Poetry corner

Portaloo Blues

By Godfrey Butterwings


There is no light at the end of the tunnel

It’s just dark and empty, like Sally Gunnel

Must have been feeling when she lost a race

Disappointment and gloom is something we all must face

As we grow older, we’re supposed to get wiser

But I’m just getting mean and more of a miser

My portaloo hiring business has gone down the pan

Now I’m about as much use as Han

Solo without Chewbacca, that great big

Grizzly man bear, much better than Leia, just couldn’t hack her

I’m broke cos nobody wants to hire my lavatories

Just drifting along in my life like Denise

Van Outen without a celebrity bash to attend

This is what I’m facing, with what I must contend

Oh! I wish I could be a wookie, carrying a space gun

And having fur, that would be brilliant, but life isn’t fair

Otherwise my portaloo business would be doing well

Mrs Butterwings would love me, my life would be swell

But now like the band I have one direction

I must get a cure for my erection dysfunction

There is no light at the end of the tunnel

It’s just dark and empty with no hope of redemption

Poetry corner

The Lonely Cardigan – by Joanna Diskettes

Cardie mourning

Better times

As I cling to this cold stair rail,
Alone but never mardy,
I contemplate my lifetime,
As your favourite Cardie

Was it that I didn’t fit right?
Not protect you from the chill?
Do I now offend your sight?
That was not my woolly will

A happier time from this – my worst,
From charity shop you bought me,
And though you weren’t by far my first,
You’re now my one and only

My fate it now seems signed and sealed,
A lifetime lost in limbo,
Come back my saviour I will plead,
All sweaters are just bimbos

Poetry corner

The mighty oak – by Judy Juxtapositions

a lovely lovely oak

I wood…

I threw my hand down hard,
Upon it’s gnarly bark,
It bit back with a shard,
A splinter like a shark

I’m desperate by now to see,
Its rings, its roots and fungi,
And difficult it is for me,
To fall for just any one tree.

Its filthy leaves and taunting trunk,
Beckoning like an oaky hunk,
Some think I should know better by now,
Oh those dirty-minded boughs.

To those that damn me – if they could,
Be out alone and spanking wood,
Their minds would change within a flash,
To come across a nice young Ash

Oh those waving hungry boughs…

Poetry corner

Trolley Folly – by Humphrey Grottle

trolley on the beach

Even on the beach, I’ll be watching you…

Seconded by unanimous motion,
The trolley caused a depth of emotion,
Remembering’s of campsites, Valium and toast,
That teddy that Julie had liked the most.

Grabbing the carton,
Feel like a Spartan!
Twixt the fingers,
Find the beast

Trolleys shouldn’t cause these thoughts,
Like shoes on impulse hastily bought,
Dumplings cook gently while the dog looks on,
But in her mind the trolley still shone.

Grasping the Inuit,
Feel like a bis-cu-it!
Minus the soft bit,
Flush out the brush.

‘Get out!’ cried Julie ‘I’ve had my fill!’
The trolley trundled towards the ghostly till,
Imagine a Kit-Kat coming for dinner,
The trolley still going and clearly the winner

Holding the wash-mitt,
Feeling like a twit,
She doesn’t give a monkeys,
Julie jogs on…


Bis-cu-it? Really? Well, more poetry again soon dear reader!

Poetry corner

Some goats are just a bit like that – by Hoff Bettersmudge

Well, it's clearly a goat

Billy’s rendition of Horace Vandergelder in Hello Dolly! was very well received…

It’s funny to think that long ago,
Goats were oft’ in Broadway shows,
It didn’t matter that far back,
Some goats are just a bit like that

They often hung around backstage,
After their latest sell-out play,
For drinks and nibbles and having the craic,
Some goats are just a bit like that

Often they would tread the boards,
To delight their most admiring hoards,
Until the stage lights fade to black,
Some goats are just a bit like that

Critics said debauched behaviour,
Was not something for one to savour,
Their fans stood up and answered back,
Some goats just aren’t a bit like that


Well, another post involving goats – how original. Next we’ll be mentioning a particular supermarket far too often or something… More poetry soon, no doubt.

