Chutney, the Ragtime Crab
I sighed for the feel of formica
Beneath my lugubrious feet
My Macintosh stinks of cucmber
(they're fainting a mile down the street).
Memories of unwashed tadpoles
Belittle my luminous pate
Their croaking disrupted my slumber
The barking of seals is my fate
My gaberdine reeks of misgiving
About my expected demise
The deafening drone of the Rumba
Will drown out the smell of my eyes.
Hanged by the neck from a lamppost
Bedecked with lubricative paste
I thought of a very odd number
Nine elves were attached to my waist
Yet far from becoming unsettled
They cried in mischevious glee
(It's spelt that way, South of the Humber)
And gave voice to this furious plea:
"Will nobody nurture my Apple?"
Or succour my devious peach?
My lanyard is covered with scumber
Which thickly bedecks any beach.
Thus ends my speech!
My heart is lead
As is my head
| Contributors: | Roland, Peter, John D., Jane, TG, P, PeterWRC, Mick. |
| Poem finished: | 3rd January 1997. |