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Ode Humorous Poems | Ode Poems About Humorous

These Ode Humorous poems are examples of Ode poems about Humorous. These are the best examples of Ode Humorous poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Ode | |

BODY TALK - REMOTELY

A man decides to go up to bed;
His wife is already there.
She had gone up early to read,
Of late, this was not rare.

Very quietly he gets into bed,
She is only half asleep.
This is quite unusual for her,
She’s usually sleeping deep.

He gently reaches over to her
Brushing shoulders and hair,
Feeling lower, round her waist
She had now become aware.

Groping low around her thighs,
Then returning to her waist,
Fumbling up and down her back
In ever increasing haste

He then so very suddenly stops,
Rolling over on to his back,
She’s unaware what is going on,
If he has lost the knack

“Why have you stopped?” she asked,
Her mood blacker than coal,
He said: “It’s OK, go back to sleep,
I found the remote control!”

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

If I was Leonard Nimoy

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would rush about the place, 
I would hold my long pointy fingers in front of me as I sprang from door to door,
My pointy boots deftly propelling me from shadow to shadow my pointy ears sleek in the dark,
I would wear an elf’s cloak like a slender bony wraith and be like Pan in the woods.

If I was Leonard Nimoy, ceaselessly running here and there,
I would fondle things, peruse things, and look under things and open cupboards,
A real nosey sneak, climbing through windows and going through draws,
I’d sniff other people’s belongings with my long sensitive nose,
trying on peoples clothes, reading their diaries, wearing their shoes.

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would be a real cheeky bastard,
Quickly rushing about, hands in front, cloak flapping behind,
Stooping like a thief in the dark, arranging dinner dates, making phone calls,
Then I would vocally abuse people and adroitly cut them down.

If I was Leonard Nimoy I would use my Vulcan logic to orally molest people,
I would line people up with my stone hard glare and coldly hurl verbal perversions at them
Willowy fingers, hunched shoulders, flat black hair, pointy ears, spikey shoes, cloak fluttering behind.
Expressionless, cool, thin and dexterous, I’d cause a right awkward mess behind the scenes.


Details | Ode | |

6 Second Trailer

6 Second Trailer

OMG
Did you see it?
OMG
Its...
I'm...
Oh
My
God

It's a fantastic flick
This is...
OMG

The full trailer?

It's coming
It's coming
OMG
So am I

Did you see her...
His...
Its...
Oh
So sweet
Gotta tweet
Gotta sleep

Don't ya love it
OMG

Who wrote it?

The screenplay?
Who cares?

Opening?

Premiering 2015

Bit early, eh?

What, the trailer?
Ya think?

Yeah, but
WTF
YOLO


Details | Ode | |

Ode to Emily

In the 1800‘s
Looking out from a window down through an old oak tree
At flowers and skies, cloudy grey or sparkling blue,
Walking through the waving green grasses of the yard.  
Mistress of words with an interior so deep,
Two thousand poems in the old leather trunk 
Until her death,  gently packed away.  
Only 7 were published while she lived, 
All anonymously.
Never wife nor mother, rare for those times
Yet, nature, love and death, their images and understanding
She placed in a few perfect lines.
Hearing  the larks’ songs, science and religion 
Modern thoughts in poems sent and rejected.
The Atlantic Monthly was  backward;
Their editors so wrong.

Now I can’t pretend I fully comprehend
Her interior expressed sometimes
Too weighty for me.  But the depth of those
I comprehend adds to 
My hope that a life constrained
 Whether by health or times 
Is still filled with possibilities. 
 And so she said
“ If I can stop one heart from breaking; 
I shall not live in vain.” 
Though a mystic and transcendent,
With her practical humorous side this ends
“Faith is a fine invention
    For gentlemen who see;
But microscopes are prudent
In an emergency!"
This little Emily is my ode to thee. 


Jared Pickett's The Ode Contest


Details | Ode | |

THE SCHOOL REPORT

Ha ha ha ha. Here's a poem for all the UK and USA school teachers who are writing any school reports - and they want to tell the real truth about their pupils!!!!!!


