The Bore
There was an Old Etonian
Who haemorrhaged out his musings
Who slathered out opinions
Of the most inchoate choosings
As a soundscape he was wearing
But who’d be as cruel as tell
Him that listening to his blethers
Was a preview into hell?
The Misfit
Cock-eyed, knock-kneed
Flat-footed, hammer toes
Thunder thighs, bingo wings
Turkey neck, wart nose
Hare lip, crows’ feet
Love handles wobble
Buck teeth, jug ears
Eyes that goggle!
Seashells
Warty egg cowry, glory of the sea
Horny cyclas, wonderful they be
Spiny cup and saucer, partridge tun
Glistening Margarite, lumpy morum
Western noddiwink, rooster tail
Colourful Atlantic moon, coat-of-mail
Few wrinkled bonnet, lovely slit
Hailstorm prickly winkle, bubble turnip
Double snouted vulva, spiny vase
Seashells are amazing. Shall I name the ways?
The Wash
The Wash is a bay down in Lincolnshire
Where the tides ripple fast, ripple slow
There’s the Mare Tail, the Scalp & the Friskney Flats
There’s Old South Sand & Butterwick Low
It’s the best coastal wetland of Europe
With saltmarshes, mudflats and seals
With saline lagoons & dune complexes
And the wildfowl that spiral and wheel
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