Best Odder Poems
...adapted from the novel 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small Channel Island,
a sampling of people just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all their disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring them together,
'if it works' are his words for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount these days
to keep those nay-sayers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him an angel,
the more good deeds, the bigger they grow
'til they're actually poking right out of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact they're all gone,
he need not prepare a disguise.
But this scheme that he's started gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens! he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what should he do?
he's conflicted, and lies in disgrace;
he sits down to ponder which way he should turn,
it's as clear as the nose on his face!
On the horns of a moral dilemma,
he simply gives in to pure Good;
he embraces his folk, he just loves them to death,
'til his wings are full-sprouted he'll
take to the air and keep flying
as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop for our Spirit, who knows?
...adapted from 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with
bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small
Channel Island,
a representative sampling of people
just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all those disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this
sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can
sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring
them together,
'if it works...' are his words
for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount
these days
to keep all those evil-believers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him
an angel,
the more he does good deeds
the bigger they grow
till they're actually poking right out
of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds
in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact
they're all gone,
he need not keep himself in disguise.
But this scheme that he's started
gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good
that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens!
he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what
should he do?
He's conflicted like never before.
He sits down to ponder which way
he should turn,
till it's clear, sitting right at his door.
On the horns of a moral dilemma
he simply gives in to pure Good.
He embraces his folk, he just loves them
to death,
till his wings are full-sprouted; he could
take to the air and keep flying
just as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop the cosmos, who knows?
...adapted from the novel 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small Channel Island,
a sampling of people just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all their disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring them together,
'if it works' are his words for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount these days
to keep those nay-sayers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him an angel,
the more good deeds, the bigger they grow
'til they're actually poking right out of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact they're all gone,
he need not prepare a disguise.
But this scheme that he's started gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens! he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what should he do?
he's conflicted, and lies in disgrace;
he sits down to ponder which way he should turn,
it's as clear as the nose on his face!
On the horns of a moral dilemma,
he simply gives in to pure Good;
he embraces his folk, he just loves them to death,
'til his wings are full-sprouted he'll
take to the air and keep flying
as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop for our Spirit, who knows?
(Froggy)
His big crooked smile; the bump on his nose;
His extra large feet with short stubby toes.
Eyes sort of popping beneath eyebrows bushy;
A spare tire middle with such a small tushy!
His loud guitar music; his funny guffaw;
His love poems so cheesy that fill her with awe;
His spending too much to save any money
Because he likes always pleasing his honey.
More froggy than prince, and odder than odd,
But that’s what she loves; he’s perfectly flawed.
(The Prince)
His brilliant white teeth; the cleft in his chin;
The beautiful body; the unblemished skin.
His elegant style; his baby blue eyes,
Manicured nails, costly suits and nice ties.
His house and his Benz; his deep golden tan:
All proof he’s a go-getting clever young man.
The many smart things to the right people said;
His time at the office so he’ll get ahead.
So seemingly flawless he just can’t see why
His girlfriend ran off with that flawed froggy guy!
For SKAT!
There came a Thrush
To Brighton bridge
To her cold downy snow
Covered birch woods
Floor planks marked
By hurried prints
Trailing off
to distance errands
In its beak
There a crimson flower
As odd its place to rest
How far it must have traveled
With such a treasured gift
But no more odder
Then the hurried footsteps scattered
Along the weathered floor planks
of Brighton bridge
How places seem so certain
Save to those moments
Made up of steps
And no sooner
in wings aflutter
There the crimson flower left
(a true story)
“Don’t make me go to Disneyland,” I cried
Fourteen years old with all the angst that brings
They made me go and something in me died
Depressed by all the fake and plastic things
The second time my parents made me go
Was in my twenties, Paris, lucky me
I sulked; I’m an aesthetic snob, you know
Too selfish to enjoy my children’s glee
The third time was the worst, the fuss I made
At thirty odd, made odder still by drink
I tried to run, got caught in a parade
The final Mickey piss take; now I think
I want to go to Dismaland! Bad luck
For can I get a ticket? Can I f**k!
by Gail
I hesitate to make it known but it’s true.
The Jack /Beanstalk story isn’t quite right.
