Monthly Archives: April 2015

The Nudists of Neptune

The Nudists of Neptune

Alien life would be a very exciting and scary discovery! But, what humanity sometimes forgets is that, if there is intelligent life out there, they will probably have societies full of unique and quirky ‘people’ just like we do! This poem evolved from a daydream (PG rated I promise) about whether or not alien societies would have members who were seen as a little strange even to them, a bit too unusual. This naturally led to the question of whether or not nudists would exist on other planets. Would nudism be an eccentricity like it is on Earth? Perhaps the whole race would be nude all the time! Who can say?

The Nudists of Neptune

The nudists of Neptune
They float in the air
And their arms are outstretched
And their bodies are bare

And when we are passing
They cast off their robes
And they jiggle their bums
And they wiggle their probes

The Nudists of Neptune are unlikely to feature in the next series

The Nudists of Neptune are unlikely to feature in the next series

Advertisements

Great Fire

Great Fire

This is a poem about the great fire of London. It wasn’t planned as a poem about the great fire of London. In fact, it wasn’t really planned at all. I wanted to use the word haberdashery in a poem because it’s an awesome word and I had the line evacuate the haberdashery going round and round in my head. Eventually, the rest of the poem took shape around that line. I say took shape, it more sort of clung to and molded around it like poo on a shoe. The line is sadly unsalvageable. What a waste.

Great Fire

Burning flame, fear and shame
Evacuate the haberdashery
Tried to bake a yummy cake
Something pretty and Jane Ashery

Soon it spread, turned London red
Waving in it’s strange cotillions
Where’s the smell? That turned out well!
Burnt away the filth of millions

It was kind of like Voldemort really; Terrible but great

It was kind of like Voldemort really; Terrible but great

Sad For Toads

Sad For Toads

Sad For Toads was inspired by a text from my girlfriend. A road near her house was covered in the flattened remains of a great number of toads. My initial reaction to this news was one of revulsion. UUH! How disgusting! Toad guts everywhere! Imagine that!

Slowly however, my revulsion turned to sadness at the thought of a great big family of toads being destroyed. They were probably having a party, perhaps to celebrate the birthday of an aging relative or the anniversary of a family wedding. On their way to Uncle Ribbits Gazebo for drinks and nibbles, they were brutally squished.

It’s a slightly experimental poem in terms of it’s structure and I’m not entirely sure that I like it. That would be a real problem if this was a blog for high quality poetry. Fortunately, it is not, so here we go.

Sad For Toads

It’s quiet now

Once, the echo of your unmistakable croak resonated
Like a burp in the cathedral
Through the country roads

But I

As I hear the pulping of your body underfoot
Like a bubble wrapped fish
I’m sad for toads

It’s still now

Once, the race of your graceless flop flashed
Like a lemon on a surfboard
And you positively glowed

But I

As I see the flatness of your hitherto fatness
Like an enlightened puffer fish
I’m sad for toads

It’s gory now

Once, your internal organs earned their title
Like bolognese in a water balloon
Bulging before it explodes

But I

As I smell the decay of your outer innards
Like a bevy of blended bowels
I’m sad for toads

Warts wrong? You look crushed!

Warts wrong? You look crushed!

Lemon Tree Legs

Lemon Tree Legs

I don’t really have a good explanation for this poem. It’s nearly a love story but the whole thing is a bit ambiguous. There’s a lonely boy whose legs are actually lemon trees. He thinks he’s a freak who nobody will ever love but he is met by a kindred spirit who makes a request. It’s not made clear what happens next but you may speculate as to your own ending.

Lemon Tree Legs

The boy with the lemon tree legs
Was hanging his clothes out on pegs
His manner was dour
And his gait, it was sour
With little hope left, only dregs

But the girl with the apple tree eyes
Took lemon tree legs by surprise
She asked ‘Could I please
Take a fruit from your knees?
I’ve an order for leg lemon pies!’

Next time, we'll meet his cousin. The boy with the willow tree w... Actually never mind.

Next time, we’ll meet his cousin. The boy with the willow tree w… Actually never mind.

I’m A What?

I'm A What?

This poem was inspired by Harry Potter. A group of friends from church have been working our way through the Harry Potter films and I was reminded of what an amazing story it is. As a tribute to the magical wizarding world of Harry Potter, I have written a poem that very briefly summarises the key points of the story. Sort of.

I’m A What?

You’re a wizard Harry
Here’s a wand for you to carry
Here’s a curse you need to parry
Here’s a Weasley you can marry

I’m a what? You’re a wizard!
That’s impossible! I’m Harry!
You’re a wizard! No I’m not!
Not a wizard! I’m just Harry!

You’re a wizard Potter
Drip your hand blood on the blotter
Cho Chang, Ginny; Which one’s hotter?
That old Voldemort’s a rotter

I’m a what? You’re a wizard!
That’s impossible! I’m Harry!
You’re a wizard! No I’m not!
Not a wizard! I’m just Harry!

This picture loaded up sideways for some reason. I swear it's upright on my computer and now it's sideways. It was like magic!

This picture loaded up sideways for some reason. I had a pun prepared and everything but then this happened. I swear it’s upright on my computer. One minute it was upright, then it was sideways! It was like magic!

Boil The Kettle

Boil The Kettle

There’s a special kind of thirst. A thirst that can only be quenched by a special kind of drink. I am, of course, talking about tea. At the end of a long, busy, and exhausting day, there are few things as satisfying as a well prepared (brewed for at least 5 minutes, extra milky, milk goes in the mug first) cup of tea.

This poem was written after a particularly stressful day of placement when I sank into a chair with a huge mug of Empress Grey tea and did my very best to shut out the rest of the world.

Boil The Kettle

Boil the kettle, boil it good
Been waiting here too long, too long
Then pour it out, just like you should
This feeling can’t be wrong, be wrong

Feel the warmth and breath the scent
The flavour is so sweet, so sweet
At home, at sea, in car or tent
My evening is complete, complete

What a beu-tea

What a beu-tea

When Strudel Comes

When Strudel Comes

I was invited for pudding and Harry Potter by some friends the other day and the pudding was strudel! We were discussing whether to prepare the pudding before or after starting the film and my friend said ‘We should get it ready now so that we don’t have to interrupt the film…’ He paused before finishing dramatically ‘…when strudel comes’.

I liked the sound of that phrase, so I wrote a very short poem about strudel.

When Strudel Comes

When strudel comes, with plums and raisins
Grateful herds cry words of praise in
Honour, now, of how the bake
Can here produce both juice and flake

I hope I'm not unduly raisin your expectations

I hope I’m not unduly raisin your expectations