arrow_circle_left arrow_circle_up arrow_circle_right
Pea and Honey Recipes
help
I Eat My Peas With Honey
And tales of derring-do.
Four lines, they can be rhyming
(That's Glow Worms to me and you).
Ending line is as usual.
arrow_circle_up
And callow in my ways
I'd dream of lands of plenty
And my many different lays coat!
If I were only forty
I'd be half what I am now
Though not in age, let it be said
I'm just fat - and how!
If I should stumble over
And need help getting up
To hire a crane is rather rude
But sorry - needs must - yup! ... notably few rhymes for 'up'
My waistline is expanding
Oh, what a brave admission
My feet are slow shrinking
With every inch addition
The time has come for action
A fitness plan perhaps
Holds less of an attraction
Than deep-fried bacon baps
I have no time for deadlines
I've better things to do
Like read a book or solve some crimes
Or pop off to the loo
[SM] I genuinely spent over five minutes manfully resisting "loo" and "poo". Congratulations on giving in to your inner schoolboy :-)
I wish I were a toilet roll (Phil) Same here, largely because I thought I'd give you a go. Imagine my disappointment, though SM has valiantly maintained the tradition.
The hard kind, not the soft Oh-er, memories of school
Sitting unused is the goal
So stash it in the loft.
The phoenix' cry is rarely heard Let's try and raise the tone a bit.
A song so cold and bleak
For it is an ornery bird
And someone glued its beak. There's classy ...
I took a class in classic art
I now know Bosch from Dürer
But the paintings in my pantry
Are somewhat more obscurer
Pre-Raphaelite is more my thing
It's simply more expressive
Dante and his art-for-art
And ladies part-undressive
The cubists' art is thus defined:
Abstract with no perspective
Which makes it look less like the real
And more like the subjective.
All art is tosh, I would opine
Except for this piece by Divine
.. are we venturing into limerickese?
[Chalky] My line can swing either way
Raphael, portraying Madonna
With very few garments upon 'er. Sorry, I don't usually double-post, but it seemed right. Also, if you substitute "I'd" for "I would" in the first line, it scans quite nicely.
I wish I were a grease gun
Hidden textBang, bang; you're slippery.
To you nipple I'd be put
I'd keep your bearings running free
With mayhem underfoot
The joy of lubrication
Is lost on all my friends
They much prefer fixation
Of all their bits and ends.
The benefits of friction
Should not be understated
Since rubbing up the wrong way
Can make me quite elated
He recommended traction [Phil] hehe
And an orthopaedic brace [R, p, P] I was thinking about "The use of prophylactics/ being highly over-rated", but didn't want to triple-post.
I had the satisfaction
Next week they hear my case
I came across this thoughtful item and decided to share it with you. It's a lyric from a song by Dory Previn.>
We never stop to wonder
Until a person's gone
We never yearn to know him
Until he's travelled on
[Software] Splendid 4th line. I was expecting something like "Of pummelling his face", but yours was much better :-)
The art of writing lyrics
When all is said and done
Depends upon the music
And the 'Dum-de-dum-de-dum' I think I've got the metre right, even if it's not a perfect rhyme...
[pen] Do you know the Monty Python sketch about Denis Moore? It's apposite.
I'm very fond of lupins
And shrubberies are nice
But best of all are cacti
Distilled and served with ice
My brother is a tailor he's actually a programmer. worked on the 'Halo' game franchise.
He sewed my new blue jeans 'Sun-up Alterations, Zips Mended While-U-Wait'>
My father was a gambling man
Way down in Whitmore Reans
My papa was a preacher man
And so was Billy Ray's
When he stole kisses from me
I was young - it was a phase.
I close my eyes and count
To ten - that was the plan
Alas I fell asleep at six
Finish for me if you can
I wish I were an aardvark
First in the alphabet
Alas I am a zebra
But ahead of the zzxjoanw yet.
Qaanaaq is in Greenland
Its night life must be seen
This requires a microscope
So you must be very keen
I wish I were a chimney sweep
I'd sing 'Chim-chim-chereeee!'
I'd talk in mangled Cockney
And shout "'ello Mary!"
I wish I could be thinner
Say, butyl acetate
Or maybe min'ral spirits
Your shine off I would take
Merry Christmas Everybody!
Good cheer to one and all!
While there's still some hot toddy
Let's drink it 'til we fall!
It's Boxing Day in Canada
They're fighting in the streets
And if a hockey match breaks out
The day will be complete(s)!
I had a little nut tree
I often used to beat it
But it never bore a single nut
I think that I've been cheated.