Telling the correct version is long overdue.
Hence, herewith I will shed needed light.
Before Jack fled from the giant so scary
He spied a basket of multi-colored beans.
He stuffed his pockets with all he could carry.
Then went down the stalk with bulging jeans.
Safely on earth, he eyed the beans with care.
They were warm to his hand and had a sheen.
His father proclaimed them to be very rare.
And a professor said they had an alien gene.
In the following days Jack gave them a name.
He called them “Magic Beans” on finding out
If rubbed on grass they would burst into flame.
“Dangerous,” dad said, feeding them to trout.
Jack cried hard, his magic beans fish fodder.
When he told his friends of the giant and beans
They said they hadn’t heard a tale any odder.
And that’s the real story out of my dreams.
Jan. 15, 2015, Paul
...adapted from the novel 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with bold dreams
to make us all happy and free;
he selects as his target a small Channel Island,
a representative sampling of people just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along,
without all those disputes and fights,
he tries to bring peace to this sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring them together,
'if it works...' are his words for the day;
a sense of humour is paramount these days
to keep those nay-sayers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
there's discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him an angel,
the more he does good the bigger they grow
till they're actually poking right out of his shirt,
my heavens, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact they're all gone,
he need not create a disguise.
But this scheme that he's started gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been busy negating the good that he's done
he's turned Devil, good gracious! he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what should he do?
he's conflicted and cloaked in disgrace;
he sits down to ponder which way he should turn,
'til it's clear, like the nose on his face.
On the horns of a moral dilemma
he simply gives in to pure Good;
he embraces his people, he loves them so much,
then his wings are full-sprouted; he could
just take to the air and keep flying
as far as infinity goes,
so he bids the assembly a tearful farewell,
his next stop Uranus, who knows?
...a tribute to 'Mr Pye,' a novel by Mervyn Peake
********
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with
bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small
Channel Island,
a representative sampling of people
just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all those disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this
sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can
sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring
them together,
'if it works...' are his words
for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount
these days
to keep all those evil-believers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him
an angel,
the more he does good deeds
the bigger they grow
till they're actually poking right out
of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds
in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact
they're all gone,
he need not don a disguise.
But this scheme that he's started
gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good
that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens!
he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what
should he do?
He's conflicted like never before.
He sits down to ponder which way
he should turn,
till it's clear, sitting right at his door.
On the horns of a moral dilemma
he simply gives in to pure Good.
He embraces his folk, he just loves them
to death,
till his wings are full-sprouted; he could
take to the air and keep flying
just as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop Uranus, who knows?
...a tribute to 'Mr Pye,' a novel by Mervyn Peake
********
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with
bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small
Channel Island,
a representative sampling of people
just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all those disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this
sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can
sleep nights.
He practices witchcraft to bring
them together,
'if it works...' are his words
for the day.
A sense of humor is paramount
these days
to keep all those evil-believers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavors
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him
an angel,
the more he does good deeds
the bigger they grow
till they're actually poking right out
of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds
in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact
they're all gone,
he need not don a disguise.
But this scheme that he's started
gets odder,
there's a growth on his temple, a horn;
he's been so busy negating the good
that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens!
he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what
should he do?
He's conflicted like never before.
He sits down to ponder which way
he should turn,
till it's clear, sitting right at his door.
On the horns of a moral dilemma
he simply gives in to pure Good.
He embraces his friends, he just loves them
to death,
till his wings are full-sprouted; he could
take to the air and keep flying
just as far as infinity goes,
so he bids the townsfolk a tearful farewell,
next stop Uranus, who knows?
...adapted from 'Mr Pye' by Mervyn Peake
Balding and sprightly, he's filled with
bold dreams
to make us all happy and free.
He selects as his target a small
Channel Island,
a representative sampling of people
just like you and me.
All he wants is that folks get along
without all those disputes and fights.
He tries to bring peace to this
sheltered enclave,
just by doing good deeds he can
sleep nights.
He practises witchcraft to bring
them together,
'if it works...' are his words
for the day.
A sense of humour is paramount
these days
to keep all those evil-believers at bay.
