Best Contains Poems
For a man of the cloth, our dear vicar
is not very partial to clothes
He is almost allergic to trousers
and y-fronts get right up his nose.
Ev’ry Sunday as he climbs in the pulpit
(where the choir boys are sitting below)
His meat and two veg are seen swinging
And it’s proof that he is commando
The ladies who bake and do flowers
don’t know if to scream or to peek
but Olga the Organist’s smiling
and she’s practising eight days a week!
At this year’s summer fete it was breezy
and the wind, I’m afraid, took its toll
His cassock blew up to his waistline
as he served up the last sausage roll
I've heard when he goes on vacation
He suns himself on a nudist beach
and his wife applies his sun lotion
to stop his tush looking like a ripe peach
03/14/20
Today is Pancake Day and there’s to be a pancake race
folk are on the starting line with a smile upon their face
Ted is ready with his frying pan, he is a fat old josser
but when it comes to pancakes, Ted’s an expert tosser.
He paces around anxiously and old Ted can’t resist
Getting in some practice with a quick flick of his wrist
Fresh pancakes get delivered by Terry who’s the boss
He’ll raise the starting pistol; Ted’s dying to have a toss
The gun goes BANG and off they go, Ted’s busy tossing away
busty Maureen's in the lead, if she wins there’ll be hell to pay!
Ted’s won the race the last five years, he tosses night and day
He’s had the trophy on his shelf and hopes that’s where it’ll stay
Maureen stumbles, her pancake drops and she begins to cry
Ted sneakily stamps on her pancake; he’s such a crafty guy
The finishing line is in sight, there’s just fifty yards to go
Ted frantically tosses his pancake, his wrist is fast not slow
Bill makes a sterling effort and comes at Ted from behind
tossing their pans in unison; Bill's got winning on his mind
Ted lunges for the white tape, but the race is declared a draw
Bill suggests a ‘toss off’ as there’s never been a draw before
Both men take a breather and get a fresh pancake to toss
if either drops their pancake then it will be to their loss
They both stand on the finish line and flip and toss like mad
neither of them will concede, whoever loses will be quite sad
A crowd gathers, eager to know who’ll be crowned the winner
suddenly a seagull swoops and grabs Ted’s pancake for its dinner
He starts to shout, he’s quite irate when it’s declared Bill's won
Ted takes it all too seriously, but Bill declared the toss off fun!
The farmer’s cock rises each morning
It signals a new day is dawning
His wife ignores him in bed
Says she’s got a bad head
Perhaps she requires pre-warning
NB I BREAK NO RULES POSTING BAWDY LIMERICKS - THE FORM IS BY NATURE ALLOWED TO BE RIBALD AND I GIVE WARNING THE POEM MAY CONTAIN INNUENDO
07/08/21
Today it’s Pancake Day and there’s to be a pancake race
Entrants are on the starting line with a smile upon their face
Old Ted ‘s ready with his frying pan, he is a fat old josser
but when it comes to pancakes, Ted’s an expert tosser
The gun goes BANG and off they go, Ted’s busy tossing away
busty Bertha's in the lead, if she wins there’ll be hell to pay!
Ted’s won the race the last five years, he tosses night and day
the trophy’s been on his top shelf, he hopes that’s where it’ll stay
Bertha stumbles, her pancake drops and she begins to cry
Ted sneakily stamps on her pancake; he’s such a crafty guy
The finishing line is in sight, there’s about fifty yards to go
Ted frantically tosses his pancake; his wrist goes fast not slow
Bill makes a sterling effort and comes at Ted from behind
they toss their pans in unison; Bill's got winning on his in mind
Ted lunges at the white tape, but the result’s declared a draw
Bill suggests they have a ‘toss off’ - there’s not been a draw before
Both men take a breather, awaiting a fresh pancake to toss
if either of them drops their pancake it will be a great loss
Both men stand on the finish line and flip and toss like mad
neither of them will concede, whoever loses will be quite sad
A crowd gathers, all eager to know who’ll be crowned the winner
suddenly a seagull swoops and grabs Ted’s pancake for its dinner
Ted starts to shout and stamps his feet when it’s announced Bill's won
he takes it all too seriously, but Bill declared the toss off was such fun!
Poem edited - originally posted in 2017
02/16/21
A poet, that's me I'm called Jan
Was NEVER a poetry fan
Now two books bear my name
Not for fortune or fame
I'll pen poop whenever I can!
If ever I am stuck for words
I resort to write about turds
Brown things that you poo
When you're sat on the loo
Poop poetry's not just for nerds!
A lady I knew called Griselda
Collected shoes just like Imelda*
But she’d such cheesy feet
When she walked down the street
Folk secretly called her Ismelldya!
*Imelda Marcos owned at least 1200 pairs of shoes
NB
After being on the site for over 7 years people are well aware of my style and love of writing the limerick form. If i write a bawdy limerick it is noted in the title and if folk insinuate my work is pornographic I can only pity them
I will not be deterred by bloggers and will not stop writing limericks or funny poems. I’ll never stop trying to make folk smile and have a laugh and forget their troubles for a while
1/5/2021
The dentist’s poised wearing his gown
I’m anxious, my face wears a frown
He’ll pull out my tooth
(Assisted by Ruth)
I’m thankful my panties are brown!
