Tag: funny

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School Sport

This a “concrete” poem – a poem shaped like the thing it’s describing. If it doesn’t look like the picture above, turn your phone on its side or get a larger device (wink wink). Now – gym knickers on, and let’s proceed.

School Sport

.                       School sport,                                           Tick tock,
.              simply a torture form                                 Tick tock,
.           a notch or five above the                           Oh watch
.        norm, the most horrendous                      the clock,
.        cruelty designed specifically                  When will
.          for me, who has no puff &                    this finish,
.            cannot aim – picked last                     this quest
.               in every single game:                      to pillage
.                       School sport.                             pride and
.                                                                              joy and all
.                                                                            respect??
.                                                                          In half my
.                                                                        lifetime, I
.                                                                      expect, as
.                                                                    this is just
.                                                                  a wheeze
.                                                                to squash
.                                                              my will, to
.               bring me                     to my knees;
.                  for sticks and balls may hurt
.                      us all, but double games
.                                will break me.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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The Workplace Wee

Thanks to my Dad for this one (yes really), who sent me a picture of these lovely urinals (at Dobbies Garden Centre, Shepton Mallet – urinal tourists take note) and asked me to write a poem about them.

Well, I couldn’t find a poem within me about flowery urinals – but urinals in general – oh yes. To me, and I think to most women, the whole concept of urinals is just absolutely bizarre.

If it wasn’t bad enough for men that they have to unleash their todgers in front of complete strangers… surely it must be even worse having to do it next to colleagues?! Well.  My female brain can’t even begin to imagine.

But maybe there’s an upside…

The Workplace Wee

If someone at work saw my Mary,
I’d resign just as quick as can be,
But men have to face this fear squarely,
When they go for a quick workplace wee.

They stand petrified in the toilet,
All three eyes staring blankly ahead,
One flicker, one movement could spoil it,
They might get the eyeful they dread.

But there’s power there, at the urinal –
Take young Billy, the purchasing clerk,
There he stood, between Jimmy and Lionel,
When out came a magnificent arc.

What a rainbow of clear, shining yellow!
His colleagues all gasped through the steam,
Jim gave in, glanced at Billy’s wee fellow,
And cried “Billy! You MUST join my team!”

Behind them, from inside the cubicle,
Where Frank, the big boss, was “in motion”,
A fanfare burst forth, loud and musical,
To celebrate Billy’s promotion.

So ladies, if you get the feeling,
A hunch your career’s not on track,
It could be the porcelain ceiling,
That’s holding us womenfolk back.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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Last Tussle in Brussels

Unfortunately, I thought it was time for a Brexit poem. But as the whole thing is a complete farce, I thought I’d make my poem a bit of a farce too (I mean, it could happen, but…)

Last Tussle in Brussels

Somewhere in Brussels, March 2019,
Poor Theresa’d not slept since about Halloween,
But at last it was ready! The dream Brexit treaty,
Which pleased every spluttering zealot so sweetly!

So ready to sign it, she tried not to squeal…
Until Boris burst in and cried “NO BLOODY DEAL!”
Theresa yelled “shut it, you haystack-haired chancer!”
But Europe said “sorry, we’ll take your first answer!”

Then Macron and Barnier, Merkel and Juncker,
Cried “See ya, Theresa, we’re off to the bunker!”
Theresa gave chase; Boris stuck out a toe,
The Jimmy Choos buckled, and down she did go!

The bunker shut! Pawing the intercom button
And licking the speaker, she heard them all tutting,
Then Merkel said “Vile vee regret ze estrangement,
Zey cannot exist vizout formal arrangement!”

Theresa was screaming “JUST LET ME IN NOW!”
But she could have sworn Barnier cried out “KA-POW!”
Then she felt a great shake like the boom of a bomb –
And her satellite glasses showed… Britain was gone!

