Ever eaten whole grain bread
And sworn you’d chewed on bark instead?
Against the Grain
Tag: funny
Ready To Chuck It All In
Today the Queen turned ninety-four
Her subjects wish her many more
Except the heir, on bended knee
Who’d hoped she’d go at ninety-three
Creature Feature
When dining out we’re well aware
Our manners are on view
We open doors like Fred Astaire
Insisting… After you!
Which silverware to use and when
And how to hold a glass
While tackling pommes parisienne
Delineate one’s class.
But not so in the cinema
The difference is stark
Because it’s hard to be bourgeois
And crack nuts in the dark.
The lighting’s low so patrons know
When they’re not being watched
It’s fine to eat an Oreo
Retrieved from off your crotch.
You eat out of a bucket
Like a hog out of a pail
And when you’re done, you chuck it
Like a Molotov cocktail.
Wonder what life’s like inside
A real safari park?
Round up loads of humans
And then feed them in the dark.
Pointe Taken
Ballerinas stand on toes
To dazzle us with twirls
So, here’s the question I would pose:
Why not hire taller girls?
Nauti Buoys
While sailors open drums of rum
To swig below the decks
Indulgent captains who succumb
Are often found in wrecks
Welcome to Finland
If killer whales stood on their tails
And walked out of the sea
A dog’s next trick he’d learn real quick
Is how to climb a tree
Game of Cones
I have a dog whose name is Spark
Who sometimes takes me to the park
Where we enjoy an evening stroll
I feed the ducks; he’s on patrol.
An old pro, Spark knows all the tricks
From playing dead to fetching sticks
His latest one involves a scheme
Which bags him loads of free ice cream.
He’ll spy a toddler on his own
Who’s struggling with a waffle cone
One far too big for little hands
And all the balance that demands.
Spark uses charm and big, brown eyes
To get him closer to the prize
Then as he nears these little ones
That’s when he grabs the cone and runs.
I’m deeply saddened by each theft
And every howl from the bereft
Whose double-scoops of lemon lime
Perpetuate this life of crime.
The mothers round on Spark and curse
So I make sure they’re reimbursed
Which throws the whole plan in reverse
For, he’d been taught to steal a purse…
Less Cargo
Our friend, the snail, need never pack
For all it owns is on its back
It heads out on the open road
Quite unencumbered by its load
Snails never need to book hotels
Instead they curl up in their shells
Emerging when they feel the need
To partake in a nightly feed
We mock the snail, its sluggish pace
And yet some pay to watch them race
Ironic, say the French, and crude
Who view them solely as fast food
Branch Locator
Without any apology
I traced my genealogy
In hope I’d find an entry
Replete with well-heeled gentry.
Perhaps a Duke without an heir
Yet to bequeath his titled lair
Or better yet a Duchess
Who’d keep me in her clutches.
I dreamed of billionaire tycoons
Who sipped and supped from silver spoons
Whose present state of wealth
Fared better than their health.
But no! I learned my great-great-gran
Was jailed because she shot a man
Who wooed her in a heath
Then ran off with her teeth.
Another ancestor trained bears
To ride on bikes and dance on chairs
Until they grew to hate him
I guess that’s why they ate him.
Much further back, one of our crowd
Could summon rain down from a cloud
But locals weren’t that smitten
Because they lived in Britain.
If you’ve swung through my family tree
Please have the cheque made out to me
Because this brachiator
Wants paying now, not later.
Much Ado
If you’re flat broke it’s said you’ve got
A fair amount of diddly-squat
And maybe more because this means
You also own a hill of beans
Which may forestall the need to beg
When added to your great goose egg
Combined with zero, zip and zilch
With all of this why would one filch?
Because if you give it more thought…
When you’ve got nought, it’s quite a lot
Mr Ormsby At Large 