In the midst of these noble endeavours
he feels discomfort that turns out
to be wings that are sprouting quite clearly,
a cause for concern there's no doubt.
It seems that his kindness has made him
an angel,
the more he does good deeds
the bigger they grow
till they're actually poking right out
of his shirt,
my goodness, they're starting to show!
So he counters with bad deeds
in hopes that they'll shrink,
indiscretions and plain bald-faced lies.
Sure enough they diminish, in fact
they're all gone,
he need not keep himself in disguise.
But this scheme that he's started
gets odder,
there's a growth on his temples, two horns;
he's been so busy negating the good
that he's done
he's turned Devil, good heavens!
he's torn
between Good and Evil, just what
should he do?
He's conflicted like never before.
He sits down to ponder which way
he should turn,
till it's clear, sitting right at his door.
On the horns of a moral dilemma
he simply gives in to pure Good.
He embraces his folk, he just loves them
to death,
till his wings are full-sprouted; he could
take to the air and keep flying
just as far as infinity goes,
so he bids his people a tearful farewell,
next stop Uranus, who knows?
I'm Olive, a once flatulent cow.
Spinach is all I eat now.
That silly green grass
is a thing of the past,
for a new wind is blowing this hour.
To methane reduction all power!
If you're a cow too,
show assent by a moo.
Comment:
What could be odder
than this switch to new fodder?
We six sheep of Bethlehem be
Bogg, Whiff, Wheep, the triplets and me*
We all get fed and sleep in this shed
It's simple, but so are we!
O star of wonder, star so bright
Guiding strange folk here tonight
Unsuspecting sheep affecting
Oh, what a holy fright!
Who's these people? Oh Golly Gosh!
What's a'doing? Bish! Bash! Bosh!
There's a stranger in our manger,
Offsprung into our nosh!
O wondrous star, so satnav wise
Heaven guiding fat rich guys
Who needs peasants bringing presents?
Kings give the best surprise!
It's them shepherds - oh, what a pain!
Nosy types - a sheep's daily bane;
Off their backsides from the hillsides
Interfering again!
O wondrous star, O shiny thing
Even a sheepie can look at a king
Happy greetings, birthday bleatings
Who knew the sheep could sing?
O party star, O star so true;
Kings and shepherds having a do
Dancing clapping, no chance napping
What's a tired sheep to do?
Our bedroom's filled with brilliant light,
With people that we didn't invite
And something odder in our fodder;
Oh, for a Silent Night!
*Sheep can count but, as Eric Morecambe might have said, although they have the right numbers, they are not necessarily in the right order.
I see that you started following me
Did you click the gold star on a whim
Are you now sitting back, trying to relax
Waiting for it all to begin
Did you come here looking for answers
Or simply to be entertained
Should I now bring in the flamingo dancers
Arriving daily on the boogie train
Are you here to share in some laughs
Or looking for a shoulder to cry
Maybe you felt a pull to follow this fool
And you have no idea of why
Did you read the fine print..."If you follow me"
To closely it might drive you insane
I have dozens of lawyers waiting in the wings
That can expertly shift all the blame
So whether I hang out with the head of Johnny Depp+
Or start belly button lint dust fires+
Even digging up the body of Elvis +
All would be true if it wasn't a lie
Just remember that whatever happens
When I open the door to my soul
And give a slight peak, inside to see
It's not like you haven't been warned
+Shameless plugs on some of my odder poems
I wanted to take a trip to the south of France
But I couldn't Cause I ripped my pants
while I was running with the bulls in Spain
Now that was such a pain
Then someone suggest that I take a trip to the southsea
to watch the fish but I was to broke you see
I lost my job due to reducing cost
Now I just sit outside the walmart
24/7 it is a vacation all in it's self
There is pools in the garden center when the water system is on
You can find a movie on in the electronics and the air is always free
Plus free bathrooms and you can snack while you shop if you don't get caught
and I love to look at people from all over the world freaks and geeks come one
come all to the greatest show on earth greathed at the WALMART!
Why you don't have to be smart to enter here at walmart
The later it the hour the odder the crowd two leg and four leg and no legs at all
Sometimes I thing they don't even wear pants but I'm not lookn' nor telln'