Well, after some hours of wailing and gnashing,
They found little Britain complaining and splashing
and shivering up by the cold Arctic Circle…
“Best wrap up vorm!” tittered Angela Merkel.

———————————————-

We last saw Theresa all sun-kissed and blustery,
Hiking the warm Euro hillsides of Tuscany,
Boris was found (well was dug up in parts),
With a hot Belgian waffle stuck right up his arse…

As for Britain – it’s time in the cold had begun,
The crops slowly died in the thin arctic sun,
Til a hobbit named Corbyn cried “Right! Who needs feeding?!”
And was hailed as a God with his frost-hardy seedlings.

And somewhere in Dudley, a “leaver” called Norris,
Polished his gold-plated statue of Boris,
And petting his bulldog (with hands somewhat frozen),
He gave a wry smile, and said, “that bloody showed ‘em.”

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

Photo by Chris Lawton on Unsplash

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I’m Alright Going Forwards, But I’m Awful In Reverse

The image above shows a genuine example of my parking.

In this case, I stepped out of the car, took in the results of my work, pointed and laughed at myself, and then took a photo.

But that’s not the end of my… er…. talents when it comes to motoring…

I’m Alright Driving Forwards, But I’m Awful In Reverse

I’m alright driving forwards, but I’m awful in reverse,
My turning skills are terrible, my parking skills are worse.
Whenever I move backwards, people hurry to disperse,
While someone calls a breakdown truck, a vicar – and a nurse.

I seem to lack the circuitry to know which way to steer,
And things are always closer than they actually appear,
Those parked beside me hover, as they sweat in mortal fear…
I fart about, the mean ones shout, the nice ones say… “oh dear.”

I’m terrified of places where the roads are single-track,
Cos a car might come the other way and force me to go back,
Careering blind from side to side, the hedges take a whack…
So please don’t swear, I WILL get there – I just don’t have the knack!

I’ve got a snazzy camera now, which shows me what’s behind,
It’s really great when going straight, but when I turn I find,
That I’m going left, the camera right, it makes my brain cells wind,
And a prang is much more likely with a whirling, swirling mind!

So I hit them in the car parks, and they hit me in the purse,
And I feel I’ll be afflicted with this mortifying curse,
Til the day they tell the driver as he parks my golden hearse…
That I’m alright driving forwards – but I’m awful in reverse.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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The Teaspoon’s Lament

So I looked at my teaspoon. And my teaspoon looked at me. And I said, “How’s things?” And really. I wish I hadn’t asked.

The Teaspoon’s Lament

I sit here, used, and caked in grime,
And watch, as all the forks and knives
Dive in the sink for wash-up time –
How pampered are their shiny lives!
I hear the kettle boil with dread –
Could it be coffee? Is it tea?
It’s coffee. Yes, in goes my head…
I’m whirled round nauseatingly.

I gulp for air, but no! There’s more!
A teabag’s heading for a cup!
Here comes the dunking I abhor…
In out, in out, down up, down up!
You British! Once, reserved and hushed,
You made your tea with reverence!
And now, these teabags! Crushed and flushed
With bullying malevolence.

A rinse! What glory now awaits?
Oh curses. It’s a boiled egg.
Bang bang, crack crack – this bit I hate-
Oh, don’t mind me! it’s just my head!
But things get worse – as, come desert,
I’m grabbed again. Oh no, please not..
A small boy’s hand, all caked with dirt.
I shovel yoghurt through the snot.

My grandma was a christening spoon!
Respected! Hanging in a frame!
But I’m a puppet! Slave! Buffoon!
I shudder for the family name.
So use me! Hurt me! Boil my brain!
Don’t cry for me! I’m dead inside!
Through all this strife, I shall remain…
Steely, cold and dignified.

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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I Wish I Was An Octopus

A poem about octupuses. Because octopuses are spectactularly weird. And, if recent press is to be believed, are in fact aliens. Brilliant.

