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
At bureaucrats I'd glower
And rap their knuckles till they bled
Because I'd have that power!
I wish I had a sailboat
To sail the Seven Seas
But hang on, I get seasick
In the slightest breeze.
I wish I lived in Yorkshire.
On Ilkley Moor I'd roam
Neglecting hypothermia
Baht 'at I'd ne'er come home.
I wish I were a busker
Showing all my artistic skill
By plucking my guitar strings
On top of Blueberry Hill.
I wish I were a busker's cap
Filling up with money
I'd please my strumming partner
'Cos 'e needs the ackers, du'n 'e?
I wish I had three wishes
And three wishes for each wish
And so on ad infinitum
Very genie-ish.
I wish that I'd been Guy Fawkes
With gunpowder, treason and plot
'Cos I would have succeeded
'Cos it turned out, he did not.
The natives all get restive
About this time of year
They're unready to be festive
And won't even drink beer.
I do enjoy an autumn gale The Xmas-tree-in-a-pot fell over this morning
That blows the leaves clear off the trees Here it carried the fumes from the burning waffle factory over the South of the city.
The birds don't need a winter home.
So let them freeze their knees
I wish I felt like working
But sadly I do not
I've spent the whole day shirking
And haven't done a jot.
I wish I were a Christmas elf
A slave in Santa's grotto
Keeping dark thoughts to myself
And working 'cos I've got to.
I wish I had a sinecure
I'd like to do f*ck all
I'd be just like a Tory
As in the House I sprawl.
A good cure for stomach ache
Is hair of t'dog that bit you
I don't mean too much Christmas cake
Or else your clothes won't fit you.
My New Year's resolution
Is not the usual thing
It's to find a solution
To all this Brexiting. [ Oblig., and with apologies for posting out of turn.]
I'm going to be a hermit
'Cos I'm an ugly sod
Unless it needs a permit Phew - only took me threre days to trhink of something that wasn't 'Kermit'
To sit upon yer tod.
I wish I were a traffic light
In Balham's High Road, yon
I'd stop all the birds in flight
But would then be sh*t upon
I'm not a first line hogger
The second's fine for me
Then again I am a blogger
Of abysmal poetry
I wrote some poems lately
I think they're rather good
The metre goes sedately
Like semolina pud.
I wish I were a trochee
Such a wild ambition!
But my metre would be far too short
And never reach fruition
The night was dark and stormy
Inside, the fire was bright
A glass of fine Old Tawny
Helped set the world aright.
The day was fresh and breezy
The trees danced in the wind
arrow_circle_down
Want to play? Online Crescenteering lives on at Discord