Category Archives: wit

Scientifically trying fun for loonies:New books

The mocking horse in the nursery.
A tale of two Pities.
Where have all the others gone?
Hanging for girls.
What next for dummies?
Mornings and mournings,
A Wolf at the door.
Lock the doors and open Windows.
Moses and Polytheism.
Zero growth and death and the afterlife.
Where have all the daisies gone?
On the lawn with Lacan,
Tampax in Tescoes,
Trouts old and young.
Bleeding women.
Entitled to be Foxed.
Blagging is Swedish.Slagging is English.
Blageurs’ Bonfire of Banalities.
Learn Swedish for Hoodies.
Pet a Bug for Dummies.
Punctuate your life:Inner divisions and visions.
Drama in dolls houses.
Viral Standhards
Counting your Buttons.
Can you Count?

Do you count?

Do we count?

Learn English the funny way

I’m up to my neck in my work,now
I’m still on my feet in the night.
I’m past all redemption;
I have no exemptions;
I’ll just keep on holding you tight.

I can’t see the future too clearly
I don’t what’s true and what’s false.
I’ll just keep my eyes
on how the land lies….
and I wonder  if you can waltz.

I’m up to my ears in confusion.
The government must be to blame.
Please teach me to swim
and lend me join in.
And,would you mind,sweet one,tell me your name.

The Dance

Photo1017Photo0971Photo0998
We were dancing to a tune,a tune I’d heard before.
We were spinning together across the polished floor
But as I moved towards you,you moved the other way
And I knew then,you heard quite differerent music play.
I made my mistakes,yet I thought you understood
Realisation comes down on me in a flash flood.
You’re just a stranger who seemed to know the dance
And I thought you loved me, but that was merely chance.
I’m so foolish, so foolish I give my heart away
I make errors then,of course,I have to pay.
Why don’t I learn more sense? Why do I repeat
The dance I am dancing, which leads on to defeat?
Oh,I’ll still keep on dancing for dancing is my life;
And like Andersen’s mermaid I walk always on sharp knives.
So foolish, so foolish my artless loving heart
I dance though I know this dance will tear my soul apart

Don’t go where we have gone to get a Monet

Down by the House of Commons
My love and I did roam
We were looking for a Monet
To decorate our home

Down by the Palace Gardens
We went a-walking next
As we believed that in that green
It was ok to have sex.

We were caught by the police!
My wife was quite displeased.
“Oh,can we plead not guilty ,sir.
We don’t know where we are!”

Down in the court of magistrates
We were accused of sin.
We stood there in the dock
And looked out for a bin.

We had so much old rubbish
We wanted to recycle.
But the lawyers made us keep it all
Except for the wife’s old cycle.

I thought sin was not a crime!
I didn’t even make it rhyme!
But in this country there’s a link
Sin and crime have been synched!

We asked to go to Westminster
To confess to a Catholic priest.
We could just take a penance
From a man who’s like a beast.

But the judge was feeling lazy
He sentenced us to death.
And we are going to die because
We wandered from the path.

If you want to get a Monet,
Buy one from Amazon.
And if you want to make sweet love
Don’t go where we have gone

