Poetry corner. A bit like one of those yoghurt fruit corner things but with poetry instead of yoghurt. And the fruit corner bit.

Minted Sauce

By Sophie Jumpersforgoalposts

 

Good morning little lamb have you sent that email yet?

And what about that spreadsheet? You haven’t even started it I bet…

What about that report for the chairman of the board? Come on, get it done!

And once you’ve done that I have some errands for you to run

We’ve got a meeting in an hour, have you prepared the lengthy agenda?

What’s the matter with you today, you lazy little blighter…

Come ON little lamb your appraisal is later today,

We have some feedback for you little lamb, about training and your pay

You need to show your finance skills and that you can work out the VAT

This is low hanging fruit for you lamb! Surely you realise that?

Oh!

But his hooves, his hooves, his tiny cloven hooves,

Are supposed to be used for trotting on grass

Not renewing his monthly security pass

His hooves, his hooves, his tiny cloven hooves, so often they do fail

He can’t even open Outlook, let alone send any mail

His hooves, his hooves, his tiny cloven hooves

They can’t input data or create a PDF,

Come ON little lamb get it done, my god are you deaf?

Little lamb, little lamb, I want to see you in my office

We thought you were a senior pro, when clearly you’re a novice

Oh little lamb, little lamb to them you are just an ovine resource

Now shut up and get in the oven while we prepare the minted sauce…

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Poetry corner

No chance for David – By Dominic Falafel

Bobby EwingRags plainly borrowed not bought,
Or pressed,
His gusset was so clearly fraught,
Ill dressed

Shirt flailing against waist,
So tatty,
His sense of unpleasant taste,
Ratty

Tie like a broken snake,
Flaccid,
Over shoulder in his wake,
And vapid

Brogues cracked through soles are felt,
Tardy,
His gut restrained by tired belt,
Lardy

David thought this interview,
A shoo-in,
His threads have likely cast askew,
Bobby Ewing


Poetry corner

Day of the triploids – By Henrietta B Pencil

grape nutting a squirrel

‘Don’t touch that! It’s evil!’

It’s grapes I’ve never trusted,
Though I’ve often tried,
The old ones bitter and crusted,
The young with furtive lies

Now I come to think of it,
Satsumas are such yobs,
Spouting pith as they see fit,
The orange underdogs

The humble apple boasts some form,
Not a stranger to a tiff,
For signed CDs of PM Dawn,
It would sell its Granny Smith,

Rhubarb’s known for starting fights,
And stealing motorbikes,
I hope that they get banged to rights,
The TWOKing little tykes

‘We’re good for you’ you’ll hear them say,
Just show them to the door,
They may be one of five a day,
But they’re rotten to the core


Poetry rectangle, or poetry corner if you prefer

Shapely Otter Thighs

 

By Panda McGuigan

 

Barry is an otter with a cheeky roving eye,

He’s often down the riverbank checking out a shapely otter thigh

Heaven knows what poor Margaret his long suffering wife,

Thinks of all his lusty acts, it must dominate her life

He’s never really home these days, and ignores his otterlets

I just hope when he’s older this is something he never regrets

To be fair though, the DNA tests were inconclusive

And Margaret herself in her youth was not exactly exclusive

She’d raise her tail to any beefy otter suitor,

Give her a fish head and she’d let you root and toot her

Often behind the bins where the stream it does divide

Otters would cue up for a go and come from far and wide

Things didn’t change when she met our hero Barry

She even flirted with the otter vicar on the day she was supposed to marry

So I guess Barry’s behaviour we can exonerate

As he’s out swimming in his hunky trunks looking for another mate

The pair of them really are awful, the lowest of the low

Perhaps they need to sort it out on the otter Jeremy Kyle show


Poetry corner

Flan was bought – by Wendy Bendy

Flan fun

Stan’s flan. No Jam.

I haven’t seen him,
Said the man,
The man,
That bought flan,

Not for weeks,
Said he who speaks,
For weeks,
He repeats

Tried the gym?
Said him,
Keeping trim?
Not like him

Flan was bought,
Without thought,
Special flan,
Bought by man

Flan with jam,
Made by Stan,
How convenient
That rhymes

I don’t like the man-bought flan,
I will not eat it Stan flan man


Poetry in the corner. Poetry corner then really….

Bengal

By Whiskas McGhee

There was a young man from Bengal

Who didn’t really get Limericks at all

 

Buffet belly

By Sainsburys O’Keefe

Oh my goodness I don’t half love a buffet

I could stay for hours and just scoff all day

From pickley pork pies to cheese and onion rings

A buffet must be one of my favourite things

I drool as I stare out over the table

Everything’s lovely and very digestible

Cheese and pineapple on sticks are so tasty

But they can be sharp so not good for health and safety

I once consumed a whole red onion

My tummy afterwards was a bit of a funny’un

That’s the only real downside I can make out

It turns my insides over of that there’s no doubt

They are great at Christmas perhaps after tobogganing

But too much of the good stuff and I’m back in the bog-again

Scotch eggs are the worst they go straight through me

Once I ate 47 in under an hour, and wolfed a load of Caerphilly

I swigged down the lager and ate a whole gammon

I downed 18 pies my bot was like a horrid brown cannon

My head was spinning and it was all a bit surreal

But blimey it wasn’t half a cracking funeral


Poetry corner

The Shoddy Monster – by Chesney Flatiron

monster

Terrible workmanship

He had never seen a nose,
Look quite as strange as that,
A question to him it did pose,
A thinking under hat

Now he looked the ears were poor,
The eyes were not all there,
Feet that shouldn’t touch the floor,
And hands that were not paired

The more he looked the more he found,
The faults the fizgog featured,
The torso it was far too round,
A funny looking creature

Because the stitching was so rough,
This time he’d save the lightning,
Formaldehyde’s expensive stuff,
The next beast would be frightening