Model Behaviour - Joan Etoile

I’m at ease with nudity
I was an artist’s model in’53!
I’d disrobe without a care
And disport myself upon a chair

In creativity’s name I would undress
I felt no shame at my naked flesh
When I was rendered into paint
It often made the young boys faint

Now I’m old and a bit wrinkly
I’ve been posing for the College of FE
Just like the old days they sketched in awe
Warts and all, just what they saw

So it came as a bit of a surprise
When the thought police arrived
Invoked some archaic obscenity laws
And hid me down a corridor

Joan Etoile


Image : Guernsey Press

The Custard Fields - Tony Gardner

The  Custard  fields  are  now  in  bloom
It  must  be  harvested  as  soon
As  we  can  get  the  wet  crop  sold
And  turn  the  yellow  into  gold.
The  neighbours  so  admire  the  sight
And  beg  and  plead  with  all  their  might 
To  let  sunshiney-bright  plants  stay
And  cheer  us  just  one  other  day.

But  if  we  hesitate  we  may
Miss  the  market, lose  our  pay.
The  country's  crying  out  for  this
Sweet  yellow  custard   for  their  dish
Of  rhubarb,  apple  pie  or  prunes 
It   can't  be  a  day  too  soon
Tomorrow  t'will  be  cut  and  canned
And  there'll  be  smiles  throughout  the  land.

Tony Gardner

PS   I  hope  you  know  this  is  a  jape
It's  really  just  a  field  of  Rape.


Image : Pixabay - blickpixel

Baker Faker - Joan Etoile

No I did not bake that cake
It was something I didn’t make
Another elaborate culinary lie
Like the steak and kidney pie

Oh that pie was ready made
It was Bentos it was Frayed
With frozen peas and frozen mash
Ready meals are my ‘pash’

I know now it is time to confess
That the only thing I use fresh
Is sliced bread, a proper loaf
With margarine - am I an oaf?

Suit yourself with your posh grub
Please don’t take this as a foodie snub
But as you can see I’m always in the mood
For easy, tasty convenience food!

Joan Etoile


Image : Pixabay - Finn-b

At La Catioroc - Oscar Milde

Friday, midnight, moon is waning,
fortunately it’s not raining,
as three naked women frolic
in a habitat, bucolic.
Drinking potions, chanting spells,
these post-menopausal belles
try to summon up their Master,
dancing faster, ever faster
by the light of a small campfire
made of tinder and of damp briar.
In the bushes lurks old Mourant,
toothless, lecherous, unpleasant.
He leaps out, his flies asunder:
at that very moment, thunder
and a vivid flash of lightning,
simultaneous with this sighting,
quickly shatter their delusion
and they scatter in confusion …
To The Press, the witches said
how they were terrified and fled
and how clearly they remember
Satan had a tiny member.

Oscar Milde

Image : Pixabay - TheDigitalArtist

My Cat Yorick - Oscar Milde

Came home last night the worse for drink
and didn’t really pause to think.
Opened the window, popped the cat
outside to do its this and that.
Awoke this morning, shocking head,
tongue like sandpaper, full of dread.
My tower-block flat’s ten stories high
Alas, poor Yorick. Cats can’t fly.

Oscar Milde

Image : Pixabay - SarahRichterArt

Spades Apart - Trudie Shannon

Apparently social distance is
Two metres
Or six foot six inches in old money.
But I utilise a common object.
A spade,
As in the garden tool
That we dig holes, trenches and graves with.
The whole spade of course
From hand worn, wooden handle and weather worn shaft
To the curved metal blade.
It is useful to have something tangible
If a little unwieldy to carry around.
However the upside is that
When one does carry around a garden spade
Be it on the road or in a shop
Others naturally keep their distance.

