Poetry for a Beast that Flies

bird beast 2

The perforated Pelican
Likes to eat cottage cheese and cake
And in Evolutionary terms
Is a bit of a mistake
Flying round in circles
From reasons that are just not known
And when I show folk pictures
They look at me, in a certain tone
Implying I am totally mad
From the outside of my skin
Right to the bone
But I tell them the beast is invisible
And that’s why they do not see
And I have a tame one in my garden
That likes to come and visit
For a nice cup of
Afternoon tea
Where we chat and pass the time of day
And laugh and point and joke
And the perforated Pelican
Tells me
I am a nice chap
And an unusual sort of bloke
MAD NO
Surely you don’t mean me
But if you do then you will see
When I set the perforated Pelican
Upon you
Or alternatively my huge
Mutant Android Bumble Bee
.
And yes it is invisible also
So
YA SUCKS BOO.

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Poetry for Witches and a Garden Gnome

Gnomes

There are witches
In the woods they say
That run about Naked
Both night and day
But I’m not convinced
This is entirely true
As there are insects
That bite
And in the cold of winter
The witches would
Turn blue
Although in the summer
It might make more sense
But even then
The undergrowth can be Spiky
And very dense
But being witches I guess
They can always cast a spell
So even dancing naked
Can end sort of well
With just a few scratches
From their faithful cats
But I bet even then
On their heads
They keep their hats . . . (The Witches not the Cats)
But one thing I know
Is you would never catch me
Running naked in a wood
As folk would snigger
If they could
I am sensible and confine
Such activity
To the privacy of
My stately home
Where I can
Run about naked
With my mate
The Garden Gnome.

Poetry for Science sort of

 

SAMSUNG DIGITAL CAMERA

Science it seems can be quite important
Particularly if you are an alien with a laser beam
Or Professor Bernard Quatermass
And his top notch scientific team
But slightly less so if you have a van
On Clacton beach and like to sell ice cream
(Like granddad)
All I know, which is not a lot
Is science can be jolly complex
And will mess with the thoughts
Inside your head
As someone explains time is just a paradox
And Black is really red.
And electrons are all just empty space
And the human mind
Will turn everything into a smiley face
And Polypropylene is a linear hydrocarbon polymer
Which once warmed up can change its shape
A bit like my
Auntie Grace
Who seldom has
A
Smiley face.
Even when she has been heated up.

 

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Poetry for an incident on a diving board

android and the seagull 2

The Kiple once called the Grustle a fool
When it hissed at man in a large swimming pool
Who distracted fell off the high diving board
And got left suspended by
His swimming trucks cord
The Grustle amused laughed and it laughed
The Kiple accusing it of creating a draft
The lifeguard saving the man
With his trusty pen knife
Cutting the cord the man then fell on his wife
Who below was filming on her mobile phone
The video ending abruptly
With a scream and a groan
And although slightly scratched and battered
They are now both stars
On YouTube so they say

Although it’s a YouTube video
The Grustle refuses to play

 

Poetry for Professor Brexit

Micro God Man x

The strange world of Professor Vatis Brexit
Is full of in’s and outs
Where people Stay
And people Leave
And some just sort of sway
It’s a land were leaders shout I’m in charge
But are chased by lots of other folk
Who reply very loudly No you’re not
And then throw them off Big Ben just for a joke
And others shout I am right
And you are quite plainly wrong
Where Icelandic folk
For reasons not known
Sing a happy happy song
Of course Professor Vatis Brexit watches bemused
As turmoil continues day after day.
Looking up from his desk
Winking at his colleague Professor Britstay
And saying
These British are as mad as a box of Frogs
In an Eccentric British
Sort of
Way

Poetry for the EU referendum

goat man C3

We have reached that day

Which seemed so very far away

The dreaded EU referendum vote

Which if we leave

Will cause some to cheer and some to grieve

And some to dress up as Horatio Nelson

While others will pretend to be pirates

Or spacemen or a pantomime horse

Which the rest of Europe

Will look upon baffled and confused

And tell each other . . . .

Well they are British of course

And we have never understood them

With their terrible Eurovison songs

And their silly cricket balls

And what kind of nation

Would throw wet sponges at vicars

Or play splat the rat

Amongst the village fete festive stalls

And why do they tolerate all that rain

Then complain about all of us

I mean have you ever been on their trains

Or their inter-city bus

But if they do vote to leave

Well it will be a rather sad sort of day

But it could be so much worse

They might decide to stay