And now, a tribute to the word "grape".
No: sources close to the prime minister (his inside jacket pocket) have implicated the word "grape" in the Winston Churchill affair. Accusations have flared that a large consignment of grapes were due to be despatched to Andorra, which could have been used to manufacture grapeshot.
Instead, praise should be accorded to the word "blunderbuss", which has such peaceful connotations and is not connected with matters martial at all.
Grass is my globule
Sliver is my face
Tablespoons of auntiness
Spongy is my trace.
Origins of polygons
Diachronic sick
Honey, five and piglets
Behind the walking stick.
But when at last they entered out
And grazed the seldom sun
The world collapsed in screaming shout
(And that was much less fun).
So all aboard the milkfloat
We'll gibble down the lane
Arriving after Tuesday
And nibbling bits of brain.
You may declare us bonkers,
Quite rightly, but you're wrong,
For spongy is my haddock-whim
(And eighteen metres long).
The final stanza's name was Fred,
She liked it very much
He stapled it with beetroot seed
And used it in a hutch.
Yes, grass was my grob-yule,
Christmas is my yak,
Ladle me with noodly plobs
And get a whole load back.
The answer is as clear as air,
In Tokyo or Tangerine
And when you ask the reason why,
Touché! That's all it's been...
Routine, or lobster spleen?
Save indigestion
Whether tis older or more like rice pudding
Gibbons dross or utter metaphysic
So to outface, I know not at what table
And cream of eiderdown them
Arise, and beep, or else litiginous bend them
The thousand gravel clocks or ere we weep
And slowly grind them.
{Mirror writing:}
dam gnivar – slee dam llA
Higgledly piggledly ping
My number has married a string
No lemon or tenses
I'm out of my senses
Higgledy piggledy ping.Delighted Oh no!
Benighted Said Poe
He sort of And the raven
ignited. Exploded.
I sometimes think that little loaves of bread
Are grated mink or painted green instead
That every purplish blot upon a face
Reflects some railway station sort of place.
And all the fish we used to know and greet
And grill in butter when we used to meet
Are risen again in many fiendish forms
Potato cakes, and things for mowing lawns.
All such days and all such sad devices
We used for turning clocks and skimming mices
Must now and then be checked for sundry bugs
For steering wheels and mind distorting drugs.
For now the past is longer than the present
The glue is cast, the freaks are full of pheasant
And many a shining hope we once endured
Like dust into the vinegar is poured.
And we at last, O we, we happy few
We words and tupperware, so nearly new
O we have heard, and who had heard us here
Sing thrice nice rice, and maybe half a beer!
Greek Ermintrude, sad basket, proper name
Eureka, lamp post, snippet, crawl of fame
Inured, restored, gelatinous creation
Old bus, angora, some debilitation.
GOATRY PITCH
Nobody know
Tiddly pom
How much my toes
Tiddly pom
How orange my nose
Tiddly pom
Are growing.
Nobody cares
Piddly fim
What compost wears
Piddly fim
What polar bears
Piddly fim
Are throwing.
{A wiggly horizontal line bisects an equilateral triangle. Above it hangs a small circle, with another below and to the right. A vertical arrow points down between them through the wiggly line.}
La Belle ÉpoQue
¿Que?Under ErasureUnder Attack
Attack at dawn
Dawn to dusk
And back again
Never again
Never say never again (again).
(Sorry.)
And when you see the Abomination of Desolation set up where it ought not to be then you will know –
it's
Noel's House Party
Lovely.
Joyeux Party
Joyeux Noël
Pumpkin Poo
Aled Jones
Cavorting Cowpats
Beadle's Aberk
Oom Pa Pa
Grunge Mincely
Paris in the Boing
