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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
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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
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Greatness
If my shoes are caked in dandruff,
My jeans streaked with
Gobbets of earwax
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If I seem high, and with every
Loping step, I appear on the edge of falling
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If my voice is faint, far-away, and
My eyes peer at the distance through
A jungle of hair
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If I keep my
Turds in a bag
Or you see a back
Spattered with shit
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It is because I stand
On the shoulders of giants
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