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
I wish I were a vuvuzela
Buzzing all day long
'Twould even kill Methuselah
Can so many be so wrong?
I wish I were on holiday
Amidst the snowy peaks
Alas I am in Basingstoke
Amidst the yobs and freaks
I like my pies with gravy
Deep fried with mushy peas
Gastronomic'lly I'm cheap
And not difficult to please
I wish I'd put yeast in my dough
My bread has gone all flat
Can water possibly make it grow?
Nah ... Let's stuff it with fat!
Now tear along the dotted line
At sixty miles an hour
Veer not to either left or right
Just go straight full power.
I wish I were a football match
Shown on ITV
With ad breaks for consumer goods
The money'd go to me!
We play the vuvuzela with
With England on our mind
Just add a swannee whistle and
(Anyone for a swannee-vuvuzela performance?)
And you'll go deaf and blind    Wait. "Swannee whistle" is a euphemism, right?
I wish I were a scarecrow
Standing in a sunny field
I'd buy all the suntan lotion
Until everybody peeled!
The poppy fields are my domain
They earn me quite a packet
So I'll defend them might and main
Against a Cosa Nostra racket
I wish I were a football
Just kicked around by all
Except, that is, the England team
Or that of nearby Gaul.
A football should be round and firm
Just like an apricot
Which should be sweet of taste in turn
– Reject it if it's not
I was sort of hoping for "Just like a football's not".

I wish you'd never shown me
How not to kick that ball
Then I'd not have played for England
And come home with f*ck all .. moving swiftly on ...
I wish I were a clothes peg
Clamped tightly on your knickers
A freshening breeze blows up your leg sorry sorry sorry
Quite startling passing vicars
American Football's what Charlie Brown would play
But the ball he would kick is shaped more like an egg
But Gordon Brown played rugby with an oval ball bit clunky, this
And Lord George-Brown would never budge from square leg. "Many modern poems are like bells of lead. They should tinkle melodiously, but usually they just klunk." (Dunsany) Can we tinkle a little more melodiously, please?
I wish melodious tinkles would
Less often splash the seat [irach] That's what you were angling for, isn't it?
But sitting isn't manly
When your trochees touch your feet
I wish I were a radio mic
Attached to Gordon Brown oblig.
Then I could let the whole world know
Why governments fall down mercy
I wish my suitcase would come back
From far-off Timbuktu
Alas, its British Airways - from bitter experience
So my bag's now in Peru
I wish I'd never mentioned
My girl-friend to my Mum
As now she wants to meet her
And then become her chum
arrow_circle_down
Want to play? Online Crescenteering lives on at Discord