He powered up his dental drill
The noise from it made me feel ill
Bad tooth he requires
He’ll pull it with pliers
Then present me with a huge bill
Of dental issues I’m now wary -
I find gum injections quite scary
I should have asked Ruth
To save my bad tooth
For redemption with the tooth fairy!
I only wish my appointment had been at tooth hurty and not at 5pm!
06/28/21
INSTRUMENTAL INFATURATION
The piano man stopped playing when you walked in
And that’s when I heard the brass begin
The flautist was taken aback by your grin
And then I heard the voice of a violin
The drummer stumbled over his beat
As I bumbled over my feet
Then a sax and the trumpet came to meet
And suddenly the syncopation was complete
I heard the shrill of a single piccolo
Played sweetly and haltingly low
The mellowness of a melody began to flow
As the band put on a thrilling show
You were a bigger star than the guitar
As the bass and bassoon began to spar
The rhythm was hotter than steaming tar
As you and I made our way to the bar
Your sashay got an okay from the crowd
And the singer’s song was not too loud
Dancing with you made me so damned proud
Pride born of the beauty with which you are endowed
Suddenly the song was over and done
As you smiled brighter than the summer’s sun
The story of a song had, at once, been spun
And even the band knew I love you more than anyone
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Out shopping, I meet Uncle Billy
I exclaim can I stroke your willy
Feel free to pet him
He says with a grin
My willy’s quite cold brr its chilly
I kneel down and give Willy a stroke
And juggle his brown balls for a joke
Willy’s a rescue pet
Billy got from the vet
My uncle’s a dachshund loving bloke!
10/19/20
Yes it does!
Poetry contains
Revolutionary Power
It can alter landscapes,
tear down governments,
cause the populace
to rise up,
create a ruckus,
transform morals,
foster a new
way of thinking,
bring emotions
to a tempest,
entice new beliefs,
systematize evolution,
inform you,
all the while
functioning for the
good of humanity.
It's an honourable profession to be a locksmith by trade
I've done it for years and my work is A grade
I'm not one to boast but I say constantly
That I've made every key there can possibly be
Car keys, skeleton keys, master keys, house keys
You name it I've done it, I can make them with ease
That was true ‘til today when a gentleman came in
He was looking harassed with his jaw set and grim
'I want some keys made' 'Sure thing' I say
'I want 88' he continued 'And I want them today'
Well! that was a rather large client request
But I was up for the gig and I'd give it my best
We looked at materials available to use
Brass, tin, and iron - but all these he refused
'That's no good' he said 'They won't do' he moaned
'I want you to make them all out of bone'
Well, that was weird...but you know that they say
"Customers always right" So I just said 'Okay'
'And I want different colours' He shouted wide-eyed
'Some white and some black!' And he shot off outside
I stood there bemused at what had evolved
But then I realised the issue and the problem was solved
He was hopelessly mistaken about my position
What he really required was a kind of musician
'Hey!' I shouted after him 'Come back here if you please!
You need somebody else if you want ... piano keys!’
Yeah, I know ~ my poetic output contains a fair bit of junk.
But then ~ even God created something called a skunk.
In the works of all unparalleled thinkers,
you can expect quite a few stinkers.
Most attempts at art never attain great heights ~
most just immediately go ~ kerplunk.
I don't take myself too seriously.
If ever I did, it was only deliriously.
I'm a straight, middle of the road kinda guy,
with an IQ neither too low ~ nor too high.
And as to whether I'll ever do anything significant in my life ~
please stand by.
This is a limerick that contains no e’s,
Though that may be hard to believe.
But I declare it be true,
(Okay, maybe a few,
Cuz “no e’s” is really hard to achieve!)
The zero world
How the tide rises and falls,
How the sky lightens and fails,
How the wind peacefully goes
To the zero scale it contains - zero doesn't judge, it just exists.
(c) Maryna Tchianova, Ukraine
Copyright © Maryna Tchianova | Year Posted 2016
The very word "anthology" means
"flower-gathering", or "I gather flowers"
rooted in ancient Greek, to describe
the act of collecting
Perhaps on some rocky Athenian hillside,
a maiden and too perhaps,
a young strapping man
walk tentatively,
amidst the rocky slides
of life and lust,
to gaze at the beauty
of shining black hair, flowing robe
over curved bosom, and beautiful feet,
too sinewy biceps, strong torso
and voice, behind alluring smile
They regard each other,
as desirous lovers always do,
with wanton coyness
and amorous trepidation
pausing, from time-to-time
perhaps to bend and pick some
wild flower that bloomed on
antiquities hillside
He would hand it to her
and she would, take it in
for a few moments, then
warmly look at him and
carefully find the perfect
place in her expanding
bouquet of colorful hope
that she held for him and her,
while perhaps,
the sun slowed it's
interminable baking
of the earth, and grapes
and wood smoke
added ambiance to
the possibilities
of an evening together
collecting a life
one bite, a touch,
a gaze, a scent,
a whispered adoration -
one feeling at a time
© Goode Guy 2012-04-26