The Colonel, The Clown And The King

mike — Thu, 19 Jan 2012 07:22:56 +0000

The colonel’s a dignified elderly man
In his white suit and black bolo tie.
His recipe secret, he cooks with élan
The chicken he so loves to fry.

The clown is resplendent in yellow and red,
With his face a maniacal grin.
He wants to make sure all the children are fed,
And they’re shoveling hamburgers in.

There’s regal white fur on the king’s handsome robe,
And his facial hair’s glossy and lush.
His empire extends across most of the globe,
Mainly folks who need food in a rush.

These powerful men feed the planet its meat,
There’s no end to the pleasure they bring.
These cookery icons who laugh as we eat,
The colonel, the clown and the king.

If I Was The Queen

mike — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 21:45:56 +0000

If I was the Queen and got offered a yacht,
I think I’d say no, as I’d own quite a lot,
And accepting a gift at the nation’s expense
While it’s in a recession makes no fucking sense.

Your Mind

mike — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 07:08:20 +0000

I’m in love with your mind, it’s amazing.
I’m in love with your eyes and your smile.
And if you got killed by a monster,
Then I think I’d be sad, for a while.
But I’d mop up the pieces of person,
And tell the police it was you,
And I’d leave it at least for a fortnight
Til I moved on to somebody new.

Freudians

mike — Sat, 26 Nov 2011 12:43:26 +0000

Freudians like thinking things
Are all to do with sex,
But anything that isn’t flat
Is concave or convex.
Suggesting ’cause a thing protrudes
It represents a willy,
And that’s the only factor there
Seems really rather silly,
For often function leads to form,
And that’s the reason why –
If missiles were vagina-shaped,
They wouldn’t bloody fly.

The Let’s All Knock Things Over Party

mike — Thu, 15 Sep 2011 06:39:16 +0000

I ate a lot of cheese one night,
And had a frantic dream,
And planned a party when I woke,
A party with a theme.
A party where we’d knock things down,
We’d push them and they’d fall –
A party where we’d go for it
Til nothing stood up tall.
I made some invitations up
And sent them all around,
To friends I thought would really like
To knock things on the ground.
Weeks passed, and the big day came,
My guests arrived excited.
We stood near things, and counted down,
Some knockers-down united.
I shouted “Go!” and things got knocked,
And everything went mental,
Bang! and Bang! and Crunch! and Crack!
No time for being gentle.
When everything had been knocked down,
We looked at what we’d done,
And smiled, and laughed, and felt like men,
For knocking down is fun.

The Ishango Bone

mike — Sun, 14 Aug 2011 18:45:49 +0000

Some twenty thousand years ago,
A woman took a bone,
And carved in it a bunch of lines,
About which little’s known.
Some form a prime quadruplet,
Some multiply by two,
Some might be sort of based round ten,
But what good would that do?
Remember, these were cavemen,
In lateish Stone Age times.
What use would they have had for maths
Or calculating primes?
So what’s the actual answer?
We’ll never know, because
The carver’s long since dead, as is
The ape whose bone it was.

Cut The Sleeves Off Your T-Shirt

mike — Wed, 06 Jul 2011 06:14:18 +0000

Cut the sleeves off your t-shirt,
Make your t-shirt a star,
Show the world how amazing
Your upper arms are.
Tan beyond the one forearm
That tans in the car,
Show the world and its uncle
Your BCG scar.

Women Always Fancy Me

mike — Mon, 16 May 2011 07:47:20 +0000

Women always fancy me –
It’s pretty much a given.
I’m handsome like Dolph Lundgren is,
And suave like David Niven.

Poem Written At 3:38 In The Morning

mike — Thu, 05 May 2011 02:38:08 +0000

I shouldn’t be awake right now.
I don’t know why I am.
God damn, god damn, god damn, god damn,
God damn, god damn, god damn.

Men In Shirts With Low-Cut Necks

mike — Wed, 04 May 2011 07:09:06 +0000

Men in shirts with low-cut necks:
Why must you all insist
In showing hairy cleavage off?
Those tops should not exist.
So when I see some trendy sod,
Who flaunts his hipster sternum,
I beat him to a bloody pulp –
The only way you’ll learn ‘em.