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Pea and Honey Recipes
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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.
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I wish I were a postman
Misdirecting all your mail
Bending all your photographs
When letter boxes fail
I wish I were in orbit
Around the planet Saturn
I'd rearrange its many moons
PS Apols for the distasteful "landed gentry" 3rd line on 26/11. I thought someone would come up with a witty dodge of the obvious rhyme, but now it transpires that I can't think of one either!
Into a pleasing pattern. Will that do?
It will indeed, pen, but this new gravity thing everybody's on about will destroy your artwork in an astronomically short time, i.e. less than ten million years.
Hidden textIt is I, Rosie.
I wish I weren't so sleepy
So flatulent, so dull
I think it's down to Brussels sprouts
And long post-Christmas lull
I wish my resolution
Was not so hard to keep
An easier solution
Just give this year a Leap
I'm glad I'm not a dustbin (Chalky) V neat.
Filled with people's trash
The detritus of daily life
Is hard to swop for cash
I'm glad I'm not a hairbrush
Nor, indeed, a comb
'Cos half a ton of dandruff
Calls your head a home eeeuuuuwwww.
Oh take me to the Mardi Gras!
And watch me dance all night
I'll go without my ma and pa
I'd give 'em such a fright.
I used some CSS code
To execute a coup
But my HTMLability
Has put me in the soup
I used to be a sous-chef
That toiled in sweat and steam
Until I poisoned several guests
With scombroid-riddled bream
I wish I were a battery
Imagine all my uses! [Phil] Phwoar, that's a line
Like powering vibrators coat!
That stimulate the juices hat!
So as your paint is drying
You might just make a movie
With music by George Ezra
Appropriately groovy.
I wish I'd been a Beatle
Back in '64
Starring in A Hard Day's Night
As one of the Fab Four
I wish I were a Beetle
With engine at the back
Air cooled engine phut, phut, phut
A hazard on the racetrack.
I wish I were a beetle
A-rolling turds and dung
But rarely are my praises
In church or chapel sung.
I wish I were a pitchfork
With prongs that prod and probe
And perforate and penetrate
Your wellies and your robe I wish I hadn't had to do that
I once slipped on some bladderwrack
While skipping 'cross the rocks
I guess that that will teach me not
To go out crabbing without my socks
I'm glad I'm not a toothypeg
A-lurking in your gob
With a filling having mercury
And a radioactive throb.
I'm pleased I'm not the only one Maybe I am... is anyone else playing?
That roams these ghostly halls
'Cause if I were my lonely song
Would just bounce of the walls.
If I'd been born as Donald Trump
With bucket-loads of cash
I'd get my hair cut properly
So no-one thinks I'm trash
A cuddly little puppy
Is the master of disguise
He first enslaves the populace
With his cute puppy eyes

(to be continued)
His teeny tiny turdies
He drops so dainti-lee
'Till global domination
As he lifts his leg to pee
So - micro pig or microwave?
For sure, the bacon's tiny
But this cuisine's top mystery
Is why the chef's so whiny
I wish I were a spatula
Scraping out your bowl
Trying not to be too flatula
(it's a stretch, sorry)
And Not to be too foul.
I don't want a referendum
'cause I have to make a choice
Should we stay or should we go?
But don't vote for the loudest voice mercy killing
I've mixed up all my tea-bags!
Is this Sencha or Char Sue?
I'll have to take pot luck, it seems hur hur
With my next warming brue
My aerosol is full of foam!
So I took it to a party
I set it off, it was such fun!
Until the host got arsey
The back door to my wardrobe
Leads to somewhere pleasant
But none but me shall know just what
'S my secret way to the Crescent. Was that a hint that the time draws near?
I'm glad I'm not a snooker ball
A-cannon'd 'cross the baize
In a crumbling, shabby snooker hall
Long past the snooker craze.
I'd like to be a simple slug
That lives on lettuce leaves
And not an intellectual one
Cos I'm as thick as thieves
I wish I were an artist
In hip-hop, rap or grime
Like Snoop or Dizzee Rascal
On telly I would mime
I wish I had a stronger voice
Than Andrea Boceli
I wouldn't need a microphone
I'd just give it some welly.
I wish I were a brewer
I'd brew by intuition
And through my kilt - a bonny filter -
Make fuel for self-ignition
I wish I were a poet's muse
To help him from confusion
Inspiring people like Ted Hughes
Who couldn't rhyme for toffee
Mmmm....toffee.....
I wish that I'd known Sylvia Plath
And what it was that depressed her
So lead her down my primrose path
So maybe she would have felt much better
I wish I was a messenger
Telegram in hand
To warn of your investiture
As fairest in the land. [pen] Well rhymed.
I wish I were a lightning bolt [Raak] Ta. I had to 'do research'.
That lights the thunderhead
I'd strike you where it hurts the most
When in your marriage-bed!
One really should be careful
When taunting grizzly bears
Not to mention woodland
Where it leaves its wares
I'm glad I'm not a toothpick
A-poking tushypegs
Getting chewed and rather slimy
A-poking round for dregs That'll do.
I wish I were a lumberjack Shut up at the back.
That leapt from tree to tree
I'd hold my chopper in my hand Steady on ...
And wield it lustily
A lumberjack, or lumberjill
Which would I rather be?
I'm lucky to have got the choice
Fluid gender - that is me
I'm going on my holiday
I'd better tell my boss
The whole team's coming with me
'Cos they don't give a toss
I wish I were in Switzerland
Where I've stashed my loot
Instead I'm stuck in Lichtenstein
A tax haven too to boot
I'm just a gnome in Zurich
Amassing piles of gold
Hiding it most secretly
Until this rhyme gets old More than a week without a last line, folks. Time for it to go.
It'll all be held in secret
Grey suits in smoke-filled rooms
The guns are on the table
While they're eating magic 'shrooms Mercy killing, innit.
I wish I were an actor
A star of the West End
I'd call myself 'Evadne'
Who's paid for 'Let's pretend'.
What is it about recent third lines that caused a promising start to peter out?
My recipe for Christmas cake
Is mostly stout and gin
The Christmas pudding that I'll make
'll have none of the above in. hic!
Some doggerel for Friday
Is what we chiefly need
To help forget the current mess
Let good times be decreed! .
A frog is in my pocket
And out it wants to leap
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