Photo by Keira Burton on

Enemies from the beginning
And equally deft at mudslinging;
He said, she'd a figure
Like Roy Rodger's Trigger,
She retorted, his singing was minging.


Photo by Matthew Barra on

The boyfriend who tried to bamboozle
His girl on a three-month-long cruise'll
Do well to reflect
On the likely effect
If she goes but then sticks with refusal.


Photo by Pixabay on

how green is my valley
wouldn't you like to know
how clean is my alley
I keep it just so
how firm are your feelings
how ardent your love
how shady your dealings
when push comes to shove
how honest your answers
how solid your shield
how dirty your dancers
how level your field
how new your inventions
how white is your snow
how good your intentions
and how will I know

Better Half

Photo by Noelle Otto on
Better Half

She's my partner, my missus,
a slave to the dishes,
the woman who I must obey.
She's my better half, wife,
she's the bane of my life
and sometimes she's even risqué.

She's a kitchen Goddess
but her hair is a mess
and her relatives bore me to tears.
She's called her indoors.
I can't sleep for her snores,
how the heck have we gone fifty years!

She will analyse, criticise,
often she'll roll her eyes,
occasionally, she gets on my tits.
That's forced, it's a bloke thing,
of course, I am joking,
you do know I love her to bits.

Foolish words

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on
Foolish words 

Stroke of midnight, wife awoke
to drunken husband having smoke 
on doorstep, "Right,"  she said, 
"You've had enough, now get to bed!" 

Foolishly he tried to joke,
"Sorry darling, piston broke." 
She'd had enough now, mist of red;
he's now beneath their flower bed.


Photo by Lina Kivaka on

Fire my desire,
to be wined and dined,
make passionate love,
blow my mind.

Your efforts
lack lustre,
don't pass muster.

I need
a roller coaster ride,
not a casual
bit on the side,
admiring the ceiling,
the paper that's peeling.

Ancient lincrusta,
stuffed with linseed oil
and wood flour,
bittersweet, sour,
as the words which you shower
on me baby.

your dust,
I'm sick of your bluster,

Turning sour

Photo by Pixabay on
Turning sour

Your love, my dear
is a fragrant rose,
full of dangerous thorns
which get up my nose!

You cheeky old pig,
it's a beating of hearts,
I want yours to stop
so that death do us part!

Girl talk

Photo by Alexandr Podvalny on
Girl talk

My girl talks baloney,
which is okay, if only
she'd pause now and then for a breath.
She has me in stitches,
like one of the witches,
the bad tempered one in Macbeth.


Photo by Dziana Hasanbekava on

She collected lovers
in a similar way that others
gathered ornamental cats,
Lalique glassware, table mats,
snuff boxes, candelabra,
oil paintings of french harbours,
thimbles, needles, pins,
old tools for making things.

Long-dead silver watches,
samplers and swatches,
diamonds, set in rings,
in fact, any little thing.
No requirement to walk
or even merely talk,
prepared for undercover,
then you could be her lover.

Figure of speech

Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on
Figure of speech

Donkeys bray
and cats meow,
horses neigh
but dogs bow-wow.

Humans talk
their ghosts boo,
parrots squawk
and Holsteins moo.

Villains sneer
and ducks quack,
you my dear
are talking cack!
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