Poetry for the Diet of a Dragon

dragons head 1

Tarquin the Dragon
Likes ice cream on toast
pizza and pie,
Rhubarb crumble made by a ghost
Followed by a nice Sunday roast
Deep fried
And marinated
In liquidised corpses of fly. . . .
And he will eat pumpkin seeds
As long as they are a bright bright red
And he once ate baked beans
By did not like them, he said
He likes iron filling with a hint of rust
And salt on his porridge is an absolute must
He will even eat tin
If it is served right
Wrapped round a grumpy medieval knight
Who as you might expect
Will complain when the dragon
Takes his first bite
He once ate three witches
From a Shakespearian play
And would have eaten the prince and the princess
But they both ran away
And he is partial to Poet
And says they taste of snow
And who could resist glow worms
When they start to glow
And every dragon
Likes toad and frog soup
Some anchovies and garlic
With an accessional Spaghetti hoop
And a big bowl of hot wizard stew
And a nice bit of Harry Potter gristle
On which to have a good chew
All washed down with some camomile tea
Accompanied by a bit of
Rancid fermented Bree



Poetry for a Woman who Writes Wizard Stories

JK Rowling and a Pointy Stick

You know that chap
No hang on it was a woman
Who wrote those books about a wizard
You know the one; they were turned into films
Or was it a TV series
And it had that chap in it with a pointy hat
And those hobbit things and an odd cute rat
What was her name
She has the same initials as that other man
The one in that 1980’s show who got shot
You know it was on the box quite a lot
Back then
What was his name
In sure it stated with a J or M
It was Jack or Jim or was it Dave
He was in that film about a slave
Which I’m sure had a dinosaur
Like that 1960’s thriller called DAMN I forget
No hang on I remember now it was Godzilla
Yes you know him.
Well he had the same initials
But a different name
Oooooo this is enough to drive a chap insane
If only I had a better brain
Anyway I saw her once on a bus
Or was it a train
No Hang on it was on the television
And she wrote it all in a café you know
Which really only does go to show
What a good cup of tea can do
Anyway she has wrote this play
About the same wizard chap
Who asks about the Thirty Nine Steps
Or so they say
And he has to find then as he goes on his way
Or he will end up covered in custard
No hang on that’s not right
He will end up in a curse
Which is quite frankly easier to get into verse
Ooooooo dear what is her name
Because whenever I wave now
While on the bus or train
She whispers to her husband
O god its that poet chap
You known the one
Whats his name
That poet who is

You know who I mean
The one who’s cat sleeps on his head
Yes the black cat called
Thingy something or other
No I’m sure it is not a dog

Hang on why has he drawn me poking a wasps nest?