I Surface Behind The Lamps
A pelvis drowned in custard
Or addled in blancmange
Impedes the would-be sprinter
And irritates the crowd
Who've paid, in time of trouble
To see their heroes drown
In double... breasted gown
In case of indigestion
Before the end of May
Be sure to saunter clockwise
In perfect two-step time
And serenade a starling
Who needs a broken wing
For Sir Paul's old rhyme
The Emperor's new raiment
Seems invisible to twits.
The Queen's bespangled G-string
Was washed one time too far
How careless of the valet
To wear it on his head
In the chalet... at Club Med
The opposite of doleful
Is having half-a-line
Removed before one's ready
In the cruel springtime
Dogged by misadventure
And mayhem 'twixt the sheets
A quencher... in the teats
My tendency to witter
Seems likely to remain
Until the first of April
Has passed without a hitch
Into past's vast storehouse
And all the land turns green
Then your cows... scoff it clean
Contributors: | Roland, Apsley, Beefy, jm, will_h, F, TG. |
Poem finished: | 6th January 2005 by Beefy. |