Speckled gourds and pumpkin pie
Picking chestnuts where they lie
Parsnips breaking through the soil
Beetroot ready for the boil
Plump tomatoes on the vine
Pressing apples, homemade wine
Mason jars stacked row on row
Lavender tied with a bow
Farmers whistling an old tune
Underneath the Harvest Moon
Is beer served at Oktoberfest
So different from all the rest?
For, I would like to know what goes in
To make dudes wear lederhosen
You see a marble
I see the moon
You hear a garble
I hear a tune
You hold me closer
Without a sound
I’m life’s composer
Writing it down
Explorers who first reached the Nile
Soon came upon a crocodile
Whose improprieties lay steeped in lore.
The wily reptile would beguile
An out-of-towner with a smile
Belying a betrayal at its core.
Dear friend, I wish to welcome you!
How was the road from Timbuktu?
Come near that I may hear what news you bear…
In truth, the beast had had its fill
Of horns and hooves and ibis bills
And thus, resolved to seek more tender fare.
The wayfarer, now curious
Despite all signs injurious
Would take the bait, not wishing to be rude
Recounting tales of spitting snakes
Of feuding sheikhs and salted lakes
And bartering with Bedouins for food.
Then we must feast! the creature cried
If you will let me be your guide
We’ll cross to where the spoils are most exotic.
It’s just offshore, a pleasant ride
Do climb aboard and sit astride!
And voyage with me into the aquatic.
To eat one friend is impolite
To eat two speaks of appetite
To eat them all may lead to the odd question.
But be it large or small amounts
To some it’s what’s inside that counts
A thought our croc is currently digesting.
To throw the javelin demands
Practice to be precise.
To catch one, on the other hand
Is something few try twice.
“It’s not the heat, it’s the humidity”
A mantra of utter stupidity
For, muggy or not
Let’s agree that it’s hot
Before tackling the lacking aridity
Even at your throatiest
You’re not the least melodious.
The truth, my precious toady, is
You’re positively odious.
In Physics, nothingness has weight
Which leads to some disquiet
Among the more dense who debate:
So, why then do we diet?
Old King Henry had six wives
Whose days were full of dread
For most of them led tragic lives
Then often wound up dead.
Catherine of Aragon
To whom he first proposed
Could not produce a princely son
So he said Adios!
Then Anne Boleyn, closer to home
Demanded that they wed
So Henry cut off ties with Rome
And then cut off her head.
Poor Jane Seymour was the one
Who finally played her part
When she, at last, produced a son
But died, which broke his heart.
Anne of Cleves, the next one booked
Was regal, young and wealthy
The problem was she didn’t look
Quite like her royal selfie.
Catherine Howard, it was said
No man had ever dated
But rumours spread after they’d wed
So was decapitated.
Catherine Parr, a lively sort
Who wielded her own power
Helped organise his kids and court
Once she’d escaped The Tower.
All Henry wanted was a son
A prince whom he could teach
To rule his people when he’d gone
But this was out of reach.
The irony which overwhelms
This patriarchal scene?
He gave to England and its realms
Perhaps their greatest queen
Because Young Bess, put to the test
Excelled in her employ
And showed the world it takes a girl
To do it like a boy.
The push is on to get to Mars
Because down here we’ve blown it
I’m just not sure if Mars is ours
For who’s to say we own it?
Maybe its own inhabitants
Will greet us when we cruise in
In tiny, shiny disco pants
And shout We’re all called Susan!
We’ll tell them all about the Earth
Its sky, its seas, the land
How right from birth we know the worth
Of taking someone’s hand
Of running jumps into a lake
To beat the summer heat
And hopes that Grandma’s gonna bake
Our favourite thing to eat
The satisfaction we derive
From finding the right gift
And pulling over when we drive
To give a friend a lift
Why monkeys make us laugh out loud
While spiders make us shriek
How lovers can tune out a crowd
When dancing cheek to cheek.
Of course, they’ll think us all absurd
Forsaking paradise
But why come here? Haven’t you heard?
We’ve only rocks and ice!
Dumbfounded we would roam so far
They’ll note down in their book:
Good Lord, these Earthlings really are as stupid as they look…
Mr Ormsby At Large 