Some you may have seen before, some I’ve published elsewhere, some are new. See which is your fav…
When Percival Troon ate a curry
His bowels turned good food to slurry
With indecent haste
He began to lay waste
To Hampshire and large parts of Surrey
Last night, to the sound of a groan
We knew footie wasn’t on its way home
We’ll just have to wait
By the Praetorian Gate
As the cup spends its next years in Rome
For years, I could never find work
As my wink made everything jerk
But the prescribed medication
Has, to my consternation
Changed the wink to a continuous twerk.
Betty does not give a fig;
Our love, she says, is far too big.
But how will I teach her
About my alopecia
If I cannot unstick my wig?
As parents we parrot the mantra
‘Be good or you’ll miss out on Santa’.
But we know we’ll regret
Making good on our threat
If we morph from angel to gangsta.
Annually we solemnly resolve
Our past crimes to try and absolve
Yet we suffer conniptions
When our plans become fictions
And all hopes of success dissolve
Prince Charles, on a visit to Wales
Was persuaded to visit the sales
He bought some new suits,
A pair of dragon-hide boots.
And matching top hat and tails.
I really must get off my chest
The terror that follows ‘be our guest’
In my wardrobe, I stare
Wondering what I should wear:
The diamanté or the sequined string vest?
The naturist Basil Buxted
Brewed beer, in the nude, in his shed.
On his famed open days
He received special praise
For the taste of the ginormous head.
When young, it’s not done to keep score
And if you tell how it went, you’re a bore.
But with each passing year
You’re just grateful to hear
Something nearer a moan than a snore.