Silly Poems

Value

by Andy Curtis

Buy one, get one free,
Then buy another,
But get no sympathy.

Buy four,
Even try for more,
But there's never one for me.

attraction

by Andy Curtis

I can't believe how attractive you are.
From the outset, we just clung together
Like reunited lovers
There's always such a buzz when you're around
And what's that aroma?
It's strangely familiar.

You hold me - tighter, if anything,
And I simply can't let go.
You make the hairs on the back of my neck stand up
You make all the other ones stand up too
And you're hot - so amazingly hot!
I can't even manage to ask for what I really want -
Like, for the electric to be switched off.

the bruise

by Liz Curtis

I’ve got a big bruise on my bottom
I was just going to sit on my chair
Half way between sitting and standing
I realised the chair wasn’t there

I thrashed my arms round rather wildly
I started to panic and then
I felt a sharp pain on my bottom
And found I was sitting again

The furniture moved to allow me
To put my bum down on the floor
Thank goodness that nothing was broken
But I felt that my bum would be sore

I gingerly checked out my body
Unsteadily got to my feet
With the furniture rearranged neatly
I managed to sit on my seat

I’ve got a big bruise on my bottom
It must have received quite a whack
With slightly red bits round the edges
It’s coloured all purple and black

I’ve got a big bruise on my bottom
I don’t mean to show off or brag
But really it is very splendid
It should be in some bruised bum mag

Josie's Knickers

by Andy Curtis

Josie's knickers are full of piss
I wouldn't normally tell you this
But the stain is spreading large and wide
And I'm not convinced it will stay inside.

Oops, now it's there for all to see
Slowly seeping towards her knee
Trickling downwards more and more
I fear it's almost reached the floor

All muscle control is now long gone
And the gushing flow goes on and on
The pool has now become a lake
Josie STOP for goodness sake!

Josie's face is as red as blood
Things haven't gone quite how they should
But the crisis point is safely past
And clean dry pants are in place at last.

ode to someone who is probably quite nice, but who is not really my cup of tea in all honesty

by Liz and Andy Curtis

I laugh when I fart,
But, joking apart,
You don't.

the humble roll

By Liz Curtis

Dedicated to Ian


toilet roll hanging - right and wrong

Next time you go to the loo
'Cos you have something big to do
Please consider the humble roll
And make conservancy your goal
Keep it turning up and over
And you will use so much less

Maybe you need just a wee
That's a two piece, maybe three
A constipated crap is more
So maybe you should start at four
But keep it turning up and over
And you will use so much less

But if a great big dump's your need
Then counting pieces you'll not heed
You'll reel it off in one big go
And not disturb the bowel's flow
But keep it turning up and over
And you will use so much less

Now diarrhea's a different case
It rarely ends up in one place
Yards and yards is what you'll need
For that you'll want a rapid feed
So bugger it and turn it over
And sod it if you don't use less

dust 2

by Liz Curtis

(floating dust particles)

It’s back again
For grain by grain
Because it must
Down falls the dust.

It gathers round
Without a sound
Coating articles
With its tiny particles.

Oh, blow it not.
For then it’s shot
Up in the air
To gather there.

Then gently floats
And softly coats
All that it touches.
So have a butchers

At all that dust.
For it was just
In front of me
For all to see.

dust

by Andy Curtis

(actual dust particles)

I  saw some dust
And it was just
In front of me
For all to see.

I saw some dust
Or was it rust?
It was quite small
Hard to see at all.

I saw some dust
I had it sussed.
It’s gone today
I blew it away.

I still hold fast
To recent past.
I think I’m bust.
I miss my dust.

owed to a piano tuner

by Liz Curtis

He fondled his tool
As he sat on the stool
His face showing deep concentration
He poked with his prong
Just to help him along
And my heart thrilled with anticipation

The tones were so deep
My heart gave a leap
So sonorous was the vibration
Whereas tones that were shrill
Caused my heart to stand still
And my spirit to soar with elation

As the handle he turned
My heartstrings all yearned
To attune to his sensual desires
My butt felt amazing
My hammers were blazing
To check out those finely tuned wires

My heart fairly hummed
As the strong fingers strummed
The sound pouring out seemed to soar
Then he slammed down the lid
That'll be forty quid
He said as he walked out the door

dead bug

by Andy Curtis

[the author of this poem owns a "The Bug" made by PURE, part of Imagination Technologies. This item is essentially a DAB alarm clock radio designed by Wayne Hemingway. If you want to know more go HERE.]

My Bug has expired
Its lights have gone out
It’s silent and dark
Of that there’s no doubt
It’s speakers don’t sound
They don’t bounce to the beat
Its woofers don’t woof
And its tweeters don’t tweet.

