Mr Noseybonk

Mr Noseybonk - a poem for children

Mr Noseybonk lives 'neath the stairs,
Mr Noseybonk never says his prayers,
Naughty Mr Noseybonk,
Noseybonk Man.

Mr Noseybonk knows where to find you,
Mr Noseybonk, is he behind you?
Wicked Mr Noseybonk,
Noseybonk Man.

Mr Noseybonk never goes to sleep,
Mr Noseybonk, upstairs he creeps,
Can he see you, Noseybonk?
Noseybonk can.

Mr Noseybonk

Mr Noseybonk - a poem for children

Mr Noseybonk lives 'neath the stairs,
Mr Noseybonk never says his prayers,
Naughty Mr Noseybonk,
Noseybonk Man.

Mr Noseybonk knows where to find you,
Mr Noseybonk, is he behind you?
Wicked Mr Noseybonk,
Noseybonk Man.

Mr Noseybonk never goes to sleep,
Mr Noseybonk, upstairs he creeps,
Can he see you, Noseybonk?
Noseybonk can.

In the jacuzzi with Sussex and England cricketer Luke Wright

Discussing matters cricket
(Of balls red and trousers white,
Or of whether the Oval wicket
will offer bounce and bite,

Or if Panesar’s the ticket,
Once he gets his action right,
To induce Ponting to nick it,
By deceiving in the flight,

Or if Harmison’s chin stubble
is a substitute for fight)
Can cast away all troubles,
and make your cares seem slight.

And to be sure, the pleasure doubles –
As well you’d think it might –
When reclining in the bubbles
with the delightful
Mr Wright.

A da-dee-da, thank-you-ever-so-much.


Explanation here.

Dr Seuss and Roald Dahl never did me any harm

Well I loved both Roald Dahl and Dr Seuss, and that never did me any harm. Certainly I didn’t seem to turn into a psychotic spouter of nonsense, but grew into a perfectly rounded and responsible member of society. And if you don’t believe that’s true,
I’ll fill your nostrils up with glue,
I’ll stuff your pants with itchy ants,
And give you weird breast-implants.
I’ll run you over with a tractor,
Then make you sit through The X Factor
(Including the bits with the Irish twins),
And then I’ll put you in three bins.

In three bins, you say,
But how?
I do not understand you now.
You could put me in a box.
You could put me with a fox.
You could put me in a house.
You could put me with a mouse.
In a tree
Or on a flea
Or with a Zizzle-Zozzle-Zee.
But still I fear I cannot see
How in three bins you could put me!

Before your puzzlement increases:
I’ll chop you into little pieces,
Your guts will burst like pus-filled pimples,
And in three bins I’ll put you.

Simples!

Telescope poem

Point the telescope & insert coin,
Turn and fully return knob.
Observe the View and at night the Moon.
Don’t look at the Sun. Hold child on stand.




This heartbreaker is a found poem. The explanation for it is here.

Vuvuzela Johnson

A pot megaphone,
A line of coke on a c harp,
A vodka kazoo -
These are but a few
intoxicating things
to parp.

You can read an analysis of this poem here.

The Blogger's Lament

Upstairs in the unforgiving
World, the World must earn a living,
Stuggling 'gainst the time and tide,
'Til sun sets on that World Outside
And softly sweet the night is falling,
But the blogger’s lonely calling,
Keeps him to his basement tied.

For the blogger’s work is ne’er abated,
The newsfeed’s greed is never sated,
The blogosphere keeps getting bigger,
And RSI it cramps his trigger-
happy finger, ever-clicking,
Ever cutting, pasting, sticking,
And in the end for what? Go figure!

Is it of his own volition
He endures this strange war of attrition?
Perhaps for his own education?
Perhaps for folks in other nations?
For those whom ignorance has blinded,
Or for the like and unlike-minded?
Perhaps for future generations?

For who can doubt it’s his vocation
To surf this sea of information?
His skill: to find the perfect snippet,
To metaphorically paperclip it
To another view or bent,
Find the balance of the argument,
Then, with his pithy comment, tip it.

But beside his true goal this goal pales:
He hopes to tip the whole World’s scales!
For those who know the blogworld know
A snowball idea can grow and grow!
And in other basements, down below,
By the monitor light’s ghostly glow,
Other bloggers add their snow.
For the blogworld’s ever on the go,
A constant state of change and flow...

...But from himself he’ll try and mask
How great his Sisyphean task.
For the Outside World’s so big, so slow,
And jealously guards the status quo.


Originally published August 2006 on The Daily Duck.

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