THE SCHOOL REPORT


I’m writing here a useful
guide
For those who’ve never
taught,
To help you understand
the terms
Used in a school report.

Teachers are most careful
when
They write the term’s 
events;
They’re honest but they’re
careful
So as not to give offence.

A “lively child” is often one
You peel off a wall.
To call him bad or even 
mad
Just wouldn’t do at all.

“Lacking motivation” is a
Coded way of saying:
‘He doesn’t lift a finger but
Likes gossiping and playing.’

A child that’s “lacking social
skills” 
In terms both straight and
crude,
Is one who snatches what he
wants –
In fact, he’s bloody rude!

“Lacking presentation skills”
Is nothing more or less
Than saying his work’s 
unreadable;
‘It’s all a scruffy mess.’ 

So when you open his 
report
Please stay that generous
hand,
Top of his class, or sat on
his a**e?
Make sure you understand.

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

GRANNY'S LITTLE LAPTOP

GRANNY'S LITTLE LAPTOP


Granny has a laptop,
its sleek and shiny new;
She gazes at it fondly,
and wonders... what to 
do?

She keeps it gently on 
her lap,
she really thinks its nice,
She doesn't like the mouse 
at all,
she's very scared of mice!

But soon she'll start blogging
and take the world by storm,
With precise posts on ecology,
and why our globe is warm!

She'll be in touch on email,
with family friends on the net;
And keep us all enthralled,
with her global tete-a-tete!

She'll engage in quirky forums,
and have a million fans,
Asking for her recipes,
of fish curries and flans!

She'll keep the world begging,
for her poetry and prose,
For her masterpiece in Egyptology,
for the stories that she knows!

So, get set darling Granny,
we're so happy you're online,
You're a Granny in a million,
I'm so glad you're mine!!!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

MY COMPUTER

MY COMPUTER


My computer has a language
That is foreign to me
It speaks of RAM and Gigabytes
And what could ROM be!  

I don't understand the Windows
My computer says are there
Nor the Gem Clip at the side of 
my page
Wth eyes that blink and stare!  

I don't unerstand the cures
That maintenance wizards do
It's called defragmenter, scan 
disk,
And virus cleaning too!  

Yet, computer and I work hand 
and eye
With a mouse to translate
The tasks that I want it to do
While it points out my mistakes!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

THE PLUMBER

THE PLUMBER

It was one day last summer
I needed a plumber,
Something was wrong with 
my water,
It dripped and it spurted
And sometimes it squirted,
But just didn’t flow out like
 it oughta.

I found Yellow Pages
And searched through
for ages,
I wanted a plumber quite
near,
No cowboy for me,
With an exorbitant fee,
For I was hoping he wouldn’t
be dear.

He turned up at three
And I made him some tea,
And he proceeded to check
all my system.
He consulted his book,
The advice which he took,
On faults in case that he
missed ‘em.

He prodded and poked
And we both got soaked,
As he checked out the taps
in the sink.
Said, “There’s a blockage
My friend in your drainage,
And your waste pipe has
gone on the blink.” 

I didn’t need to be told
That my system was old,
That was something I 
already knew,
But my elbows were worn
And my lagging was torn,
And my ballcock – that was
stuck too.

He checked all my heating
While he was eating,
Right down to my flow and
return,
Said, “I’m known in the 
borough
For being so thorough,
And you’re giving me cause
for concern. 

You’re pilot’s not firing,
It must be the wiring,
And your pump’s got an
airlock there too,
Your safety valve’s stuck,
‘Cos it’s all full of muck,
And I must check in case
it’s the flue.

Your boiler’s corroded
And pipework eroded,
And your tank, well, that’s
all gone rusty.
Your joints are all leaking
And water is seeping,
And that’s why it smells
rather musty.

Your thermostat knob
Is not doing its job,
And that’s why your
temperature’s rising.
With a system as old
And, may I be bold?
Well, really, it’s hardly
surprising.”

