Ode to paxman on poetry

2 06 2014

So Jeremy paxman feels poetry’s too high falluten,
For people who eat quinoa or caviar but not gluten,
Says he, it’s “Rather connived at it’s own irrelevance”,
I guess it’s not like him to sit on the fence,
He’d probably moan however at my little piece of doggerel,
Written by a moron less pedigree more mongrel,
Says he, “Aim to engage with ordinary people much more”,
But oh the stench of working class and the poor
Can’t have the sweat of toiling man or woman among the pages,
Of the book containing words with rhythm & paying poet’s wages,
How could they keep their air of superiority,
If their words, no longer exclusive, were available to the majority?


You’re not the world’s first parent

13 05 2014

You’re not the world’s first parent
I’m sorry but it’s true
Billions of other parents
Got there before you

And no one really cares about your egg meeting that one sperm,
Or how you know everything there is to know about giving birth at term,
Or feeding.
Or changing.
Or that rash.
Or teething pain.
Everyone else is thinking here we go again.

It’s as if at once you’re lobotomised when a child falls out a fanny,
Your only topic of conversation is super fucking nanny,
But of course you can do it better, you’ve been a parent for five minutes,
You know all that there is to know.
Your knowledge now knows no limits.

You’re a master within seconds of squeezing out that kid,
Something you don’t know?
Ridiculous! God forbid!
And even if you’re the father,
your brain it turns to sponge,
All talk is birth and babies,
The minute your sperm sees minge.

From nipple cracks to blood and gore,
You’ve become that baby bore,
Just like the parents you once hated,
For gloating because they’d successfully mated.
You’re not the worlds first parent,
I’m sorry but it’s true,
The only one who gives a shit?
It’s you, my dear. It’s you.

A new romance

28 09 2013

As I place your long, slim, stiff, shaft
Deep into my dark, damp canal.
I writhe in blissful pleasure.
My knees go weak.
My legs cannot take the weight of my quivering body
I struggle to maintain composure
I don’t care if our physical love is forbidden,
Nothing can keep us apart…

Oh cotton buds how I love scratching my ears with you.

Horsemeat Lasagne

29 01 2013

Horsey Horsey don’t you stop.
Found in Lasagne that tastes of plop.
Your tail goes swish, in beef you’re ground.
Giddy up you’re UK bound!

Chocolate Bunny

8 04 2012

My first twitter Easter poem, written 2 years ago. Saved here for posterity.

Chocolate Bunny

Poor wee chocolate bunny
Life for you ain’t funny.
First I eat your bum,
Then I eat your head.
Screw you chocolate bunny now you’re fucking dead!

My Day in Rhyme Nov 30th 2007

17 06 2011

I was sure I had posted this already… a very true account of one day in my life in November 2007


My Day In Rhyme

The things i came up with during today
that make me think my life is gay
but not the happy jovial kind
im stuck for a word here that fitted and rhymed

shafted by the insurance co.
started to make my day blow
then i decided love sucks the boabie
and it really should smell of jo(a)bbie
it makes wanky people dress all dapper
and turns women into slappers
oh and it happens to men too
but they often do smell of poo

unlike scott this afternoon
who rather than make us swoon
kinda went and made us boak
when into his jumper sweat did soak
tho it clearly reeked of cat piss
and Lynn did go and mention this
to the smelly sweaty git
while in the chair he continued sit
and didnt think to leave
to allow us a chance to breath
so as i sat there choking and dying
inhaler was lost so i was gasping and sighing
i get a call that pisses me off
by now the smell is making me cough
i cant run away for the toe is broken
the office is cold and we’re all fucking choking

then in walks a man that makes my day
a deformed little freak with no hair by the way
a look reminiscent of orville the duck
and a voice so orvillian it just doesnt suck
I realise then life could be worse
I could be carted away in a hearse
and if scott didnt leave the chances were high
or i could be naked next to that guy
the one who really does look like a duck
makes me wonder if he’s ever had a fuck.

And then i need to go shopping in asda
a shop full of mongs, carpark full of mazda
yeah seems they all drive them govan
changing rooms heat like a fucking oven
I try on some trousers and realise im fat
when i get camel toe at my twat
which lets face it aint so hot
and then comes the obligatory snot
splatted down my clean black hoodie
perhaps it would give orville a woodie

So i pay for my stuff with snot down my Jumper
I know im the sex cos this jake says “I’d hump her”
then he proceeds to puke at my feet
tho i must admit his aim was quite neat
and this is the clencher, wait for this
as im leaving he takes a piss
right down his trousers and onto the floor
by this point im running, I can take no more
and he shouts after me with a voice loud as thunder
“hey doll you giving me your number?”

And so my friends the end of is near
cos im running out of rhyming ideas
I know i need to get a life
or go all emo and get a knife
I should shut up but before i do
a message to Thursday

©grumpyhatlady 2007

Ode to Prison Food

10 05 2011

Dinner Queue
Food Like Poo
Once a Moo
Now a Stew

© grumpyhatlady
please do not reproduce without permission.