I Wish I Was An Octopus

I wish I was an octopus,
Way down in the depths of the sea,
With suckers so comical, face diabolical,
Kooky as kooky can be!

Hurray! Hurray! I’d be jetting away!
As I flunged through the shimbly sea,
Confounding all others by changing my colours,
An octopus’ life for me!

A cephalopod who looks awfully odd,
A freak with a beak, tee hee!
I’d never more moan, “ooh, the pain in me bones!”
Cos I’d be an invertebrate, see!

Hurray! Hurray! I’d be wafting away!
As I flooped through wurgly sea,
Squeezing through cracks with a curious knack,
An octopus’ life for me!

If you crossed me, I think I would squirt you with ink,
How I’d laugh as you scarpered from me!
I’d be sly, I’d be smart, but I’d have a great heart,
No – better than that… I’d have three!

Hurray! Hurray! I’d be creeping away,
As I scrundled down deep in the sea,
I’d not hunger for much – for I’d taste all I touched!
An octopus’ life for me!

Us humans are gringey, our lives dull and dingy,
What cloddery beings we be!
I’d rather be flexible, waving my tentacles,
Flubbering curiously!

Hurray! Hurray! I’m dreaming away,
Of a life in the glorpical sea,
As a creature of splendour, a freak show contender,
An octopus’ life for me!

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

Like the poems? Why not follow me on Facebook www.facebook.com/parmenterpoetry or Twitter www.twitter.com/ninaparmenter?

Photo by Taylor Ann Wright on Unsplash

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Doggy Style

Doggy Style

The eighties set fashion on fire,
That’s why it’s the look I desire!
So I’ve nailed it, long-term,
With a hot poodle perm,
Just like Brian May, Cher and Mariah.

Showed my stylist a photo of Whitney
She went ever so pale very quickly,
She got acid and bleach,
Three big drumfuls of each,
And some creosote. “Yes!” I cried, “Hit me!”

She slathered me, crisped me like crazy,
I said, “Hold up the mirror! Amaze me!”
And – woohoo and way-hay!
I was Jennifer Grey,
Ripe ‘n’ ready to woo Patrick Swayze!

But then – it all got rather strange,
For my poodle perm started to change,
Seems its poodle-dog mind
Was not noble or kind –
It was dirty, debauched and deranged!

My friends weren’t impressed. They’d cry “Wowzers!”
As my perm tried to dry-hump their trousers,
It would steal all their shoes,
Roll in animal poos –
I was banned from their elegant houses.

But soon they were howling with laughter,
It would jump in the lake – I’d go after!
Chasing kitties for kicks,
Going crazy for sticks,
My new perm was a doggy disaster!

It would seek other perms! It would spot em,
Bound up close, and then sniff round their bottom!
This all got me in trouble,
With Bon Jovi’s double,
Who called the police, which was rotten.

So now I’m awaiting the chop,
Down at “Woofterz”, the dog-grooming shop.
Well, I’ll no longer feel,
Like a smokin’ Brooke Shields,
But at least all the lawsuits will stop!

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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Underwear

Gah! Beware! Half-naked lady! And she ain’t no spring chicken…

Underwear

Prancing around in my underwear,
Carefree, with clothes cast asunder, there’s
All sorts of scares lurking under there –
Yippee! I’ll get them all out!

Watch out, I’ll give you an awful fright,
Dancing, half-naked in your full sight,
This is such fun – and it’s lawful right?
Waving my wobbles about!

Once I was gorgeous and glamorous
Naked, I’d make the boys amorous
Now I look frankly cadaverous
Bits falling off all around

Dimply bits, crinkly bits, hairy bits,
Flabby bits, saggy bits, scary bits,
Here! Have a look – even stare a bit –
Some bits hang down to the ground!

Waggling to waltzes and minuets
Have I put fear of God in you yet?
No? Then just watch as I pirouette –
Front bits fly round to the side!

Yay! Let’s go frighten the town today,
Let all our fun bits hang down and sway,
Wiggling, wiping our frowns away,
Flashing with passion and pride!