I wish I were a rain-gauge
Overflowing in a storm
So full I can't contain myself
As I'm not cribriform
I have a little puppy
It loves to play with me
It's scoffed my little guppy
And quaffed my Earl Grey tea.
The Yanks are playing "Super Bowls"
They sometimes touch the ball
They've so much armor (sic) plating
They don't feel pain at all
I wish I were a scaffolder
That leapt from pole to pole
Shunning 'elf'n'safety
But never on the dole.
I wish I were a glazier
'Cos I like playing with putty
Hidden textI'd also buy a football club, if you can call 'em that.
I'd build a pyramid out of glass
Hidden textRosie, they're called *teams.* I do at least know that much about hand egg, er I mean American Football.
Then stop for tea and butty
I wish I were a pot-hole
I'd bugger your suspension
As you splash every passer-by
Increasing local tension
They wish we had more tea cakes
They wish we had more tea
They wish we had facilities
So they could have a wee I bet there's a Japanese word for 'being disappointed with a cafe'`
They wish we opened later
To satisfy their needs
Alas, we cannot cater
To their incessant greeds. Sorry, cafe's closed for lunch.
I wish I were a bookie
I'd gather all your cash
And pay for lots of nookie
Rum, sodomy and lash
I wish I were a seaman
'Cos I can go "Ha - harrrr!"
A salt-encrusted demon
Emerging from the haar
I wish I were an athlete
I'd run or jump or throw
Unless I was in Sotchi
With two toilets in a row
I wish, when I was younger,
I'd done as I was told
Avoided all the sex and drugs
N'eer straying from the fold
I wish that I had listened
To my teachers when they said
The name with which you're christened
You'll be called when you're dead.
Which reminds me of the rhyme:
They told me, Heraclitus, they told me you were dead
I never knew your proper name was Heraclitus, Fred.
When I am gone and changed my name [P, K, R, R and R - marvellous. More please.]
I hope I'll be remembered
For all the thing's I haven't done
Not the bodies I've dismembered apols
While I'm alive and kicking
And working as a plumber (pen) Can't stop giggling.
With call-out rates extortionate
And clients ever-dumber
I'll quote three times the going rate
I'll drink my weight in tea
I'll say your loo is dodgy, mate
I'll flash my arse for free.
Today we need to dig a hole
Then fill it in again
At least it keeps us off the dole
And considered working men.
I wish I were a bobsleigh
Taking bends at speed
Tipping out my passengers
I'm spiteful, yes indeed
Thank you for your custom
It says here on the bill
We'd like to know of problems
And hope you won't be ill.
I wish I were a writer
I'd write all sorts of things
Some of which are shiter I axshully am a writer for money
Than Tolkein's lordly rings.
I wish I were a zombie
Arising from the grave
In a dust-strewn woollen Crombie
I nicked from Chas and Dave.
I wish I were an angler
Slowly drowning worms
With my stick and dangler
My patience this affirms. (pen, Chalky, penpenult. Splendid.)
I wish I were a stevedore
Working on the docks
"Accidentally" damaging
Containers' “thief-proof” locks.
If I were not a petty thief Sorry - that's the third one in a row now.
A politician I would be
"Blame immigrants" my leitmotif
Who should be kicked back o'er the sea.
If I could be who e'er I chose  Four now ☺
I'd be the King of Wales
And wear tights all colored rose
While guzzling Trappist Ales.
I wish I were a criminal
That heaved a bag marked "SWAG"
Eschewing texts subliminal
And shackled with a tag
I wish I were a hobbit
With hairy size-12 feet
Instead I'm like John Bobbitt
An earthling incomplete
I'm glad I am a Briton
For a Brit it's best to be
But only a few can fit on
A pin head comf'tably
I crave a piece of chocolate cake
Filled with gooey cream
For wholesome fats and carbs I ache
I'm rather broad of beam oblig.
My waistline is expanding
It surely can't be age
That makes the act of standing
Lead to impotent rage
I wish I were a tea-cup
The finest Wedgwood kind
From which the gentry might sup
A potion most refined. Not Co-op teags, then.
A biscuit fit for dipping I avoided using 'dunking'. You can thank me later
Is flavourful and firm
But cover it with dripping
See hardened dunkers squirm *later* Thank you pen :)
If I were a cartoonist
With loaded, painty brush
I'd paint a young balloonist
In youth's initial flush
And if I'd been born Rembrandt
I'd not be posting here
No self-respecting self-portraitist
would expose himself I fear swiftly moving on ...
