How many poops,
Are you going to have to do,
Or all the other visits,
To the bathroom,
To use all that paper,
You stock pilled,
While thinking about yourself,
And no-one else,
How many visits,
To your overstocked loo,
Will you have to do,
To clear that conscience,
A stain that even tissue paper,
Cannot wipe away.
Paraskevidekatriaphobia,
Is a hard word to rhyme,
A word which I’ve never found the time,
But it is a real issue,
That appears,
At least once a year,
That suffers find,
Hard to hide from,
For should the thirteenth day,
Fall on a friday,
As it does today,
On the twelfth month of the year,
People begin to run in fear.
Poetry is fun,
Poetry is silly,
I can feel poetry in my… hand.
***
Poetry is a goose,
Poetry is a duck,
I can feel I don’t give a… hen.
***
Poetry is a hit,
Poetry makes me sit,
Some people couldn’t give a… verse.
***
Poetry can be blunt,
Poetry can be a stunt,
Poetry isn’t a… hard thing to write.
Probably underrated,
Inevitably misunderstood,
Never written about,
Except to grumble,
About its appearance on,
Pizzas with ham,
Pineapple should be,
Loved by,
Everyone.
Lemon like lime,
Tastes just fine.
Lemons are sweet,
But also taste neat.
Lemons can juice,
Or spread loose.
There he ran,
The durian,
All spiky and squishy.
***
It stinks,
It stings,
Growing up there in the tree.
***
All green,
And spiny,
Don’t fall on me.
I see the Lime light,
That’s not a crime like,
I like the late night,
With a Lime bite.
***
Bitter and sweet,
All citrusy and sharp,
Just like a bad night,
Out in the Lime light.