 

© Nina Parmenter 2018

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Showdown!

There’s a rumble down at the old folks’ home…

Showdown

It’s time for a showdown!
I’m taking that ho down!
Screamed Dotty, crouched low down, fists ready to fight,
Then she pounced upon Martha,
Who’d stolen her Arthur,
And after, had laughed at her pitiful plight.

At their care home, Sea View,
As old Martha well knew,
The men were too few – well, in fact there was one!
Arthur’s love life was crazy –
he’d dabbled with Daisy,
Then Mavis, then Maisie, then Dot came along!

Martha flipped! With a whip,
And a click of her hip,
She landed a kick at the base of Dot’s spine.
Dotty reeled, back she wheeled!
Martha squealed, “Yield, bitch, yield!”
But Dotty yelled, “NEVER! Cos Arthur is mine!!!”

Dotty stood rocking,
In surgical stockings,
While Martha, still mocking, stared straight in her eye,
Dotty charged like a tank,
And delivered a spank,
To the flank of the skank who had taken her guy!

With a fine rugby tackle,
Deployed with a cackle,
Martha managed to whack all Dot’s teeth on the floor,
Riled and gummy,
Dot sold her a dummy,
Then landed a scrummy left hook on her jaw!

Martha, a-glimmer
With rage, grabbed a zimmer,
Dot’s chances grew slimmer – she backed off with dread,
Martha slipped on spilt tea!
Smack! The zimmer broke free,
And with hollers of glee, Dot sat down on her head!

“Surrender!” she cried,
As she sat there astride,
With her wide underside squashing Martha’s smug face,
“OK!” muttered Martha,
All muffled, “Keep Arthur!”
Then Dotty discharged her in utter disgrace.

With joy and with laughter,
Dot went to find Arthur,
But Arthur was faster than Martha or Dot,
She found him entwined,
With Matilda who whined,
“He just needs someone kind!” But a slap’s what he got.

Dot and Martha soon swore,
A swift end to their war,
Then they knocked Arthur’s door – just to make some amends.
And Arthur’s reaction?
“Hey girls! Double action!”
So now he’s in traction. And they’re best of friends.

 

©️Nina Parmenter 2018

Photo by Cristian Newman on Unsplash

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Pampered Pussy

Depending on your way of thinking, you may be pleased or disappointed to hear that this isn’t a vajazzle poem (although what a terrific topic for a later date!) – it’s about an actual cat.

My beloved childhood cat Sidney was a soft old bugger. But sometimes he’d come over all “call of the wild” and be seized by the need to climb a tree. This was Not A Good Idea. The sight of him, splayed on top of a tree, the tree bending under his weight (he was massive), and him wondering what on EARTH just happened – that will stay with me forever.

God love him. Somewhere beneath that cute, cuddly exterior was a petulant, prowling prairie cat and sometimes, that petulant, prowling prairie cat just had to come out.

Pampered Pussy

They call me pampered pussy,
“Such a PRETTY pet!” they purr,
All they see’s a funny feline,
Just a friend with fluffy fur.

Hear me humans! I AM HUNTER!
I am leopard, lynx and lion,
I am panther, I am puma,
I will eyeball you with iron!
I’m machine. A mighty muscle,
I am sleek and sinewed steel,
Engineered by evolution,
You are nothing! You should kneel!
Shhh now. I will show you.
See the tremble in that tree?
It’s a beast and I will best it!
Stand aside now, scum, and see.

I creep.
I crouch.
I climb!
Curled
claws
clutching
confidently,
cleverly
crafted
curves
completely
coordinated,
I coast
coolly,
competently,
courageously,
to the crown.
THE CREATURE
IS CONQUERED!!
Now – cower,
clumsy
cretins!
For
I
am
CAT
!!!!!!

(Quick question.
How DO I get down?!)

 

©️Nina Parmenter 2018

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