Trudie Shannon

Image : Pixabay - MabelAmber

The Choice..... - Tony Gardner

"Me or the dog, -- you'll have to choose,"
That's what she said today.
"I thought I'd found true love at last,
but that hound is in the way!"
It all was swell, so fine at first
I thought I'd found the Mate
That I could spend forever with
A gorgeous girl called Kate.
I brought her home so she could meet
Another dear to me
My old dog 'Jenn', a furry friend
As faithful as can be.
But they took an instant dislike
To each other right away
And Katie said she'd have to go
She really couldn't stay.
She turned to go then gave a yell
Jenn chased her to the door.
That was that, I guess that we
Won't see her anymore.
I miss my Kate, so sweet although
We didn't get a snog.
But I'm not too broken hearted
I've still got my loyal dog.

Tony Gardner

Image : after Pixabay - Gordon Johnson

Party Tricks - Oscar Milde

At a party, met a man,
intriguing fellow, very bright,
who told me of his clever plan:
something to do with trapping light
then harnessing it, cleverly,
to create, what, I don’t recall.
It was too technical for me
but he seemed really on the ball
and promised he would let me in
on this to make a lot of dough:
five hundred smackers to begin.
I’d be a fool if I said no.
I paid up front. He smiled and said,
You’re playing with The Big Boys now.
We parted. I went home to bed
to wife and to a late-night row.
The row became a noisy brawl.
She screamed, You spent five hundred quid!
I waited weeks for him to call.
My wife was right, he never did.

Oscar Milde

Image : Pixabay - LillyCantabile

Till Death Us Do Part - Edgar Allan Poet

I cannot stand my ghastly wife:
instead, I love her sister, dear.
The former one pollutes my life.
The latter woman I revere.
I’ve hatched a plot to rid me of
my wife, I’ve simply had enough.

I’ve put rat-poison in a cake:
my wife is fond of sweets and treats.
One slice is all she’ll have to take:
rich cream will guarantee she eats
then she’ll be gone and I’ll have Maud.
It’s simple: just give fate a prod.

Maud’s phoned me to my work and said
she’s at our house to tend my wife
who’s got the sniffles, gone to bed:
there’s germs around and flu is rife.
I fear I’ve made a great mistake:
Maud’s brewed some tea and scoffed the cake.

Edgar Allan Poet

Pigeon Blues - Richard Fleming

Pity us poor pigeons, please,
forced to perch on roofs and trees
for the statues that we sat on
have been overturned and spat on.
All those worthies of the ages
have now been encased in cages
lest the mobs, now judge and jury,
desecrate them in their fury.
Statues are a pigeon’s toilet:
put one up, we’re sure to soil it
with a coat of guano splatter.
Bring them back, don’t pigeons matter?

Richard Fleming

I Wish I Was Winnie the Pooh - Tony Gardner

I sometimes wish I was Winnie The Pooh
Rambling Five Acre Wood all day
I'd have no money, but lots of Honey
And plenty of time to play
No going to work or Income Tax
No teachers or going to School
Just dawdling around on Pooh-Stick Bridge
With Piglet and Eeyore the mule.
Of pots of 'hunny', I'd never be short
So it's often you'll hear me say
"Oh, don't I wish I was Winnie The Pooh
Rambling Five Acre Wood all day".

Tony Gardner

Reuben The Romeo - Tony Gardner

Reuben Mahy liked his sport
As long as he was never caught
For his sport was not competing
Rather it involved some cheating

Mrs Gavey, or Le Page
As long as they were over age
Were a challenge for our lad
And a new win made him glad.

For weeks he'd stalked the Mrs Duquemin
And he thought at last he'd won her
When her husband came home early
Reuben thought he was a goner

He told an unconvincing tale
But Duquemin had heard the reports.
Mr Mahy paid that day
Now no more he'll play his sports.

Tony Gardner

I Don’t Like Crickets ~ Oh No! - Donald Keyman

The scaly cricket is an ugly critter
It likes to live amongst organic litter
It’s not as rare as you might think
They swarm around on beaches that stink
And where on earth would you suppose
You’d find smelly beaches such as those
They’re all up in the north you see
Covered in the spoils of our industry
That prehistoric looking beast
Of all our worries is the least
Is it a dilemma that should be faced
If we need somewhere for inert waste
Surely it’s worth a few more insects less
To get rid of all our building mess?
And so controversially to you I say
Tip the stuff into that bay!

