Doggerel

I’m not saying my poetry’s doggerel
But it ought to be cleaned up with bog-roll

Ode to the House of Pies

The day they closed the house of pies,
I felt the tears well in my eyes.
Your chicken and mushroom pie and chips,
Will no longer pass my lips.

Dispensing pies with skill and speed,
You were close by in times of need.

A distance, measured not in feet,
But in the time it took to eat,
Not a mouthful less, not a mouthful more:
A pie and chips, from door to door.

Symposium

I hate the word symposium,
it gets right up my nose-ium.
it particularly bores me when
repeated, ad nauseam.

I Know Who You Are

I know who you are,
I’ve seen you before,
Your voice sounds familiar,
I know you I’m sure.

I’m hopeless with names,
but I don’t forget faces,
And I’m sure I’ve seen yours
In all kinds of places.

I’ve met you at parties,
We’ve chatted in bars,
You are from Venus
And I am from Mars.

I’ve glimpsed you in rush hour
On buses and trains,
In all sorts of airports
We’ve caught the same planes.

But mostly I see you
With some other guy,
Who tries not to notice you
Give me the eye,

And he’s clearly a dickhead
And I just wish you’d see,
You’d be much better off
If you went out with me.

Uttoxeter
(Very hard place to write a limerick about. Answers on a postcard please.)

There was a young girl from Uttoxeter
Who was maimed when a very large box hit her
And sad to report
Her feet did distort
So that now she finds none of her socks fit her.

St Peter’s Square

I watched the Pope at Christmas,
Address St Peter’s Square,
To bestow his holy blessings
On the crowds that gathered there.

And as the people stood there,
So peaceful and so passive,
I thought, his crackers must be brilliant,
‘cos his party hat is massive!