Stan has a purple bath and Annie has an accident

  • Stan admired the gleaming purple bath.He was so thrilled by the performance of his microfibre cloth.Mary had gone to Bluewater Shopping Centre looking for a long cardigan to disguise her curves.Stanley rather liked them but she didn’t ask his opinions any more.
  • Out of the blue the doorbell rang.He flew downstairs and opened the door.”Can you take this parcel in for the lady next door?” The postman asked wearily.”Oh,fine Stan stuttered.He was trying to avoid Annie but here she was,coming down the road of superior semi detached houses suitable for ex-headmasters ,small businessmen,econometricians,surgeons,pie salesmen and  theologians.
    She was wearing perfume and green sandals from TK Maxx,light khaki tencel cropped combat trousers with a purple silky overblouse, not to mention her matching raspberry  and cream underwear .Round her neck hung a miniature grandfather clock on a solid gold chain,and she had three  imitation gold and silver watches on each  of her three wrists making a total of 333 watches according to Carnap’s theory of logic and Russell’s terrible handwriting.
                Stanley didn’t know that she had a mobile phone stuffed into her bra—one advantage for the larger sized woman.In fact she had 4 down there in her raspberry coloured glamour bra,as she had a phobia about their batteries running down all at once.So the more she had the lower the probability of her being without a phone whilst out and about the town and countryside.So she reasoned in her womanly  way.
    Just then one  phone rang.She rummaged around to the consternation  and turmoiluation of Stanley and the postman.She plucked out a pale blue phone.”Hi,it’s Annie” she murmured.”Hi Annie it’s Dave the paramedic with  carpentry skills.You’ve not rung 999 lately so we were wondering if all was well!”
    “Oh,I’m terribly sorry.I’ll try to phone later on.Thanks,Petal.”
    “That was Dave,our ex-transvestite converted paramedic”,she informed the men.
    The postman galloped off on his donkey, his bags full of undelivered males.It’s a tough but interesting life in Knittingham.Would you like a male delivery?Contact Parcel Force without delay.
    Annie went into Stan’s house and demanded a cup of coffee.”Won’t it make you put weight on” Stan quipped ironically.”Do you think I’m too plump?” she responded anxiously..”Too plump for what?” he quipped amiably.
    “To attract men,of course!””No,my angel,you are just perfect”he quacked definitively.”Nor are you an angel,strictly speaking,as I have good reason to know.Thank you,my beloved for services rendered so generously and freely.”
                           “Oh,my goodness I must get home to render the fat from the beef and to make some gooseberry jam.” Stanley looked uneasy.
    “I wonder why babies are left under gooseberry bushes?
    The thorns are so big it’s quite dangerous getting them out,or so Mary told me when Lyra was born.”
    “She was covered in scratches and wouldn’t come near me for months.”
    “Why don’t you come upstairs to look at our new purple bathroom suite.Since the Royal Wedding it’s the in colour.The gold taps were expensive but they do go well.”
    “My God,let me out.” she bawled,”It reminds me of the Vatican and that’s no place for a lady”,”Not even a gay lady?” Stan muttered parsimoniously, as he licked her eyelashes gently.
     “Stop that.I’ve got my Yves St Laurent mascara on.” “I prefer the taste of the Chanel,”he disclosed privately in an internal  secret memo.[available on 50 years]
    “Why not lick my neck instead?” she enquired curiously as she tripped over Emile the cat, who had slipped into the bathroom as usual  to see what they were up to,as it were,you know what I mean,catch my drift?
    She fell floppily into the bath and banged her head on the taps.
    “Oh,gosh,better ring 999″ Stan said to Emile.”Have you got your catphone warehouse mobile on you?””Yes ,it’s in my y-fronts”, the cat amiably miaowed.
    “Hi Dave,this is Emile.Can you come quick.Annie is unconscious and what is worse,she has scratched the new bath.”

    In fact it was Emile who had scratched the bath that morning but since Stan had not noticed he hoped to, callously, pass the blame onto poor  Annie.How cruel can a cat be?  Ask any mouse! To be continued possibly.

