My neighbour who’s a painter
likes painting in the nude
though people sometimes mutter
and think him rather rude.
Now there’s a certain lawyer
who says he should be sued,
and I know his wife detests it:
“Please don’t” she softly cooed.
But nothing will deter him,
no matter how he’s booed,
or if the eyes of neighbours
are on his body glued,
for like the house he’s painting
he wants it multihued.
A lady went to Dr Phidias
because she thought her figure hideous,
but now she thinks him quite perfidious
and sorry that she ever went.
When he said he’d make her bust
high, firm and strong and full of lust
she thought that she could surely trust
the words she heard and their intent,
but when he showed her, carved in stone,
her head and shoulders—that alone—
she let out an awful moan
and said that was not what she meant.
As at the Beginning So at the End
Uncle Jimmy’s in the hearse.
Things are bad, but could be worse
’cause I see that in his will
I am there remembered still.
So I’ll cry as I am able
to impress my cousin Mabel,
but inside I’ll leap and sing
at the money that he’ll bring.
If you’re shocked at my deception
think right back to your conception;
there was daddy on his bed
puffing hard with face all red
breathing words of soft affection
but lusting hard with brute attraction.
A Christmas Poem
Once upon a rhyme
at Christmas time
there sat a mouse
inside the house.
Here comes the cat!
An end to that!
As I was driving on the road
I ran across a big, brown toad.
Pop! Splatter! Squelch and whirr!
Now he’s like our minister,
Not so much because he’s dead—
he’s all flat out, but thinly spread.
Fire in the Night
He saw a fire in the night.
It gave his soul an awful fright.
He saw, with dreadful consternation,
a vision of his destination.
Since that is where he’ll sure be sent
he thought that he had best repent,
so on his knees he quickly got,
confessed to sins he’d near forgot.
So now at night you’ll see him run
lighting fires, but not for fun,
for he has seen his life’s true goal
to help some other wretched soul
escape the fires of burning hell
He burns haystacks very well.
Noah’s the bloke wot stood in the mud.
Said, “Oh what a smell was caused by the flood!
Yet better by far, I vow and declare,
than that which was caused by the animals there.”
But if, as they say, the ark is the church,
there’ll be many a stink before they finish their search.
You’d think that the saved would work well together,
respect for each other with out malice ever,
but then, I suppose, it’s the human condition
to talk about God yet go to perdition.
It all seems to me you’ve scuttled your boat
if you pull out the plug to fill a deep moat
to keep Christian from Christian, dividing the ark.
You’re soon in the water and chased by the shark.
So, I ask you, dear God, to do what you can
to heal the divisions by the power of your Man.
Singing an Easter Hymn
Christ the Lord is risen today:
I wonder what there is for dinner
Sons of men and angels say:
Wish they wouldn’t call me sinner.
Raise your joys and triumphs high:
I put it over Tom, I’m a winner!
Sing, ye heavens; thou earth reply:
I’d do a line for her if she were thinner.
Goldfish, goldfish, in your bowl,
how does it affect your soul
to have your every secret sin
viewed by those who’re looking in
Monkey, monkey, in your tree
are you grinning there at me?
Is it ’cos like you I’m built,
but unlike you I’m plagued by guilt?
Donkey, donkey, when you bray
what is it you want to say:
you live life with true contentment
’cos you’re carrying no resentment?
Chuckles in the Cemetery
Here lies the remains of dear Aunt Lydia.
To tell you the truth, we’re well rid of ’er;
She carped at the youth group for using guild cups,
and thought all the young were insolent pups.
Sacred to the memory of organist Jim.
He liked them all to take notice of him.
He thought that when he struck the right chord
he outshone the glory that surrounded the Lord.
Our lamented preacher was buried here:
he preached against Rome and Commos and beer.
We know what he hated for he made it quite plain, but what he was for we’ll have to ask him again.
We buried Joan
as a dog a bone
but unlike pup
we’ll not dig her up.
We buried Maude in an open-cut,
then very carefully filled it up.
“What for?” you say.
“Well one fine day
we took the opportunity
while her mouth was shut.”
Mrs Smith served on every committee
because she’s a woman—more ’s the pity!
Erected to the memory of committeeman John.
He never forgot.
“Waiter! Come over to our table group.
I’ve found a fly lying in my soup.”
“Oh, good!” he said with trembling lip.
“The cook told me he’d lost his zip.”