Donald Keyman

St Valentine Was A Bloody Man - (A Feminist Rhyme) - Sally Forth

Valentines Day, some lecher sent
a bunch of roses, rotten swine.
The cheek of it! Without consent,
he also sent a crate of wine.
I was, of course, shocked and aghast.
How dare he. I won’t be harassed.
Next thing, the brute will want to chat.
I really would not care for that.
Romance is dead, he’s bound to scoff.
Like chivalry, it’s been killed off.

Sally Forth

The Barred, again - Tony Bradley

You just don't want me, I know it.
Recently, I thought I'd cracked it
I was happier, than I could say
until the bloody barman told me
it's tomorrow, they've changed the day.

Tony Bradley

Pirates - Trudie Shannon

The pirates have disembarked,
Have left their decks swabbed clean
And their treasure hidden.
Disguised as tourists
They amble lazy around the streets
Given away only by the thud of a wooden leg
Or the clink of a cutlass
Hidden in a shopping bag.

Trudie Shannon

Today Was The First Day Of The Rest Of My Life - Lyndon Queripel

Well, first of all I woke up late
I’m usually out by half past eight
The thought of work depressed me so
I decided that I would not go
Tossing and turning in my bed
I tried to go back to sleep instead
My eyes were tired, burning red
And there was an aching in my head
It was afternoon when I got up
And put some coffee in a cup
When I looked around in dismay
To find there was no milk today
The bread was in a stale state
And way past its sell by date
I turned on the t.v,the news of course
Yet another war, more military force
Followed by the weather forecast
The Sun would shine but wouldn’t last
Then I had to switch it off fast
Next was a party political broadcast
Thought I had some mail for a minute
But there was only a bill in it
I tuned the radio, forget the D.J’s name
It’s funny how they all sound the same
“The Top Ten Countdown” said the voice
Well one man’s music is another man’s noise
The telephone rang and I answered
“Sorry, wrong number.” is all I heard
So I looked out the window and the door
Nothing seemed any different than before
I read the paper, who’s wed, bred and dead
Then feeling rather tired I went back to bed.

Lyndon Queripel

Jungle Fever - Bare Gyrls

In the jungle, dancing naked,
gorgeous lady, well-appointed.
She gyrates, cries Shake it! Shake it!
Wow, she must be double jointed.
Crouching in the jungle leafage,
I admire her wondrous cleavage.
She turns cartwheels, she’s amazing.
Swings from branches, does some high kicks.
She could sell me double-glazing,
win my heart and the Olympics
but it’s hopeless, don’t you see ...
Beauty’d scorn a beast like me.

Bare Gyrls

Cheese - Gordon Zola

Roquefort, Camembert and Brie
are perfect nourishment for me.
The names themselves are poetry:
a wholly wholesome trinity.
Cholesterol, we all agree,
invades each vein or artery
and too much fat will guarantee
a waist-size notching fifty-three,
a lifetime of obesity,
a loss of spontaneity,
I’ll end up slumped on the settee,
cheesed-off with dire daytime TV
but dammit, what will be will be ...
Feed me another wedge of Brie!

Gordon Zola

Over The Hill? - Oscar Milde

Hippies get old but somehow they don’t change.
Kaftans and funny beads remain the thing
and tie-dye shirts, of course, but in’t it strange
they never took to lycra or to bling.

Despite a lifetime living without meat,
preferring pulses to a juicy steak,
they don’t look fit, instead they look dead beat
and slouch around with every joint an ache.

The other sort of joints have done them in,
their lungs went all to pieces long ago
and at the Vale Earth Fair, to their chagrin,
their progress up the hill is really slow.

Without a fancy stairlift it’s no good:
the hill up to Vale Castle’s far too steep.
The young ones point and laugh, it’s very rude.
Harsh words can make an ancient Hippy weep.

One told me that he thinks enough’s enough.
He won’t be trekking up there any more.
Each time he climbs the hill he’s out of puff
and can’t remember what he came up for.

Oscar Milde