Bananas look like boomerangs
But if you’re tempted, call a halt
For, if you don’t quite get the hang
A cop 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 nose.
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
And while we mock the platypus
One wonders what it thinks of us
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, many raise a glass
Bemused by how the months soon pass
Then wake the next day full of dread
To fear the year which lay ahead
River Bottom
The word for hippopotamus
Ain’t half big as its bottom is
Face Booked
Said Narcissus’s missus:
No kiss is as his is…
Knight Shift
Take me to that fabled time
When destiny was more sublime
When noble quests were blessed by God Himself.
Where crones intoned prophetic rhymes
While wizards read the stars for signs
And deep within each hollow hid an elf.
Take me to a time before
When magic could unlock a door
And conjurers cried out Abracadabra!
Where every frog tried to convince
Young maidens he might be a prince
And sonnets were composed by candelabra.
To play a brazen game with Death
One leap beyond the dragon’s breath
Dispatching ogres twice the height of men.
And then, to lay beneath a tree
While my sweet Lady sings to me
For as she does, my soul’s restored again.
Take me to that fabled time
The course now clear
No more to roam
Astraeus, chart the stars for home!
Mr Ormsby At Large 