A love poem with a rather long tale

When we  humans are united
In the warm embrace of flesh.
We see the world all glowing gold
As our two souls enmesh,
Soul and body are a whole,
That sing to us their song.
Please bring your dear body back,
To where it still belong.
We’ll sit beside the oval lake
Where coots and moorhens float.
I’ll hold your hand and gaze at you,
If you read what I wrote!
If you’ll teach me Serbo-Croat
Whilst you tell me your anecdote.
While I play with the tv remote
While I look down your little red throat.
What is the gist of my thought?
If you tell me how many mords I have wrote.
What terrible trouble you’ve brought.
Do you think my new suit is too smart?
Since God knows what muck you have wrote.
And your adopted white billy goat.
Because I like your new overcoat.
Because you are whom I have sought.
Where’s all that hash you bought?
If you’ll buy me a lovely new coat.
If you only knew what I thought.
If all other things come to naught.
If you’ll give me that salmon you caught.
As I’m feeling so overky wrought.
If you write me a tender love note.
I’m admiring the moth on your coat.
If you promise to carry my tote.
I saw a bumble bee fly into your coat.
A bee wants a sniff at your throat.
God knows why I wrote what I wrote.
I blame the frog in my throat.
Shall we hire a small rowing boat?
Did you manage to sow a wild oat?
My plans seem to have all come to naught.
I am that lady you’ve caught.
What ethics and rules were you taught.
We could make love in this old rowing boat.
Would you like a small slice of cheese tart?
Wherever I look, there you aren’t!
I’m willing to try a la carte
Your gaze pierces me through like a dart.
Do you think we will do what we ought?
I feel like more toy dynamite.
I’m going off to fly my own kite.
We can make love but please do not bite.
I love to sit in this brilliant sunlight.
You have such a loving heart
You have such great loving art.
You love all post modern art.
Do you know who I aren’t?
Let’s all grow up and take part.
I’d love my own horse and cart
In my Play I’ll give you the best part.
I think this is heavenly art.
Oh,I just woke up with a start……………
I’d love to bake you a tart.
You can’t make a pint into a quart.
I’ll let you have the best part.
An owl wants to borrow your coat,
Did you pay for the work on your moat.
Can you teach me to read what I wrote?
Who wrote me the loveliest note ?
Woz you just an horny old goat.
I like cuisine if it’s haute.
I think my pants are too tight.
I love this silver moon light.
Sitting with the Lords by the moat.
Sculptures and prints of my goat.
You tell me the story of nought.
I’m admiring your brazen bold heart.
Brass comes in useful for art.
I regret when we do have to part.
My lips are beginning to smart.
Is this or isn’t it art?
Two answers are allowed ou your part,

Metaphors be with you

  Sky walker,copying and stealing verse,and other ideas

 From my blog:

Question: What did the poet say to Luke
Skywalker?
Answer: “Metaphors be with you.”
Metaphor.. my meat and drink.
Although I’m known for quaffing ink.
I need to play with words on line.
But writing proper poems takes time.
And I have no time to waste,
so I write by copy and paste.
A line from Donne a line from Blake,
George Herbert for goodness sake!
A bit of Shakespeare tossed and turned,
My poetry salads don’t yet earn.
Into the breach we’ll go dear friends
The Waste Land never seems to end.
To be or not to BBC ?
Shall we always disagree?
Chaucer I have not yet read.
Is it good when one’s in bed?
Look,stranger,on this island now,
it’s illegal to milk my cow.
And ,also, we do not roast geese.
Even when we have a feast.
Turning and turning in the gyre,
I think that church has got two spires.
The lake at Innisfree’s still there.
Is that where the Queen said prayers?
Who’d have thunk that Hughes and Plath
Never signed an autograph.
I like her poem about a mirror.
Some of them are full of horror.
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
On a brick or turtle dove.
I’m too tired to kiss you now,
I’ll massage your back with this pillow.
The bed’s too small for all of us
I suggest you try the bath.
If you put a duvet in
I believe i saw your twin
When did Herriot plough the fields?
Was Dover Beach where my skin peeled?
I forgot to put my sunscreen on,
Off they all go one by one.

I said


Where there’s a Will,there’s a Kate.

Keep your sense of disproportion ready.

Don’t put it all in perspective.It is a Royal Wedding.

Make sure to see things from the right angle….A right angle! Get orthogonal today.

Where there’s a Will,there’s no Harry.

