I write and perform poetry that tends to be ridiculous, silly or unpleasant or sometimes all of these but the one thing all my poems have in common is that they make me (and the audience sometimes) laugh. I hope they make you laugh, too, but I apologise now if they don’t. I especially enjoy writing pseudointellectual poetry that is so far up its own backside it can wave to itself. I also enjoy a ruthless rhyme. I perform poetry for beer, money and adulation. Or a bag of crisps.
Boobs. Listen to it if you're a bit lazy,or read it here if you are not lazy: Boobs My boobs have never been what you call big; Unlike my friend Julie's; she paid for her rig. They were massive and ripe, a triple F cup, She looked like Mae West but she couldn’t stand up. She kept tipping over, with frightful abandon; At least her big boobs gave her something to land on. But she was persuasive; she told me I'd be Much less of a woman, without surgery. I went to the surgeon, the signs I misread, “What's that bulge in your pants?” " It's my wallet" he said. "I'll slice and I'll dice your pathetic wee boobs, Then I'll drill and I'll fill them with old inner tubes, Then I’ll pump them with silicon, formed into rounds, Then I’ll charge you the fee which is ten thousand pounds. Nipples are extra, one lump or two?" I made my excuses and cried in the loo. I mused on the issue and, even if wealthy, There's no way I'd muck up my boobs, 'cos they're healthy. They do the job well, they fill up a bra, Blokes say that they're lovely; they're fine how they are. So what if you lie down and witness your tits Slop sideways and backwards down into your pits? So what if they're weeny, a pair of fried eggs Popped out by the teeniest hen on two legs? You can be confident they won't explode On economy seats on the way back from Rhodes, You can be certain that each time you sneeze Those silicon bastards won't shoot round your knees. So, when you see boobs with a person attached and you know that your own ones are very mismatched, Stick your hand down your bra for a bit of a feel, Your tits might be weird but at least they are real.
All poems are copyright of the originating author. Permission must be obtained before using or performing others' poems.
Why were their poets silent? (11/11/2016)
Some wrong poems for Halloween (31/10/2016)
Putting on my Massive Hairy Ovaries (08/06/2016)
Offenders and books (13/04/2014)
Disturbing Verse (16/03/2014)
More whelks, Bishop? (27/02/2014)
- 2019 (1)
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