Poetry corner

The Golden Rush

by Bertram Tool


Ah, the involuntary fart at the urinal

It gives no warning of its arrival

Old Charlie is released into the open air

All fresh, free, naked and bare

All geed up for that first push

And that lovely relieving golden rush

Wandering minds turn to sport

Or that worrying day in court

As the spray foams around the pan

It’s a lovely time for any man

But then suddenly you become a little hot

What’s that tension around the bot?

A quick look around; is anyone there?

Can I really do a fart in here?

There really is nothing to be done

To stop this train, it’s no fun

Panic stricken clenching is the last resort

Keep telling yourself you’ve got to stay taught!

But Mother Nature she knows better

Just pray to your god that it won’t be wetter

Than the one you did when being examined by that nurse

That was bad, this could be worse!

For the love of Christ what is this curse?

It’s a battle in your pants the scale of Waterloo

Here it comes; choo, chip, chip, choooooo…

The smoke is clearing, the battle is done

Did you lose or was the fight won?

Another look around; the cubicles are free,

Until the next time you pop for a pee….

Poetry corner

The Crisp Shirt – by Tracey Ultimatum

A lickle doggy... ahhh...

Perhaps just a little smaller?

Poor Kevin, poor Kevin,
Oh are you a fool?
Did kids tease your beard,
When you went to school?

You used to look neat,
But now somewhat dishevelled,
Your scary wife beats you,
With chicken that’s devilled.

Shirts once crisp,
Enough for the army,
If you had a lisp,
You’d sound far less smarmy.

You need a pet,
But give it some thought,
Don’t buy a big one,
It makes you look short.

Kevin please your little quips,
Far away from being fantastic,
Look at me and read my lips,
Are always tediously sarcastic.

Poetry corner

Sugared Kestrels

by Bertram R Crumpet

I think I’m in love with Bill Oddie,

It’s not his beard or sinewy body

No, it’s not either of those as nice as they are

It’s not his Ford Escort although that is a nice car

What I love about Bill Oddie

Is the way he chortles and chirrups

Every time he pours out the syrup

So glad is he of the sugary snack

You’d think it was a lump of crack

Ah Bill Oddie and your sweet-toothed habit

He’s not a fan of a weasel or a rabbit

No it’s birds that he has on his brain

An owl, an ostrich or maybe a crane

Perhaps on a robin he should pour

Some syrup or sugar – more and more

His recipe is bound to be a hit….

Sugared kestrels and a caramelised tit

Poetry corner

Scampi shoes – by Darren Bilgejump

beach shoes

A pair of scampi shoes sit on the beach and dream of life back in the open sea…

The man he is becomes a who,
When he wears his scampi shoe,
When time to eat he always tries,
To consume packs of Scampi Fries

Because the ladies love him too,
When he shows his scampi shoe,
Breeds jealousy in in other guys,
With scampi he barely has to try

The secret to disguise the smell,
He dabs on fragrant greasy gel,
Will he ever be the same,
The scampi shoe that is now tamed

Poetry Corner

Huffing for pebbles – by Verity Spikeflume

Some pebbles

Not the best effort all things considdered.

Taken on the face of it,
I think that I have been hit,
By culture and some awesome scenes,
And beer produced from pubs with beams

I believe the man that tells me that,
He pokes crickets with a cricket bat,
Although I have to have suspicion,
I think that he’s a dietician.

Bless this beagle that cross’eth my path,
And feed him fudge that’s made in Bath,
Bleat like a crocus and shine like a moat,
Huffing pebbles is a peculiar quote

And reader, while you read this drivel,
Your brain will most likely shrivel,
As I’m sure that you’re all aware,
This week’s poem is a bit rubbish.