For there’s a Will,so I’ll pay

I love you,Will. I’m  a Kate too.xxx

My readers and dreamers

Mostly my readers are in some other country
Where rabbits roam freely across the pages of  books,
And bed bugs are known only to a few miscreants.
I have no readers because they already know what I know,
Though how do they know they know?
I have no readers because I’m too fat or too thin,
My handwriting is illegible,and my typing is worse.
They are dreaming now of dentists,bluebirds and Easter Eggs,
Of  their psychoanalysts hand laundering  their cashmere sweaters.
And whirling them a  sweet story in the old hoover spindryer.
Why don’t psycho -analysts use Washing Machines..
We have a new one,but it must all be done by hand.
You admire, in your reverie,my talent for creation,
And also you hate me,so you keep washing.
The love is the warp and the hate is the weft.
Together they make a garment.
My readers are all sitting in the garden watching birds.
Do you know that you know what I know?

Who do you think you are?

I think I’m a bird today.
I want to fly like a jay.
but my fantasy fell flat
As I flew int a bat.
Tra lala lala  la lay.

I think I’m an owl in the morning
When I get up but I hear myself yawning.
But my eyes are so weak
I tried to chase my own beak.
And I got caught in the news agent’s awning.

Maybe I should be a sparrow
And I could look for worms in a furrow.
But as I don’t eat meat
And have very large feet
I’d do better to hide in my burrow.

Yes,it seems I’m a rabbit
Who would ever have believed it!
I live near Lyme Regis,
Just above where the beach is.
And we rabbits have multitudinous habits.

Crutches

I don’t know why you are all so keen to know about how to have sex on crutches.After all,are you actually on crutches?No,so why do you want to know?In fact it’s impossible.That is it.Impossible!It was a joke made when I,myself, was on crutches.If you are in severe pain sex is the last thing you want to engage in.Even if you did the pair of you, each with a pair of crutches will find it hard.so why not let the crutches have sex in the cupboard while you have a chat or write a poem.

 I don’t like crutches and sticks
Or axes and shovels and picks.
So leave me alone
To cry and to moan.
Or I’ll  whack you with one of my bricks!

I’m feeling really sad today
I feel so grey and blue.
I wonder if you’ll come this way
I’d cheer up if I saw you.

I’m feeling very melancholy
I’m feeling very worried.
This is not hyperbole…
My face is full of furrows,

I’m feeling anxious and morbid
When I hear the News.
 Oh,would that someone would forbid
Andrew Lansley’s views.

I stay in bed all day and night
I cannot come downstairs.
I want to daydream out of sight,
And I can’t afford the fares!

I ate my breakfast on the floor
I’ve turned into a dog.
And now I’m bolting for the door.
Wag,wag,wag,wag,wag.

Please release me

Please release me ,let me go
For I don’t love blogger anymore.
No body ever puts  a comment
So I think I am  most likely going to chuck it.

Many hours I’ve laboured writing here,
And never shed a tear,
But now I can’t go on like this
Is this what a writer’s life is?

I think you are lacking empathy,
 For writers like my self.
Please read all the literature,
For your own mental health.

A scientist at Cambridge Uni
Has done lots of research.
After spending all the money
Empathy’s what they teach.

Riemann’s limerick today

Riemann was a German geometer.
No-one else understood weird shapes better.
He found parallel lines met,
It felt strangely illicit.
But his wife did not let such work fret her.

I’m assuming he had his own wife.
And hope he had no matrimonial strife
They entertained mathematicians
Who took up different positions
 To illustrate the new  geometry  of life.

Me and my white painted undies

I liked to row my own boat
Whilst wearing white undercoat.
But the lifeguard saw me
While he was having his tea.
And he sent a suggestive short note.

You see, we couldn’t afford vests.
So dad thought painting one on was next best.
But,as the paint was translucent,
My underpants were indecent.
I wonder what he’ll dream up next?                                  

Anyway,I married this lifeguard last Spring,
Because nakedness was very much his thing.
We live by the sea
And as happy we be
As a pair of loving young Kings

Love with cracks !

