Poetry for an incident on a diving board

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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

 

Bad Poetry for Snakes

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Snakes are happy
Snakes are cute
Snakes like to play
A minstrels Lute
They are rather good
At impersonating a deflating tyre
And a well played Islamic flute
Will always
A snake inspire
But they don’t like tap dancing
For reasons I think we all know
And they don’t chew their food
But just swallow it
All in one go
And a snake can be a bit of a charmer
But should not be trusted
As one once ate
The Dalai Lama
(You see snakes do have rather complex religious beliefs)
Some snakes are friendly
Some snakes are not
And I think we all know
Which one of those
That Cleopatra chap got.
But snakes have their uses
If they try
And a well-trained snake
Makes a jolly good tie

(Although I would not advice using a Boa constrictor) . . . A Boa-Tie HAHAHa hahah a ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha hah a ha hah ah ah ha
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Yes sorry I was in a bit of a rush tonight and the mind is still as blank as can be at present, you know what it’s like you just start thinking you are getting the hang of all this poetry lark and then it all goes wrong. Luckily I drew a picture of a chap annoying a snake (as you do) and thought hang on it must be possible to write a snake poem dead quick. . . . . . . . . . . . OK I may be wrong.

Poetry for not having enough TIME

flower and Moth

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It seems now that summers here
I have so many things to DO
Like feed the birds
Feed the cats
And stick antlers on them both with GLUE
And the grass grows faster
Than any man would like to SEE
So I have to get the lawn mower working
As well as trim several bits of TREE
Plus make a cardboard Trojan horse
Which I said I would do ages AGO
And hunt under rocks and stuff
Looking for newts and frogs
And other amphibians
To paint strange colours
For the local village summer SHOW
And who has not got a tortoise
Stuck on the garage ROOF
Or problems in their attic
From some demonic monster
With a cloven HOOF
Or a dripping TAP
Or aphids taking a little NAP
While sucking SAP
On the rose
Which was a gift from
Your favourite (scary) GRAN- NEEEEE
Because as we all know
When she comes to visit
It’s the first thing she wants to SEE.
And the greenhouse needs water
As the tomatoes start to WILT
And my working model
Of the Grand Union Canal
Is filling up with SILT
And I do need the odd cup of tea
And a bacon butty or maybe TWO
And the leopard has escaped again
From the local ZOO
And if it attacks Grannies rose
She will be in a terrible RAGE
So I will run off now for a bit
To help get it
Back in its
CAGE

 

A chaps work is never done
Maybe a cup of tea first.

Right that’s THAT
The leopard has been caught
Using my gardening HAT
. . . . . .(yes if you wondering, it tried to attack my head)

 

 

And now I must finish my poetry
Because tonight I am off out to see
Friends and to have a Chicken DHANSAK
Which they will run off and buy
And then bring BACK

to me

Hang On what do you mean
The poetry is rubbish . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
I don’t think you appreciate
How much I have to do
I still have to paint a
Zombie Gnomes wheelbarrow
Bright blue
I know what you think
But it is quite true
He is a friendly chap
And I have called him
Hugh

OOOOoooo time for another cup of tea…

Poetry for Ron Weasley and Miss Granger

This is an old poem from my Harry Potter poetry days, but it is still one of my favourite ones. I rather liked writing Harry Potter Poetry although I am not entirely sure what Mrs J K Rowling would make of it all. I suspect she might look slightly amused, but think I am mad.
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I have reason to believe that any Owls or Pussy Cats reading this may consider suing on the grounds of plagiarism, however I am a penniless poet so all I can say is it is just not worth it.