I’d now got the gist
From my ever long list,
‘Cos I feel as though I
am dead,
I said that I’d call him
The very next morning,
But I’ll call the doctor
instead!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON  


Details | Ode | |

THAT TASTY PESKY RABBIT

THAT TASTY PESKY RABBIT


I’m going to eat a rabbit,
that is tasty for me,
I caught it in my garden – 
and I want it for my tea!
The pesky little rabbit – 
ran and ran so fast – 
But I caught the floppy
ear’d beast – and ate it;
‘just like that!’

My name is Jeanette
Winterson, I live in Great
Harwood, 
I am a little eccentric – 
that’s what makes me 
good!
I grow a bunch of herbs,
and I hope to grow more
veg,
Before those pesky rabbits – 
come leaping over my 
hedge!

The people have gone mad – 
on my Twitter page – 
It is so very evident – they 
are all in a rage!
I only culled a rabbit – it 
tasted very good,
Just the way I like it – and
how I knew it would! 

So hear me pesky rabbit – 
I’ll call for Elmer Fudd – 
He shall be my dinner guest – 
and you’ll taste really good! 
So keep your paws to yourself – 
or you’ll end up in a stew –
I kid you not, Mr Rabbit – 
my dish is calling you!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON   


Details | Ode | |

THE GRUMBLE FAMILY

THE GRUMBLE FAMILY



There's a family nobody likes to meet;
They live, it is said, on Complaining Street
In the city of Never-Are-Satisfied,
The River of Discontent beside.

They growl at that and they growl at this;
Whatever comes, there is something amiss;
And whether their station be high or humble,
They are all known by the name of Grumble.

The weather is always too hot or cold;
Summer and winter alike they scold.
Nothing goes right with the folks you meet
Down on that gloomy Complaining Street.

They growl at the rain and they growl at 
the sun;
In fact, their growling is never done.
And if everything pleased them, there isn't 
a doubt
They'd growl that they'd nothing to grumble 
about!

But the queerest thing is that not one of the 
same
Can be brought to acknowledge his family 
name;
For never a Grumbler will own that he
Is connected with it at all, you see.

The worst thing is that if anyone stays
Among them too long, he will learn their ways;
And before he dreams of the terrible jumble
He's adopted into the family of Grumble.

And so it were wisest to keep our feet
From wandering into Complaining Street;
And never to growl, whatever we do,
Lest we be mistaken for Grumblers, too.

Let us learn to walk with a smile and a song,
No matter if things do sometimes go wrong;
And then, be our station high or humble,
We'll never belong to the family of Grumble!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

LITTLE JACK HORNER - REVISED

LITTLE JACK HORNER...REVISED!!!!



Little Jack Horner sat in the 
corner
With hamburger, cola and 
chips,
Then ice cream and jelly, 
in front of the telly,
Fresh fruit never passes his
 lips.

To school in the car, although 
it’s not far,
Then home at the end of the 
day,
A snack before tea, in front of 
TV,
Though friends call and want 
him to play.

But Mother’s afraid, in the park 
if he played,
He may be approached by a 
stranger,
And kicking a ball, he might trip 
and fall,
And riding a bike’s fraught with 
danger.

So safe in his chair, no fun or 
fresh air,
Each day he grows fatter and 
fatter,
His peers taunt him and tease, 
because he’s obese,
But his mum says that size 
doesn’t matter.

But this is untrue, and as the 
lad grew,
Young Jack wished that he 
could be thinner,
Girls seldom go out with boys 
who are stout, 
Well, only to let them buy 
dinner.

Jack wanted a date, so he 
planned to lose weight,
With exercise, will power
and diet,
And eighteen months on, 
with blubber all gone,
At social events he’s a riot!

A bonus it’s true, is he feels
better too,
His health has improved
without doubt,
But if mothers were wise, 
would this problem arise?
Be sensible – let them play 
out.

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

A COMMUNICATION PROBLEM

A rubbish/garbage collector is driving along a street picking up wheelie bins and emptying them into his compactor.