My cookery books disintegrate,
My pans are turning black.
The Le Creuset pot’s too heavy
The china’s got a crack.
The table’s got deep scratches
The cutlery’s rather sparse.
My complexion too has wrinkles
Quite unlike my arse.
My hands are going wonky
Though my fingernails still grow.
I’m ready to scratch your face
I’m jealous of your hair.
My feet look so bad in sandals
They made my neighbour scream.
Can THEY do nothing for you?
On your way, Sunbeam.
The house is like my body
They both are getting worn.
I can buy new cutlery.
But I can’t buy a girlish form.
I need a sense of humour
Or I shall go insane.
And I hear extra exercise
Can renew my brain.
I learn new skills each passing year
From art to Su Doku.
But the skill I want to get perfect
Is the skill of loving you!
I’ll practise in the daytime
I’ ll practise in the night.
I hope I can improve my skill
If I improve my sight.
Perception is the mother
Of wisdom and of love.
I want to see you better
My own sweet darling dove.
I’ll love you in the wintertime
And in the summer too.
I want to see you clearer.
I do,I do,I do !

The computerised husband speaks

Computer artfulness

 I love you and you love me!
Believer!
Where on earth should I be?
Whenever.
I blocked cookies all my life
If you want one,ask the wife.
I eat spam, and google then
I begin all over again.
whatever.
I ban websites for a living
But my wife is very forgiving,
Men ever!
I eat splogs and gurgle blogs
Then I cut up all the logs.
Whenever.
I’ve been married fourteen times,
They divorce me for my rhymes,
Whatever.
I eat cookies if I can,
If I can’t I get them banned,
Forever!
I’m the God of Monster Space,
I’ll destroy this  human race,
Moreover.
If you meet me you won’t know
@Cos I look like old so and so,
Whoever.
But I am mad and I’ll get you
I eat all the human zoo.
Together,
Whenever.

Parts

I divided the world into three.
There is them ,and there’s you and there’s me.
But if they are us,
I’ll be very nervous.
Wondering how they all  do be,

The world I see depends on my map.
Sometimes I find quite a gap.
I slipped down a hole,
I found in my soul.
I quite forgot that  could hap!

I can’t see the map in my mind.
It’s effects are not difficult to find.
If I have no friends
And no meaningful ends
I deduce that my mind has gone blind!

I just don’t know why I bother

I feel like the invisible woman.iIput all this stuff on and nobody reads it.?Which means noone will read this.Which means there’s no point writing it because nobody will see it.Eeh,looks like an insoluble problem here.If people don’t look,I can’t ask them why because they won’t see this.Wot a sorry sit you ayyyy shhhheeeeeeee onnnnnn.
Wot a wwwayyyyyyste of my tie em .Yes,tie ’em up I say.And turn them out.Don’t let them look.
Never look back or you’ll turn into  a pillar of salt
Y did God chewse salt for Lot’s wife?
Y not a pillar of potoatoes?
Y not a pillar of black pepper?
Y not a pillar of nutmeg?
Alas wee will never no as God is not e r
He is not  her?
No not,HER
E R
He’s nor E R NOW
Where is HE now
Y do u arrrsskk?
I  wish 2 c Him
So do I
So do all of us
Woe is me.
Where is me?
Worries me
Worries me 2.
Well it worries me 102!
Shall we pray?
Let us pray
And let us not be persecured or prosecuted for our manifold transgresions.
Y do u al ways bring gee ometry into it?
After all God is not a mathematician,is He?
U tell me!
Manifold are the ways of the Lord/
And manifolds is gee Ometry,ain’t they.
Well, now U put it like that,it does a rowse my susspishions a bit.
Maybe God just loves imaginary numbers,manifolds and all Riemann’s cats
Also slugs,worms,sssnails.
Maybe God is at right angles to us
He’s not facing us.
He’s orthogonal.
I think I’ll join the Greek Orthogonals
I love their rites
I love their writes.
I love to write about rites
It’s a rite
And it’s my right to have my rites respected
As an Orthogonal,that is.