This talk of Old Dutch Masters
Has bored me quite to tears
But Romanesque pilasters was trying to make a line about Amsterdam S&M bars, but couldn't quite get the rhyme to work
Stunned even Wackford Squeers
If you refer to Dickens
Which I'm sure you often do
Then please, don't cite “Darles Chickens”
Lest Spooner, he might sue.
Bravo!
If I were made of rubber
I'd drink like fat Bibendum
And yet still ask for more
Oh, would that I were smart
Enough to pass a Mensa test
I'd need not work at labouring
I'd be smarter than the rest.
There's nothing in my pension pot
Apart from dreams and dust
My salary ?   I spent the lot !
Now I'm homeless, old and bust
When you've got money, spend it all!
For saving's just for fools
So live your life, and have a ball
Hidden text[p. me, N, S] I liked the last one a lot.
Be flagrant with the rules! [Phil] me too.
Poor I was born, and poor I'll die
But in the years between
My riches, they will hit the sky
-- Until my kid's a teen.
A rainy Thursday morning
Dull and wet and cool
Is ideal for a bike ride
By a lycra-bedecked fool.
So what's the point of planning
When the weather lets you down
I planned to lie there tanning
But I'm soaking wet, not brown.
A frabjous day is dawning
So sing "Callooh! Callay!"
And heed no empty warning
Too sunny for making hay.
I'm seeking new employment
I don't care what I do
My main aim is enjoyment
And a fag-break in the loo.
Bank Holidays are all too few
And all too soon are over
I waste it lazing - oh, don't you?
Or rolling in the clover
I wish I were a saucepan trad.
With a tightly-fitting lid
My contents all a-boiling
Though from view it's hid
I wish I had a pony tail
'Cos frankly I'm an ugly sod
Hidden text(Phil) Oi! But for half the width of a road I'm in Croydon.
Who loves a good updo
The stain is there for all to see
Its cause not hard to guess
I've scrubbed until my hands are raw
With a cold compress.
[KS] You were a syllabubble short, m'dear. No matter.
'Get out, damn spot! Get out!' I cry
So much for dry cleaning (pen) The line can be stretched, just about, and it doesn't offend me. If it doesn't offende me it won't offend anybody, will it?
I'll soak it in ammonia
Then stand there, pants down, queening.
With copper, mangle, Reckitt's Blue
Wash day is a breeze
Hang them out, come rain or shine
'Tho it crucifies my knees
Blacking grates and mangling sheets
The joys below the stairs
The parquet's scarred by hobnail cleats
But no-one down here cares. Insurrection from the staff...
Rise e'er the dawn, to clean the hearths
That's Cinderella's fate
Then light the fires, and run the baths
And don't stay out too late.
The clocks are chiming midnight
But the sun shines overhead
The birds are sleeping in their trees
For now's the day we wed!
I wish I were a Jabberwock
A flame-eyed whiffling thing
But I am just a jubjub bird
And so, on that, I'll sing.
But if I were a bandersnatch
To spot me you'd be quick
For much like Mr Cumberbatch
I'm really rather slick
It fails to pass this simple test
It's neither flesh nor fowl
So now we feel it's prob'ly best
To euthanise your owl
I wish I were a dodgy spiv
With fag from mouth a-dangling
I wouldn't have a damn to give
My coat with coins a-jangling.
The teams are gathering in Brazil
To kick a ball around
Will our team really have the will?
I might just bet a pound.
I root against the English team
Their chances I don't fancy much
I think they may run out of steam
And so I'll bet upon the Dutch.
[S,p,Ro,Ra] Very nice. It was only on the 3rd reading that I realised you were probably referring to football, as I was thinking about cricket. It still works though.
So far Brazil has all the goals
Said some deluded fool
Defensively they're full of holes
Like bras in Samba Schools - e.g. this (NVSFW)
I wish I were the scoresheet
I'd tally up your points
You're very fine statistically
Top marks for double joints
I wish I had my mother's eyes
I'd keep them in this jar (had to go that way really...)
Their glassy stare reminding me
How she'd beat up poor pa-pa
I wish I had my brother's knees
For mine are old and dodgy
His look really good in tights
While I wear trews quite stodgy.
I used to have my uncle's teeth
Displayed upon the wall
I little plaque sat underneath
Which said, in letters small ... (to be continued)
"These teeth were once the pride and joy
Of my dear old Uncle Rolf
Alas, he doesn't need them now
He lost them playing golf."
That reminds me of a favourite Knock-Knock joke:
"knock knock"
Who's there?