He goes to one house where the bin hasn’t been left out, and in the spirit of kindness, and after having a quick look about the bin, he gets out of his truck goes to the front door and knocks. There’s no answer.

Being a kind and conscientious bloke, he knocks again – much harder. Eventually a Japanese man comes to the door. “Harro!” says the Japanese man.

“Gidday, mate!

Where’s ya bin?” asks the collector.

“I bin on toiret,” explains the Japanese bloke, a bit perplexed.

Realising the fellow had misunderstood him, the bin man smiles and tries again.

“No! No! Mate, Where’s your dust bin?”

“I dust been to toiret, I toll you!” says the Japanese man, still perplexed.

“Listen,” says the collector, “You’re misunderstanding me. I mean, where’s your wheelie bin?”

“OK, OK.” Replies the Japanese man with a sheepish grin, and whispers in the collector’s ear.” I wheelie bin having sex wiffa wife’s sista!”

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

A FRUITLESS QUEST

A FRUITLESS QUEST


You cannot be loved by
everyone,
No matter how hard you
try.
You may think you’re 
unique, quite special, a 
star,
That for you normal rules
don’t apply.

But in truth there are 
others much like you,
Be they as different as
fruits on a tree,
Round apples, curved
bananas, satsumas and
pears
And grapes that are small
as can be.

Take me, as a personal
example, 
I’m a peach, juicy, quite
fuzzy and round.
The problem is that I’ve
very thin skin
And am easily bruised, I
have found.

People take peaches for
granted. 
They expect softness and
things to be sweet.
I have felt so hurt and 
frustrated,
That I’ve decided to vote
with my feet.

So I switched and became
a grapefruit.
Still round, but thick-skinned
and incredibly sour,
I waited while folks tried to
sweeten me up
And I made them afraid with
my power.

But beneath this thick-skin,
If I’m honest,
As a grapefruit I’m just second
rate.
I will always be a first-class
peach;
It’s hard being something you
ain’t!

My advice is to realise early,
You won’t be to everyone’s
taste.
So in this great fruit basket 
that we call life,
Don’t let yourself go to waste.   
 
BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

A GRUMPY GUIDE TO 2014

A GRUMPY GUIDE TO 2014 !


There’s too much change in life today,
But what’s improved – no one can say?
My memories, now, are just a haze,
But I prefer…the good old days!

It once was fun to own a car,
On roads today – you don’t get far!
You’re on your way to view the sights,
But all you’ll see is traffic lights!

There’s nothing for you on TV,
Just this and that celebrity,
The films are always blood and guts,
Enough to drive a sane man nuts!

You can’t find goods in any shops,
Your size or shade, they’ve not got stocks
The internet is where you try,
Good services – we’ve kissed goodbye!

I settle bills the old cash way,
It’s plastic now, that’s how you pay!
They offer cashback – is that true?
You buy something – then they pay you!

They keep us queuing at the bank,
You’d think good customers – they’d thank!
But when, up to the front, you’ve nosed,
They show a sign…position closed!

We live in this computer age,
You soon won’t need the written page,
Now what you see is what you get,
I’ve seen it all – and nothing yet!

Those mobile phones are everywhere,
You hear their gossip – they don’t care!
Some bury phones in graves, its said
So folk can phone back from the dead!

I moan about it but who cares?
I’m sure it will all end in tears.
Don’t try to change me, no one can
I’m just an old and grumpy man!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON   


Details | Ode | |

SHOPPING AT ASDA

SHOPPING AT ASDA


Welcome to Asda, we say
that so true,
There are bargains galore,
for me and for you.
When you walk in there –
there is a TV screen,                 
It really is the place to be –
the supermarket, supreme.
 
You can go and admire
those strawberries, and
lovely fresh baked bread,
But do watch those prices
 – it really has to be said.
All them fresh cream cakes –
oh they look so nice,
I’d eat the blinking lot of
them – especially the
vanilla slice!
 