Gene for blogging?

Is blogging a genetic trait?
I’d like to buy new genes today.
My parents never owned
A word processor or a phone.
So it’s their fault I lack genes today.

My cats are all full of genes
They still don’t know what I mean.
So I put them to bed
When they had been fed.
So now I have all their outfits to clean

The last post

I had the last post with you
One reader and one blogger
I fell in love with you
My blog will now last forever.

I wrote my last post today
A  task that made no sense
But please keep reading all the time,
 I need adsense for the pence.

I had the last post from my brain
It’s taking industrial action,
So read this now and evermore.
I’ll be in bed, enjoying complete satisfaction
I had this last post with you
One blogger for one reader
I love to write for you,
But This lady feels you don’t  really need her!

Blog earnings

I think I’ll start a new blog.

I want to get out of this fog.
I could have adsense
To make a few pence.
Then I’ll buy food for my starving dog .

My f riend made a thousand dollars
By selling vintage dog collars.
But now they’re all gone,
Except for this one.
She’ s charging me on a lead till tomorrow!

Who is writing this blog
Is it a woman or a dog?
The dog throws the mouse
All over my house
I think I’ll change him for a mog!

Too many blogs

Blogs are like balloons in a way.
You write them and they  float away.
But balloons can be popped
If your server is whopped.
It’s amazing we can do that today.

I’ve got twenty five email identities,
Not bad for a lady nonentity.
They say we don’t have souls.
What lovely hot coals
For warming up such a non- quantity.

I have google and yahoo bt
So you hoo  can communicate with me.
Why not come round
So you hear the sound
Of laughter,and drink  home brewed tea?

Blog genius

Some people have a true gene for blogging
And what used to be referred to as snogging.
But most of us don’t
So that’s why I won’t
Be doing for any more  character slagging.

I don’t have the blogger’s gene
Because neither of my parent’s had seen
A word processor or
A laptop computer
If they had,who could I have been?

My friend hates me blogging this way
She wants me to obey what she says.
So I changed the blog name
To desspoil her l game
And  I continue to blog to this day

Addicted to blogging

I once was addicted to blogging.
It was just like falling off a logging.
But noone read me

So now I can see
I really prefer lots of hugging.

I used to write posts every day.
That is the bloggers  daft way.
But I was talking to air.
Noone was there.,
So now I am not going  to say.

I used to like writing verse,
Especially if it was terse.
But I lost the knack
So until it comes back
I’m going to get steadily worse.

I may start writing  poems with no form.
That is the modern day norm.
But I like merry tunes
And sivery moons.
Free verse would cause a mindstorm

I’m going to get worser and worse.
At verse ,Oh ..curse

YOU LOVE MY

    There was no way I could miss,
The smile in your eyes when we kissed.
I think you’re divine
And we’re getting on fine.
But please don’t wipe your nose on my dress!

You love my shining blue eyes ,
And the strange way my poetry rhymes .
I  do like your smell,
Though I still cannot tell,
If it’s  cologne or just  dirt,sweat and grime.

I love your weird sense of humour
And the way your love spreads like a rumour.
Shall we get wed,
And then go to bed?
Or shall I run away with the  new French  piano tuner?

How very odd,like God

How very odd it seems to be.If I say I am about to delete my blog,restrict the readership or remove the comments then the number  of readers suddenly rises.How can that be?I mean,how do they know?I am puzzled and pestilified magnanimously.
Is someone watching me? Am I going to be revealed by Blogileaks and have my poems on the front page of the Guardian to the horror of the Liberals and the Leftovers?Will men accuse me of Bad Sex?
Will I be arrested? No,it’s just the writing that will be arrested when I had hoped it would be arresting.What a difference a few letters can make.Especially French letters,Julian .

I’d better get going!

