Poetry corner

The roughage grows dark – by Minty Boffle

Dark-doodle

The dark doodle

Once it may have been true to a point,
That the roughage was rough and the flample was goint,
But when looked down on it’s true that you see,
The flample was pample and goadingly droit

It once looked quite pretty when viewed in the dark,
The roughage, the pample, hung out in the park,
For sitting on swings and going all weeee,
But the droit came upon them and cut them a’grark

The pample did stample and the roughage did yank,
And across the sandpit the pair they did sank,
To rid them both ever of the nether-seen droit,
They pitched up a coodle and had a stout plank

But the roughage not covered beneath the pitch coodle,
Was exposed to the droit right on to his noodle,
And the pample did peek out a safe word to utter,
But the roughage was lost with it’s memory a doodle

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Poetry corner

Bodily terrors – by Gloria Headtorch

An ear lobe

No….NO…..NOOOOOOAAARRRRGHHHH!

There are noses in my dreams,
Snorting and snuffling and tooting and bubbling,
There are noses in my dreams,
The sort of thing that makes sleep so troubling

Knees feature quite prominently too,
Clicking and clacking and knobbly and retching,
Although I’d wish for something new,
It’s knees and not even ones that are fetching

Don’t get me started on the kidneys,
They frighten me most and make waking a pleasure,
They make me sleep-punch my Sidney,
He says that it’s fine and to punch at my leisure

The lobes! The lobes! Oh Christ yes the lobes,
Most often lobes scare me half blind,
And while I’m worrying about them in droves,
Stalking eyelashes sneak from behind

So while my night terrors are full to the brim,
With feelings of dread and foreboding,
Body parts full of most murderous vim,
With arms on the side-lines still goading.


Poetry corner

The Soon Spoon – by Hilliard Ever-Soslightly

A deadly spoon

Precious…..

Oooo wasn’t it a bendy spoon,
It made light and yet made gloom,
It stayed all bendy until noon,
And then became so stiff

With a spoon like that you’d be the boss,
You would never suffer loss,
If you did you’d barely give a toss,
And should you care – you shouldn’t

When stiff it could become a sword,
When bendy makes you feel a Lord,
Your subjects ever overawed,
That spoon could crumble empires

Destroyer of worlds the spoon became,
Sheer power of it never tamed,
And you will never be the same,
Now you are in its thrall.

A weapon beyond the realms of man,
It weighs a tonne and yet a gram,
You borrowed it from your old Nan,
Part of her picnic hamper