There’s cooked meats too –
and all fresh fish that swim,                      
All prepared for us, by the
Asda efficient team.               
Walkers crisps I can’t afford
there’s hardly any in,
You shake a packet and all
you get is loads of air within!
 
From washing powders to
smelly stuff – a washing day
ahead,
But doing all that ironing is
something I do dread.
There’s the “Hi-De-Hi” on the
microphone, who does greet
you as you walk in,
But having such high prices –
it really is a sin.
 
You can even shop for underwear
 – a pair of frilly knickers –
While I do justice to a pair – of
very trendy kickers!
There are sexy panties all on sale
and lots of bras to suit,
Oh the thought of buying these –
then saying they look cute!
 
Then you make that journey – to
the checkout to pay for all,
But seeing those big queues – it
really makes my skin crawl!
Looking all around me at the
people on their phones,
Oh, what do they all look like –
like living human clones!
 
Everyone’s so happy – as the
tills go jingle, jingle, jingle,
I bet them married folk I see –
do wish they were single!
Standing in the queue – I wait
my turn with glee,
Then I say; “I’m an MP – and
all my shopping’s free!”
 
My shopping is now all                      
done, so now I head off
home –
But I’ve got to face them
bus drivers – the ones
who make me moan!
They are so very miserable,
and they never ever smile,
My god when I try to board 
one - I just want to run a
mile.
 
But now I’m safely home –
and a cup of tea I’ll make,
And what makes it taste
even better -  a tasty Asda
cream cake.
Oh the joys of shopping at
Asda – is something we
should cherish –
Before all those low prices,
altogether vanish!  
 
 
BY
DARRYL ASHTON
    


Details | Ode | |

BECKS TO THE FUTURE

‘Father dear,’ said Romeo in 2022,
‘What team shall I play for,
Now I’m grown like you?
Should I play for Real Madrid
Or should it be Manyou?’

‘No, my son, that’s no fun,
Why not play for Crew?’
Mrs Becks walked in and said:
‘Why not play for who?’

‘Oh my gosh,’ said Becks to Posh,
‘I thought you were in Venice.’
‘I was, but now I’m back in Britain
For a game of tennis’

‘Mother dear,’ said Romeo,
‘Sit down with us here.
The three of us can now discuss
My footballing career

‘Now tell me, my dear parents,
If I play in attack
‘What number should be printed:
On the Beckham back?’

‘Well my little angel,
If you want to play in Heaven
‘Where your Father’s dreams 
were made,
Why not number seven?’

‘But mother dear,’ said Romeo,
‘When father off to Spain did flee
‘In Madrid, what Daddy did
Was wear a twenty – three.’

Mrs Becks and Romeo
Both looked round at Daddy.
It was Mrs B who spoke 
And uttered to her hubby

‘David let us know, the number,
That you recommend for our dear 
Romeo.’
David Beckham cleared his throat
And croaked those words we’ve 
grown to know:

‘Wear four out there, Romeo?


BY
DARRYL ASHTON




















Details | Ode | |

WHAT CAUSES ARTHRITIS

WHAT CAUSES ARTHRITIS?


A drunk man who smelled like beer sat down on a subway next to a priest. The man’s tie was stained, his face was plastered with red lipstick and a half-empty bottle of gin was sticking out of his torn coat pocket. He opened his newspaper and began reading.

After a few minutes the man turned to the priest and asked, ‘Say, Father, what causes arthritis?’

The priest replies, ‘My Son, it’s caused by loose living, being with cheap, wicked women, too much alcohol, contempt for your fellow man and a lack of a bath.’

The drunk muttered in response, ‘Well, I’d never believe it.’ Then returned to his paper.

The priest, thinking about what he had said, nudged the man and apologised. ‘I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to come on so strong. How long have you had arthritis?’

The drunk answered, ‘I don’t have it, Father. I was just reading here that the Pope does.’


BY
DARRYL ASHTON 


Details | Ode | |

SUGAR SUGAR - WE ALL DO LOVE YOU

SUGAR! SUGAR! WE ALL DO LOVE YOU!