But help is on hand
From Stuart & co.
Those people from PURE
Are concerned, I now know,
For they’re sending a part out
From the factory floor
So that I can awaken
To radio once more.

(In case you are wondering
the part came on time
and so now, thankfully,
everything's fine.)

archaeology

by Guest Author Stephen Cree who emailed the site.

Catch Stephen's site - soon be to online HERE.

Now, on with the poem:

I don’t dig archaeology
DIY’s how I get my thrills
You knob around with a trowel
and I salivate over drills.
You rabbit on incessantly
‘bout Romans and Vindolanda
and the only reason I’m still stood here
is I’d quite like to borrow your sander.

doing a boiler

by Liz Marshall

I have a little boiler in the kitchen
It hangs quite neatly right behind the door
In Summer it just manages hot water
In Winter I require rather more

It keeps the radiators running hotly
It fills the bath with water, piping hot
The power shower is my very favourite
I’d say I like it quite a very lot

The boiler shows the temperature in numbers
That are red and glowing bright so that I know
Just how hot the water’s heating up inside it
But then one day the boiler said FO

To say that it felt rude is understatement
The bally thing just packed up, wouldn’t go
No glowing numbers and the house was freezing
I felt I had the meaning of FO

I rushed upstairs to try and find the manual
To check the meaning of this F and O
To find out why it really wasn’t working
To see if I could try and make it go

The booklet said the boiler had no pressure
A thing it really needs so it can go
It said if I just added some more water
Then that would soon get rid of big FO

I rummaged in the tool box in the kitchen
At last I found the implement required
I reached my hand up, deep inside the boiler
And screwed until the bleeder finally fired

The moral of this complicated ditty
Is, when I see lights flashing on and off
Make sure I give the boiler a good screwing
Or it might tell me I can just f***off

the ship

The Ship
by Pieter Jan Sanders
(Aged 13 at the time of writing)

The sky was as black as black can be,
the ship was tossed on a stormy sea,
the waves, they crashed against the rocks,
whilst the sailors cursed and washed their socks.

The ship did roll, the spray did fly,
the captain got some in his eye,
and each man was certain that he would die,
as he hung out his socks and left them to dry.

Then the ship it struck the rocks!
Then it began to sink!
The sailors died without their socks,
with their pants in a bowl in the sink.

---

Welcome to Silly Poems, Pieter - keep 'em coming!
Andy.

Timmy Sat

by Andy Curtis

Timmy sat
Nice and quiet
In the cafe
On a diet

Timmy watched
Plates of dinner
He didn't eat
He just got thinner

Timmy dreamed
Of fish and chips
And in his sleep
He licked his lips

Timmy woke
The cafe dark
The ovens cold
His hunger stark

The day is done
The folks departed
The pie is gone
Timmy farted

house husbandry

by guest author - John Cooper

house husbandry is difficult
as their footings are seldom good
the base of their relations is usually based on mud
oh and concrete. Sexing them is hard
no outward signs of gender
and often subtle clues
are covered up with render
the colour of the mortar is a clue to the expert
but for the amateur a chintzy curtain is always sure to work
but the hardest part of domicile mating
is an incompatibility in their damp course rating.

Drizzle in Darlington

The Theme was "Rain"

Drizzle in Darlington
By Karrie Hall

There's drizzle in Darlington
And mizzle on Mull
There's snow in Shrewsbury
And hailstones in Hull
It's chucking down in Cheltenham,
Chelmsford and Catton,
So if you're going out anywhere
You must put your hat on.

On My windscreen

The Theme was "Rain"

On My windscreen
By Jo webster-Green

On my windscreen,
Big white splat,
Rain comes down,
Gone! Like that!

they’ve cut the grass in the graveyard

by Liz Marshall and Andy Curtis

They’ve cut the grass in the graveyard
The loose grass is lying around
The corpses have less insulation
But they don't feel the cold underground

They’ve cut the grass in the graveyard
The yellowing stubble shows through
I reckon it looks more untidy
But gardeners need something to do

They’ve cut the grass in the graveyard
At a stroke they have cut down the crop
So the bodies below in their coffins
Are that little bit nearer the top.

They’ve cut the grass in the graveyard
It's a beautiful summery smell
It's a scent that reminds me of heaven
Though most will be rotting in hell.

Not forgetting a carton of mushy peas

By Jason Thompson

I got up and got ready
Took the kids to school then
Had a meeting with the Head
And another Governor to ratify the school
Budget for the next financial year.

When I got home I worked hard
As did Tim, at least until lunchtime
And at some point I also had
My hair cut in the kitchen.

For a special treat
I went down the street
To get something to eat.

Fish and Chips.

Seeds

by Andy Curtis & Liz Marshall

An awfully bad farmer called Joe
Had a field that he wanted to sow
So he prayed for his needs
But he planted no seeds
So, you see, there was nothing to grow