"Adolf"
Adolf who?
"Adolf ball mhitmph me in mthme mmouthm"
I wish I were a hacksaw I'd like to hear you say that, pen.
To cut these prison bars
I'd really be a dashing blade
Just like those scimitars

I eat my peas with Hollandaise
Even when the dish is pork
I've done so all my lifelong days
It keeps them on the fork.

[Declaring a "peas" cascade]
I eat my peas with mustard
Washed down with lemonade Declaring an 'Unusual Eating Implements Parallel Cascade' too.
I tried them once with custard
They still fell off the spade. Will that do, pen?
[Rosie] What a slendid birthday present. You delivered in spades, ta v much!
I eat my peas with Marmite
Which Ma might say is messy
But oh :  the umami's so right
But still I look a jessie
I eat my peas with relish
It's fluorescent yellow
The egg-spoon that I eat them with
I stole from some poor fellow.
I like my peas reet mushy
For I'm a northern lad
To those wha claim it's grim oop here (apologies for clunky accent)
Ah'll tell 'ee, tha's bin had!
They're holding pea stalks as we speak
We're hoping there won't be a leek
Of a limerick style
Because in a while
Someone will give us a tweak
I wish I had the muscle
To lift this pile of bricks
But sadly I'm a wimpy man
With arms and legs like sticks
I wish I were a spaceman
I'd float around all day
Until my tank of oxygen
Had leaked my air away.
I wish I were eighteen again
But knew all I now know
I'd find it hard to fall in love
Then marriage wouldn't flow
I wish I were a Jabberwock
With eyes aflame and such
I'd wish you all a frabjous day
And other double Dutch
If I could find a beaten sword
Then I would be a winner;
A plowshare would be my reward
And I could sow me dinner
I wish I were in marketing
In charge of famous brands
I'd trash their corporate image
With my small, dirty hands!
I wish I were a maestro
A crappy Rover car
Though I might get called a tin can
I wouldn't take you far mercy killing.
I wish my legs were stronger
Than those of Usain Bolt
His speed makes him much wonga
I'm poor - my short legs' fault.
Now, Scottish independence *stands back*
Wis thocht up doon the pub
W'all agreed tha' snooty Dave
Should nae be in oor club.
I wish I spoke Italian
I'd chat up all the birds
I'd be a right rapscallion
'Cos ladies don't like nerds
I wish I spoke Swahili
It sounds so unlike Dutch
Yet Swahili's word for "penguin"
Don't change very much
My shoes are nice and shiny
Just like my nose, alas
My hair sticks up quite spiny Curious that shoe polish shines shoes, but dulls noses.
And the sun shines out my as...
...pidistra in the parlour
Victoriana chic
'Tis worthy of La Scala
I know whereof I speak
Software - I wish I'd been I K Brunel
Beneath my stovepipe hat
'Midst belching chimneys I would dwell
But in a mansion, not a flat.
I wish I were an oak tree
Upon the village green
Bolts of lightning do their worst
To this bucolic scene.
I wish I played the mandolin
Just like Captain Corelli
And kept a tame-ish pangolin
As seen on the telly
The poetry of Robbie Burns
Was newly sprung in June
It shone and stank a bit, in turns
Just like the changing moon.
The plays of William Shakespeare
Go on for far too long
But for luvvies in the green room
More time to play ping-pong!
If I could play the tenor sax
The girls would coo and swoon
But I am just a drummer
And so they boo and moon!
If I were in a pantomime
I'd be a panto horse
The head and front legs would be fine
The rear's more fun, of course.
If I were not upon the stage Was it just our local panto that had a big song and dance about this?
A prompter I would be
But only for a living wage
I'll not shout lines for free!
If I lived in the desert
I'd change my name to 'Sandy'
My visage may seem weathered
But I make the camels randy!
To welcome in the Noo Year
I have not said a word
I've been in here for 5 days now
And nothing has occurred...
If I were just a dicky-bird (Phil) Fie to your orthography, sir!
You wouldn't get a peep
I'd tuck my head beneath my wing
And feign to be asleep
I glide above on silent wings
And spy my prey below
Juicy little worms and things
But I'd prefer merlot
So did you keep the cellar locked?
The Thing's escaped again!
The residents are very shocked
They're all saying you're insane.
My clothes are mostly second-hand
But not my knickers and bra
I crocheted them myself from string
D'you think I've gone too far?
I wish I were a ball-cock
arrow_circle_down
Want to play? Online Crescenteering lives on at Discord