Sugar, sugar, how are you?
I'm not very well - my days
are through!
"What do you mean, your
days are through?"
"I'm going to be banned - 
by the do-gooding crew!"

"But, why is that, you are
so sweet, 
You make people feel good - 
you are a treat!"
The government says; "I'm 
bad, as I make people fat,
Oh, I don't know; "it's just
tit for tat!"

"Yes, I know that - but why
do they bully me?
Some people like sugar -
especially in their tea!"
"Please don't worry, I do have
a friend,
He's called salt - and he's all
the trend!"

"Come with me, my sweet
sugared friend,
We'll have some cereal - 
and start a new sugary trend? 
Ignore the scaremongers - 
they aren't so sweet - 
They'll ban everything - 
including fresh meat!"

"What shall we do, I love my
sugar?"
"Just ignore them - we have
each other!"
So both salt and sugar - lived
happily together,
Straight in the mouths of us 
all, forever! 

BY
DARRYL ASHTON



Details | Ode | |

PINOCCHIO REX

Have you heard the story of
That dinosaur long ago
Who, due to his strange
eating habits,
Was called ‘Pinocciho’?

He terrified the locals – 
He’s the one they dreaded
most
As he was somewhat partial
to
A little lizard on toast!

He enjoyed a long, long
happy life
And had the nose to match
And unsuspecting lizards
He would brag were an easy
catch! 

It seems his facial appendage
Was ideal to probe and poke
At poor old Lizzie Lizard
Who thought it was no joke!

Now lizards are not stupid
Though some may think them
so,
But they all got together
And said ‘Pinocchio has to go!’

So one day early evening
When Pinocchio had a doze.
They crept up to that tyrant
And clean cut off his nose!

The dinosaur was not happy – 
He couldn’t catch or eat his
food,
But the lizard was delighted
And he felt like a real cool
dude!

So, is this fact or fiction?
No one really knew,
But being a fan of lizards,
I like to think it’s true.

And take a look around you – 
That will be the test,
The world is FULL of lizards,
But no sign of Pinocchio Rex!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON 

  


Details | Ode | |

MEDDIE-TRIP

MEDDIE-TRIP!


I took a trip to Nurofen
Near Aspirin-by-sea,
And all along my journey
There were many sights to
see.

Like Anadin, and Panadol,
Two lovely seaside towns,
And a place called Alka Seltzer
Nestling in the downs.

We bypassed Paracetamol
And took the road through
Vick,
It was quiet in Menthalatum
So we got through pretty quick.

I saw the oil rigs near Hedex
Just past Solphadine,
And because of all its Olbas
Oil
It’s twinned with Aberdeen.

But now I’m safely home again,
I’m tired for goodness sake,
I’ve got a splitting headache,
But I don’t know what to take!


BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

A VERY NASTY COLD

A VERY NASTY COLD


I’ve got a cold. I must
admit – 
I’m feeling pretty low,
My head feels full of
bed stuff – 
I hope its quick to go.

My throat feels full 
of gravel. 
My neck won’t support 
my head.
Small tasks are quite
beyond, 
I just can’t get out of 
bed.

My muscles ache as if
some beats is pulling
me apart.
On top of that, my 
head is being stabbed
by a large dart.

I’ve got the shivers,
hot and cold.
No comfort can be
found.
I feel if a foot came
down
And crashed me on
the ground.

My skin is blotchy,
dry and sore.
I’ve got a nasty
nose.
My eyes don’t
function properly.
I hope this feeling 
goes.

Suddenly, just
overnight,
My body feels so
old.
I’m now feeling
sorry for myself.
Cos I’ve got a 
very nasty cold.

BY
DARRYL ASHTON   
    


Details | Ode | |

A REVISED NURSERY RHYME

A REVISED NURSERY RHYME


When Jack and Jill went up
the hill,
Had they gone Nuts in May?
Or was it just that boys and
girls
All just go out to play?

