Acrostic Acrostic

Acrostics you don’t see much.
Creating them takes ages,
Rewarding very little,
Only praise and never wages.
So cast aside acrostics,
Traditions left in time.
I’m going back to limericks
Cos they’re funny and they rhyme.

Bored: A Villanelle

I sometimes just get bored.
Television’s rarely great.
No things to look toward.

I’ll try and learn a seventh chord.
Or dress up Greek and drop a plate.
I sometimes just get bored.

My social life is somewhat flawed.
I’m bored of every single mate.
No things to look toward.

I’ll dig a hole and build a fjord
Or fight the dog and dominate.
I sometimes just get bored.

I’ll tease the cat until I’m gored,
Or learn how dolphins menstruate.
No things to look toward.

I’ll drink up like a lord.
And sit, and think, and contemplate.
I sometimes just get bored.
No things to look toward.

Pythagoras

Mathity mothity,
Mister Pythagoras
Fiddled with angles,
Invented a rule.
Now you can simply work
Out the hypotenuse,
Circomlocuting
Appearing a fool.

Double Pterodactyl Double Dactyl Terror

Yackety schmackety,
Mort Pterodactyl was
Having a chat with his
Childhood friend Saul.
“Some say we’re dinosaurs
But they’re mistaken, we’re
Identifiably
Not that at all”.

A Limerick About Sex And Violence

It wasn’t your cheek that I kissed.
I went for your cheek but I missed –
You tilted your head
So we touched lips instead
Then your boyfriend extended his fist.

One Day

One day my writing will make someone cry,
In a positive way, not a bad one.
I’ll work really hard on the next rhyme I write
And I’ll make double sure it’s a sad one.
I’ll carefully choose all the words that I use
And the feelings the words’ll convey.
It won’t just be tragic and morbid and bleak,
But be sad in a beautiful way.

Sonnet Sonnet

The sonnets I have written number none,
For sonnets, as a form, are fairly dead.
A limerick’s a cheeky bit of fun,
So can’t I write a limerick instead?
But no, a sonnet’s what I’m going to write
As, honestly, just how wrong could it go?
I’ll manage even if it takes all night
To bat poor rhyme ideas to and fro.
Essentially, it’s fun to make things rhyme,
Though sometimes I have problems with the beats.
It’s not the most productive use of time,
But helps my mind and keeps me off the streets.
And now, I’ve spent excessive time upon it,
But here you go, I wrote a fucking sonnet.

Court Order

I’m banned from being near, at your insistence,
Your insistence.
Though lots of girls look like you from a distance,
From a distance.
The last few months I’ve rarely dared
To brave the streets, lest you get scared,
And ring up nine nine nine for armed resistance,
Armed resistance.

Brand New Word

I wanted to create a word
And use it in a poem,
As those I know are widely used
So people tend to know’em.
I sat and thought for hours and hours
Determined not to fail.
I did my best and gave my all –
Alas, to no avail.
I very sadly realised
That all decent words exist –
I’d set myself a target
But the target had been missed.
Crestfallen I lay down and sobbed.
I’d not fulfilled my destiny.
I’ve never felt so overwhelmed
With mericolonpestiny.

The Octopig

Beware the Octopig, my son.
The Octopig is full of cunning.
If you see the Octopig,
Turn around, commence some running.
The Octopig is not like us.
Not for him are daylight hours;
Not till the night does – oh my word!
The Octopig display his powers.
The foul flesh of the Octopig
Will withstand all that man can make,
Indeed there is no limit to
The punishment that it can take.
And when the Octopig attacks,
Why then, son, ’tis no time to pause,
For the Octopig attacks you with
Not one, not two, but eight long claws,
And each claw of the Octopig’s
Is poison-tipped with foul green point
That’s cured by no known medicine
That any doctor can anoint.
The Octopig is cursed, my son,
To roam the earth till Judgement Day,
Snorting through its foul red snout
In the most disturbing, hellish way.
I bid you please, my precious son,
Avoid the forest lands at night,
Lest you wind up victim to
The Octopig’s unearthly bite.
Please hold it in your mind, my son
That any man, however big
Or strong he feels he is, my boy,
Is frightened of the Octopig.