silly poems?
 

there was one about shaving cream .. another about wanking .. where are they?

M

I knew a pleasant peasant, and she had a lovely smile,
and despite myself I loved her, although only for awhile.

once there was a silly poem
but alas, now it's gone
maybe I'll find it when I'm home
Burma Shave

the cow is of the bovine ilk...
one end moo; the other, milk...

ogden nash...

My mind has halted to a grind;
a piece of rotting melon rind.

O' where, O' where,
can I find,
the monster:
whom on my brain has dined.

ring-1981

Consider the auk;
Becoming extinct because he forgot how to fly, and could only walk.
Consider man, who may well become extinct
Because he forgot how to walk and learned how to fly before he thinked.

Ogden Nash

When the light is green you go
When the light is red you stop
But what do you do
When the light turns blue
With orange and lavender spots?

- Shel Silverstein

I heard this on some show back in the day (Dr. Demento?) that was reviving some Spike Jones:



---------- Post added at 03:03 PM ---------- Previous post was at 03:00 PM ----------



I like Ogden Nash:

Behold the Duck
It does not cluck.
A cluck it lacks,
for it quacks
It is especially fond of a puddle or pond,
And when it dines or sups,
It's bottoms ups!

A Lady Who Thinks She Is Thirty


Unwillingly Miranda wakes,
Feels the sun with terror,
One unwilling step she takes,
Shuddering to the mirror.

Miranda in Miranda's sight
Is old and gray and dirty;
Twenty-nine she was last night;
This morning she is thirty.

Shining like the morning star,
Like the twilight shining,
Haunted by a calendar,
Miranda is a-pining.

Silly girl, silver girl,
Draw the mirror toward you;
Time who makes the years to whirl
Adorned as he adored you.

Time is timelessness for you;
Calendars for the human;
What's a year, or thirty, to
Loveliness made woman?

Oh, Night will not see thirty again,
Yet soft her wing, Miranda;
Pick up your glass and tell me, then--
How old is Spring, Miranda?

suck me tender,suck me sweet
wrap your lips around my meat
when you're done sit back and grin
and watch the cum roll down your chin

To Groucho

Most poets write of Meadowlarks
I sing instead of Groucho Marx
His lustrous eyes, each like a star
His noble brow, his sweet cigar
His manly stride, his soft moustache
His easy way with sponsors' cash
His massive shoulders, brawny arms
His intellect, his many charms
In short, unless the truth I stray from
A man to keep your wife away from.

Richard Armour was the man. Also from him:

Shake and shake
The ketchup bottle.
None will come,
And then a lot'll.

Revolting Rhymes by Roald Dahl

(presented in part)
GOLDILOCKS AND THE THREE BEARS

This famous wicked little tale
Should never have been put on sale.
It is a mystery to me
Why loving parents cannot see
That this is actually a book
About a brazen little crook.
Had I the chance I wouldn't fail
To clap young Goldilocks in jail.
Now just imagine how you'd feel
If you had cooked a lovely meal,
Delicious porridge, steaming hot,
Fresh coffee brewing in the pot...

....Then dad cries, 'Golly-gosh! Gee-whizz!
'Oh cripes! How hot this porridge is!
'Let's take a walk along the street
'Until it's cool enough to eat.'
He adds, 'An early morning stroll
'Is good for people on the whole.
'It makes your appetite improve
'It also helps your bowels to move.'
No proper wife would dare to question
Such a sensible suggestion,
Above all not at breakfast-time
When men are seldom at their prime
No sooner are you down the road
Than Goldilocks, that little toad
That nosy thieving little louse,
Comes sneaking in your empty house...

....I say again, how would you feel
If you had made this lovely meal
And some delinquent little tot
Broke in and gobbled up the lot?

...But Goldilocks, like many freaks,
Does not appreciate antiques.
She doesn't care, she doesn't mind,
And now she plonks her fat behind
Upon this dainty precious chair,
And crunch! It busts beyond repair....

...You'd think by now this little skunk
Would have the sense to do a bunk.
But no. I very much regret
She hasn't nearly finished yet....

Most educated people choose
To rid themselves of socks and shoes
Before they clamber into bed.
But Goldie didn't give a shred.
Her filthy shoes were thick with grime,
And mud and mush and slush and slime.
Worse still, upon the heel of one
Was something that a dog had done.
I say once more, what would you think
If all this horrid dirt and stink
Was smeared upon your eiderdown
By this revolting little clown?

...Oh, what a tale of crime on crime!
Let's check it for a second time...

...A judge would say without a blink,
'Ten years hard labour in the clink!'
But in the book, as you will see,
The little beast gets off scot-free,
While tiny children near and far
Shout, 'Goody-good! Hooray! Hurrah!'
'Poor darling Goldilocks!' they say,
'Thank goodness that she got away!'
Myself, I think I'd rather send
Young Goldie to a sticky end.

The Wasp
by Ogden Nash

The wasp and all his numerous family
I look upon as a major calamity.
He throws open his nest with prodigality,
But I distrust his waspitality.