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Ron Weasley and Miss Granger went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in the hand written curse of the goat.
Hermione looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
“O lovely Ronnie! O Ronnie, my love,
What a Gingery Wizard you are,
You are,
You are!
What a gingery Wizard you are!”
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II
Ron Weasley said to Miss Granger, “You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land that Gandalf knows
And there in a wood Voldemort stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
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III
“Dear Voldemort, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?” Said Voldemort, “I’d much rather kill.”
So they both ran away, and hid deep in the hay
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
Voldemort killed them by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
Killed them by the light of the moon

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DAMN another sad ending

HAH H HAH AH ha ha ha ha ha ha hah ah ah ah ah ah hah ahah ah h hhaha hah ah ah ah ah ah ha ha ha h ha ah ha h ha ha h h hah a hah ah ah ah ha ah ah ah ha ha ha ah haaha hahah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ha ha ha

Poetry for a Ballet Dancer in a Pink Tutu

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Gerald was a journalist
Who thought he had super POWERS
And would hang about at stations
Trying to stop trains
For hours and hours and HOURS
And was often told by the police
This was a silly thing to DO
And he was often caught
In telephone boxes
Changing out of his formal suit
And into a rather fetching pink TUTU
You see
He could not wear his superman outfit
Because his fellow journalist
Bruce Kent said
In a formal letter from his solicitor
He would SUE
And it is hard to believe and keep faith
When you are trapped
On that speeding train
Hurtling along the railway TRACK
That the superhero in a Pink tutu
Will stop it and safely get you BACK
But he did once save a cat
Trapped high up in a TREE
And the picture in the local paper
Was an interesting one to SEE
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Is it a Bird
Is it a Plane
No its
Tutu-Man . . . . .superhero sort of?

 

Poetry for the Chicken and Egg Conundrum

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What came first
The chicken or the egg
Or was it a platypus
With a wooden leg
Or maybe a huge dinosaur
Or a Roy Rogers
On his horse
Although it could have been an Alien
Who sort of got blown off course?
Or was it an Eagle
Sitting on its nest
Chewing on an Antelope
And knitting a string vest
Or it could have been a fish
Swimming in the sea
Then again on the other hand
It could have been a bee
Or it could have been something Large
Like an elephant or a whale
I think this question is a bit like
Hunting for the Holy Grail.
I mean it could have been the chicken
It could have been the egg
Or Long John Silver
Who emerged from his treasure Chest
Shouting . . . Shiver me timbers. . .HAR HAR HAR
As part of his pirate test
Or a small strange creature
No one has seen before
Which after hopping in a circle
Runs out of the kitchen door
Or maybe it was a tortoise
Which managed to beat the hare?
To a place that is not here
But might be over there
Or it might have been an ant
Using cunning, stealth and guile
Although now I come to think of it
I have not seen any ants
In a while
Or it might have been the ancient Greeks
Who were clever chaps you know
They invented the thermometer
And the garden hoe
Actually that is not entirely true
But they were very keen
On chickens and eggs
But which came first I wish I knew.

Poetry for Slugs and Dragons

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Slugs are slow and create a trail of slime
And can travel surprisingly far given time
Creating slimy trails upon your floor
On the carpet and on the door
And at night when you are asleep in bed
So you will find you wake up with a slimy head
And slimy feet and slimy hair
Which if you like slugs then you will not care
Slugs are friendly critters and tend to smile
Although some folk insist they are rather vile
But they really are happy beasts and like to sing
As they eat all your nice new plants in the Spring
However they live in fear of the scary toad
And will tell him the slugs are greener across the road
And when the toad starts to cross, to go and see
All the slugs will start to flee
In order to hide under your gardening hat
Hoping that on the road the toad
Goes Splat
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So when did you last see a dragon
One that breaths fire and smoke
Was it at the market last Friday?
Being pursued by a superhero
Wearing a long flowing cloak
Or was it battling with a knight
With a sword and bright shiny armour
Or maybe it was snoring
In a dark Welsh cave
Which certainly sounds a lot calmer?
The thing is dragons are rare
Having been chased up and down
Roundabout
And here and there
With their reputation for eating folk
Which dragons insist
Is just a terrible joke
Entirely untrue
A rumour spread by knights
Back in the middle ages
Then spread by the writers of books
Troublesome cooks
And even a flock of mischievous rooks