Did Georgie Porgie go to
sea
With an Itsy Bitsy Spider,
In hope to see Miss Muffet
there
Sitting down beside her?

And Old King Cole (remember
him?)
Loved to pat a cake.
Though many thought a
tinker
Or a tailor he would make.

Cock Robin (till its cruel
end) 
Expressed with earnest
candour,
That once while going to
St Ives
He fell for Goosey Gander.

Bo-Peep with Tommy
Tucker would
Go shopping with her
basket,
Out to buy, what some
would call,
A tisket or a tasket.

Diddle Dumpling (that large
son) 
Never got much thinner,
When he saw Ba Blacksheep
there
And gobbled him for dinner!

But Eeny Meeny Miny Moe,
Was in for quite a shock,
When Hickory, that naughty
mouse,
Got wedged inside her clock.

And Old Jack Spratt (who hated
fat)
Ate only what was lean.
And left his wife to eat the
rest,
(Which she thought was quite
mean)

So farewell to these simple
souls,
(Including Baby Bunting),
While Willie Winkie ponders
on
Why Daddy’s Gone a-Hunting.

BY
DARRYL ASHTON 
  


Details | Ode | |

SADIE - THE SINGLE LADY

Sadie went to a dating agency,
And told them of her plight,
They took down all her details,
So they could get it right.

Sadie wanted a new love,	
To share her lonely life,
She’d sent the last one packing
When she found he had a wife.

‘It’s not about the money,
Doesn’t matter if they’re poor’,
Yet the first was nice, but on 
the dole,
So he got shown the door.

The fisherman was a real good 
catch,
He smelled of the sea and salt,
But he never once, took her out 
to eat,
They only ate the fish he’d caught.

The electrician was a bright spark,
His knowledge she could use,
A real live wire to say the least,
But then he’d blow a fuse.

The clergyman wanted to altar her,
And was much too well – behaved,
He just wanted to save her soul,
But she didn’t want it saved.

The banker, nice by all accounts,
Bought her an expensive gown,
But she lost interest straight away,
And he moved out of town.

When she nailed the carpenter,
She thought she had it made,
But he was only interested
In getting the new floor laid!

The magician was a tricky guy,
And Sadie lived in fear,
That he would wave his magic 
wand,
And make her disappear.

She liked the earthy gardener
Whose turnips won first prize,
And whe she saw the size of his 
Brussels  sprouts,
She couldn’t believe her eyes.

But the baker, was the icing on 
the cake,
Although an ugly so and so,
Not only did she like his Belgian 
buns,
But he also had lots of dough!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON


Details | Ode | |

ONWARD CHRISTIAN POETS

ONWARD CHRISTIAN POETS


(To the tune of; Onward
Christian Soldiers)


(It may help if you do sing
along!)


Onward Christian poets,
its time to call our bluff,
You can write with harmony – 
because you know your
stuff.
Write the rhyme my poet
friends,
Then you’ll start new 
trends,
Onward to annoy the folk,
and write some more sick
jokes!

(Chorus)
Onward Christian poets – 
writing as they go,
Waving to the crowd they
do – with Christmas time
in tow! 

Onward then ye poets, 
Christmas is now here,
See those decorations – 
why do we not cheer?
See those festive 
Christmas trees – and 
those fairy lights,
Dazzling on the festive
branch, a monstrous
sight delights!

(Chorus)
Onward Christian poets,
moaning at the sights,
They are not that happy -     
they’ve lost their human
rights!   

Onward then ye poets,
sing as you do write,
Writing all those poems,
it is your human right.
People will complain to
you, but you ignore 
them, true,
All they do is whinge 
and moan – oh I need 
the loo!

(Chorus)
Onward Christian poets,
we suffer writer’s cramp,
Now my failing eyesight,
where’s my bleeding’
lamp?!

Onward Christian poets,
battling PC crap,
But when they read their
poems – we give them all
a clap!
Writing poems of MPs, 
and about their sleaze,
Brussels spout their 
dictating views – their 
expenses we will freeze!