Oh,please don’t  let the people know
Kathryn 100’s written so
Beautiful a rhyming verse
Oscar Wilde’s best  would be much worse.

Oh,please don’t tell the electorate
Kathryn’s going to demonstrate
How to find the deviation
From the mean invariation.

Kathryn’s teaching poetry
Literate non-Euclidean geometry.
The lines encircle the earth’s globe,
I hope you’re not a math-o-phobe.

Kathryn’s teaching statisticians.
How to copy obstetricians.
How to find an average muse,
To write  you poems with standard views.

Kathryn wants to make you see
Infinite dimensional theory.
Is your mind in deviant mode?
Means and medians set your code.

Kathryn is a  witch of sorts,
Writing odes and baking tarts.
Cracking Dirac’s mathematics,
Writing poems too autobiographic.

Kathryn likes Herr Riemann’s cat.
For she herself invented that.
She went through the looking glass,
And found her double smoking grass.

Kathryn followed pussy dear,
Held her tail and tugged her ear.
Pussy stayed in Wonderland.
Kathryn came back with three hands.

Kathryn’s hands are wrong and right.
If you catch one hold it tight .
She will teach you   quantum physics.
If you’d like to emulate Dirac.

Kathryn’s hands have double joints.
One to bend and one to point.
Kathryn’s feet have got ten toes.
I wonder if Paul Dirac knows?

WINTER LOVE BIRD

A light hearted song for your entertainment.

                   Honesty seed pods

Be my love bird for tonight,
I want you always in my sight.
And I want to hug you too
I do,I do I do.

Winter is a cold affair.
Snow and holly in my hair.
I need your arms to warm me through
I do,I do ,I do,too.

I have to be open with you
I mean to win your love somehow.
I feel as if I’ve met my NOW
I do.I do,I do.

I love your eyes,I love your face,
At which I gaze when we embrace.
I love your voice and music taste
I do.I do.I do.

Be my lovebird,be my mate
Don’t let’s ever separate.
Your kisses give me appetite
.They do,they do,they do.

Shall we nest in this larch tree?
There is space for you and me.
And maybe soon there may be three!
We doobie,doobie dooooo.

NONVERBAL HUMOUR

Teeh hee hee nonverbal humour,

We’ll have to presumer ,

That you made a bloomer,

For on your own blog

Nonverbal don’t throb,

So you’d best lookout for a job.

I thought I could be PM

As I’m both a woman and a man.

So I could marry myself,

To save the National Health.

What do you think of my great plan?

WAITING:NEW LIMERICKS FOR DARK NIGHT FUN

1.
I am waiting once more for my lover,
He  arrives here  late or whenever.
 I got so enraged,
But now we’re engaged,
And he tickles my back with a feather!

2.
I’ve been waiting all day for the plumber
My bum is going number and number.
The lavatory’s blocked.
And my husband is foxed
And he’s getting glummer and glummer and glummer!

3.
I am meeting a new man tonight
That’s why my eyes are so bright.
I am a real optimist,
And a pseudo- alchemist

So please do not stand in my light.

4.
I was waiting to meet up with my dad.
I was mostly unsuitably clad.
He walked straight past me
He didn’t even see!
He  said I looked just like a lad!

5.
I was waiting to shop with my mum,
As I was feeling so terribly glum.
She bought me a hat
And a warm tabby cat.
Which has bitten the nail off my thumb.

6a.
I was waiting for a job interview,.
I wanted to do something new.
I was dressed all in red.
When the interviewer said :
“I am unfortunately in mad  love with  you.”

6b
I was rather surprised by his words.
As it interrupted my daydream of surds.
Then for his safety and health,
I married him for his wealth
Though I’m really an algebra nerd.

I find I now love him so well.
That all folk who see us can tell.
I cook him hot dinners,
Whilst my poetry simmers.
So it’s heaven not living in hell.

7.
I was waiting to see my G.P
 He sometimes appears on TV
He gives good advice
On how to rear lice.
But he’s not so impressive with me!