Bananas look like boomerangs
But if you’re tempted, call a halt
For, if you don’t quite get the hang
The law will charge you with assault
Grounds For A Peel
Category: rhyme
If It Ain’t Baroque…
Nudism in cubism
Falls under The Abstract
And artist folk behind each stroke
Admit it’s inexact.
The avant garde can leave some jarred
So, should you choose to pose
Don’t be surprised to find your eyes
Where most look for their toes.
Mother of Invention
At Cana, water turned to wine
Delighting all the guests
And showed the world The Great Divine
Considers all requests.
Although some question Was it prayer?
Or did a son discover
The force behind a mother’s glare
Is unlike any other?
A Bit of a Stretch
The ostrich claims the biggest eggs
The longest neck and strongest legs.
Give thanks these birds don’t fly about
For just one turd would knock you out.
No Fly Zone
Where do storks nest during a war
As spires tumble and towns are no more?
What will deer eat when tanks advance
Over sweet meadows of young, tender plants?
What drives a cub out of the den
Crying alone for its mother again?
Gone is the gold
Dark is the dawn
Ghostly and cold
Best to fly on
Glamour Puss
The platypus unsettles those
Who organise their socks in rows
Who’d never sport a check with stripes
The this-goes-better-with-that types.
Is it both mammal and a bird?
The mere suggestion is absurd
A beaver that can lay an egg?
Now try and pull the other leg…
Although it doesn’t quack or cluck
At first glance, it might be a duck
But if so, what’s with all the fur?
And is that venom in its spur?
This oddity that broke the mold
Still has the boffins in its hold
Yet, as we mock the platypus
One wonders what it thinks of us
Heart Failure
My valentine suggested wine
I bought the best champagne
Then after making love we dined
On Chocolate Frangipane.
Why don’t we do this every night?
She cooed after our frolics
So, now we do and that is why
We’re toothless alcoholics.
Time Less
February, you’re sublime
Romantic, cool and flirty
Who will admit to twenty-nine
But draws the line at thirty
Best Before Date
January’s no one’s friend
A month that lingers without end
No end to winter’s deepest chill
Which steals the breath and makes us ill
No end to counting every dime
From letting go at Christmastime
To resolutions boldly made
Then just as quietly betrayed
No reason to buy a bouquet
No fireworks
No Mother’s Day
At New Year’s we all raise a glass
Bemused by how the months soon pass
Then wake the next day full of dread
In fear of that which lay ahead
River Bottom
The word for hippopotamus
Ain’t half big as its bottom is
Mr Ormsby At Large 