(Chorus)
Onward Christian poets,
smiling as they type,
But sometimes they will
admit – they write a load
of tripe!

Onward Christian poets,
feeling quite depressed,
All they want for Christmas,
is something very blessed.
Listening to the garbage – 
that’s on the TV news,
So we’ll write a whole lot
more – and then we’ll have
a snooze!

(Chorus)
Onward Christian poets,
running out of ink,
All that poetry writing,
sure does make us think!

Onward Christian poets,
off to church we go,
Singing all those Christmas
hymns, ‘oh diddly oh!’       
Oh we need a drink or two,
but we may get drunk – 
Give me now my sparkling
hooch – then we’ll write 
more junk!       

(Chorus)
Onward Christian poets,
we wish you all the best,
Not many can write poetry, 
so we’ll put you to the test!   

Onward Christian poets,
writing in the States,
They are all together – 
eating juicy steaks.
Lots of pampered poets – 
eating to their fill.
Now they’re full from
over-eating – now they
need a pill!

(Chorus)
Onward Christian poets,
touring in the States,
But they keep on writing -  
about their own mistakes.

Finally ye poets – they all
gather round – 
Writing about Good God – 
now they’re heaven bound.
Onward now and forward – 
they love their writing fate,
All aboard the poet train – 
and it’s bleeding’ late!

(Chorus)
Onward Christian poets, 
you we all adore,
So let’s all celebrate poems – 
we all want some more! 

BY
DARRYL ASHTON 
  


Details | Ode | |

THE LITTLE PUNKS - AND THE SELLOTAPE TEACHER

THE LITTLE PUNKS...AND THE
SELLOTAPE TEACHER!!!!!!


I'll sellotape your mouth shut,
you noisy little child,
I am the teacher - and I'm 
known to be wild.
How dare you rule my class-
room, you horrible little git - 
Now where's my sellotape - 
to seal your mouth, you horrible
little twit?

Oh, isn't it cruel? The headmaster
doesn't approve?
Well sod the lot of them - I'm
feeling in the groove!
We mustn't touch the little
sods, that isn't the school 
rules,
But I dare you step in my class - 
you horrible little fools!

If you speak out of line - or
naughty in any way,
I'll make you wish you weren't
here, I will make your day!
When I tell you to be quiet, 
that is what do you,
Or you little punks - it's the 
sellotape, too true!

So I've been suspended, I
really don't give a toss,
To hell with all them do-gooders,
and the bloody boss!
Those little punks, called;
"children" - are sometime's a
real pain,
But when I get my sellotape 
out - I'll do it all again!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON








Details | Ode | |

THE TV NEWS DOES NOT AMUSE

THE TV NEWS DOES NOT AMUSE


The world is full of doom
and gloom, no matter
where you go,
It does its best to inject
us all – and make us all
feel low.

Those depressing and 
boring newspapers, they
invade our minds so much,
As their insidious news – 
grabs you by the crutch!

There is simply no escape
from this horrible disease,
And all we want the papers
to do – is publish good news
with ease.

Even the TV news – it’s full
of death and scandal,
And it never lets up at all – 
I think they’ve lost their
handle!

Tales of destruction – and
of death – it can drive us 
all mad,
And all I want to do – is 
feel a little less sad!

One word, especially, it
really is an entity –
It pops up in nearly every 
sentence, it is of course;
“ALLEGEDLY!”

Those depressing and 
boring TV news readers – 
they really are well paid,
Because if they weren’t – 
they’d all be on parade!

They like to dress so smart,
there’s nothing wrong 
with that;
‘But all that is missing – is a 
silly, dapper hat!’ 

They think they are 
celebrities, that is strictly
speaking,
But when they read the
boring news – I want to
give them a good smacking!

So can I make this plea – on
behalf of the nation:
“Give us more good news – 
so we can have a CELEBRATION!”

Will my request be in vain? 
and be ignored by those editors?
As they carry on waffling their
“doom” and “gloom” – it really is
infectious!

BY
DARRYL ASHTON