“Waiter! I’ve found a brassy button
in my plate of veg and mutton.”
“Oh, good” he said. “It’s from my jeans!
I thought I’d dropped it in the beans”
A Journey Through the Outback
Back in the days when I was young
I loved to travel far and wide,
but yet no matter where I went
I travelled home at Christmas-time.
If this sounds sentimental mush,
then please be patient, don’t deride,
I cannot think of Christmas time
unless it is to family tied.
A louse to you may seem so small,
but in this frame there throbs a soul
which needs to feel the love of kin
to know that he is fully whole.
So even though I lived at Beard
where one can take a pleasant stroll,
I hurried off to Crotch again,
as mare is sought by straying foal.
The name of phthirus pubis is
held high wherever lice are found,
although they sometimes call us crabs
because of how we walk around.
But home ’s to us a private place,
and that is where we most abound,
so even though I lived in Beard
it’s off to Crotch that I was bound.
Near Harry’s chin there is a gulf
where amber liquid rushes is,
and that is where I’ll take you now,
for that is where I shall begin.
I left that lip and travelled north
worried by a sense of sin,
so to the temple I hurried in
my peace of soul while there to win.
And then I travelled o’er the brow
of weathered landscape, rough and worn,
to cross the bridge that once was straight
but now is crooked and forlorn.
I climbed out on the nasal cape,
and as I stood there could have sworn
the face of all the land I saw
was hard and broken like cracked corn.
My soul was torn by deep despair
and it was left devoid of hope,
for I could see that this my host
was quite unable more to cope
with life and all its twists and turns.
I also tumbled down the slope,
but then took heart in this one fact—
I’ll not be troubled by wet soap.
So from that vantage point I turned
to head straight toward the biggest town
where lots of other kind of lice
were living all around the crown.
Because it is the capital
they on their neighbour all look down.
I cannot stand that royal pride,
so left their town with curse and frown.
Humiliated by those looks,
I hurried to that neck of land
where once there used to be a stud
where famous Collar used to stand,
But when I got there all I found
was lots and lots of dry, red sand.
How pride and fame can all be lost
when left to time’s relentless hand!
Nearby I saw the famous place,
a homestead that they like to say
was named in honour of the Scots,
and giv’n the name of Verte Brae.
And just beyond that jagged mound
I found dry grass and withered hay,
But vegetation soon grew sparce.
The landscape took a shade of grey,
I found me in a wilderness
devoid of flood for years and years.
While here and there I found a wart,
the water was in sad arrears.
But there was something worse by far
which almost set me off in tears:
because the ground had set so hard
my drilling rig soon stripped its gears.
Without my drill I stood to starve
and die abandoned here by thirst,
But on I pressed with zeal undimmed,
although my luck I often cursed.
This louse felt lousy to be sure,
but that alone was not the worst—
I was afraid of getting lost.
Of all my fears that was the first.
You see I have to let you know
my eyes are dim and cannot see
more than a pace in front of me,
and that is why I was not free
and had to keep close to the spine
as far as I could possibly.
But somewhere I got off the track
and found myself at Old Kidney.
Now I had heard of gems galore
to be collected here alone.
I’m sure you’ve heard, as I have too,
of that great, famous kidney stone,
but though I searched around with zeal,
I found no more than buried bone.
So off I hurried toward my goal
with kindest thoughts of my old home.
The lumbar region disappointed.
There’s just no timber there at all!
But then I reached the danger zone
and wondered whether yet I’d fall
victim to this wild terrain.
I drew myself to stand up tall
and plunged into the deep ravine
where atmosphere began to pall.
“Tween Gluteal Mountains rising tall
there runs a valley dark and deep.
The rounded hills are almost bald,
but in the gorge the sides are steep.
Here I found volcanic zones.
It fairly made by flesh to creep.
My feet were sore, my legs all ached,
but I put away all thought of sleep.
I hurried through this dangerous rift.
Emerging then from awful vale—
you’ll find that I have almost come
to reach the ending of the tail—
I met my kinsfolk clustered there
and greeted them with a loud hail.
They pursed their lips and grumped and glared
and gnashed and stamped and seemed to wail.
Although this was an awful shock,
a lesson clear it was to me—
we’re moulded by environment
even when we think we’re free—
for when I met my lousy kin
I found it clear as clear could be
that those who live in town of Crotch
become quite clearly crotchety.