The Shape of Water

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Australian poet, poem, poetry, The Shape of Water movie

Oh you really must! You oughta
See the flick “The Shape of Water”.
How the creepy creature sought her –
What he did when he had caught her.

It’s about a Spanish cleaner –
How some crap happened between her
And the creature. (and his wiener.)
(Hard to tell which one was keener.)

There are Russians; there are white guys.
There’s a bathtub of the right size.
There’s some action in the night guys.
(It’s a pretty awful sight guys.)

She is dumb – she uses signing.
In the tub she is reclining.
On her cat the creature’s dining.
For his river home he’s pining.

She’s refrained from masturbating,
As the fish the cleaner’s dating,
Her libido he is sating.
(It’s the weirdest kind of mating.)

For she likes a fish to poke her,
And she says this creature joker
Is a formidable stoker.
(He prefers at first to soak her.)

But I think the plot is fishy,
For the cleaner she ain’t dishy,
And the creature he is wishy
Washy, and he’s kinda squishy.

All the white guys want to kill him.
Yeah the Russians want to drill him.
With hot lead they want to fill him.
(As for me – well I would grill him.)

She’d release him – they would foil her.
But their efforts they just roil her.
Will they catch him and encoil her?
Don’t ask me – this ain’t a spoiler.

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Get Your Gun

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Anti-gun lobby, Australian poet, Irrational fears, NRA, Phobias, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

There are peculiar people here on Earth,
Who have a fear of nasty pointy guns.
They live in Western lands, and right from birth,
Whenever they see one, they clench their buns.
The mere sight of a rifle sears and stuns
Their brain cells – they will soon convulse and scream:
“A curse on all the shooters and their sons!
Come join with us – we are a trendy team!
We are the virtuous – we have a dream:
It is to rid the Western World of harm.
We’re on the peace train – we’ve a head of steam,
And soon each rifle owner we’ll disarm!”
They’ll ask you nicely – I’m sure you’ll agree
To hand your weapons over – peacefully.

Hug Off!

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Australian poet, Hugging, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

There sure is a sure way to bug me.
It’s easy – you just have to hug me.
Oh yes, you may try
But be ready when I
Say: “Thou musn’t!” and then promptly slug thee.

Mad King George

Tags

Australian poet, George Soros, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry

Too much money can sever the ties
To sanity – evil old guys
Like Soros lack reason;
He champions treason,
And traitors that sane men despise.

A Baboon Tune near Rangoon

Tags

Australian poet, Nonsense verse, poem, poetry

It was just to the west of Rangoon –
We had been in the country since June.
I was leading my press-ganged platoon;
Each a pirate – a paid picaroon,
(Was no place for a pasty poltroon.)
When we spotted a rabid baboon,
By a large lily-padded lagoon.
(On it floated a flimsy pontoon.)
He was wearing, this burly buffoon,
The uniform of a Dragoon.
(If my memory’s correct it was noon;
Overhead shone a silvery moon.)
We observed as this lone loopy loon,
On a battered and buckled bassoon,
(Not perturbed by a howling monsoon –
Or more accurately, a typhoon.)
Played quite skilfully, a marching tune,
So I threw him a shiny doubloon,
And we listened till late afternoon,
Then we bid our farewells to the goon.

Slippery Slope Pope

Tags

Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Pope Francis

Once in a while comes along,
A pope neither savvy nor strong.
This time Frank’s that pope,
So pray hard and hope
That next time they don’t get it wrong.

Disappearing Trick

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Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Pope says bad souls disappear, Pope says no Hell

It seems I have nothing to fear,
For Frank, the infallible seer,
Says Hell isn’t real;
No hellfire I’ll feel,
For I will just, poof! – disappear.

Flaky Francis

Tags

Australian poet, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, Pope Francis, Pope says Hell doesn't exist

This pope’s an unusual bod.
I’m starting to think he’s a clod.
He believes there’s no Hell,
And I’m guessing as well
That he’s pretty sure there is no god.

Pope says Hell cancelled

Drought & Flood

Tags

Australian poet, Australian traditional poetry, Bush Poetry, drought, Flood, Formal poetry, poem, poetry, sonnet, Spenserian sonnet

Drought

The paddocks bake to brown in summer heat.
The river shrinks to holes where lungfish dwell.
The grass remaining cracks beneath one’s feet.
The water level drops deep in the well,
And everywhere is death, and death the smell,
For scattered on the ground the rotting dead.
A blasted vision of an earthly hell,
Where walk the living with their limbs like lead,
Beneath a sky bloodshot at dusk with red.
The wind stirs dust; the tree limbs crack and fall.
The ants and maggots thrive – they are well-fed.
A crow upon a carcass sounds its call.
The land is dying – drying is its blood;
Its thirst will not be quenched – until the flood.

Flood

The land has languished in the drought’s foul grip,
But now the clouds roll in and soon the rain
Falls lightly, and the downpipes start to drip.
Then steadier, like an approaching train
it’s heavier, that welcome sweet refrain
As gutters gurgle and tanks overflow,
And raindrops drum against the window pane.
The rain turns to torrential – warm winds blow.
The fresh creeps higher in the stream below.
The river’s banks are broken, comes the flood.
Across the flats the surging waters flow
To wash away drought’s sacrificial blood.
The gods appeased – the cycle is complete.
Now throbs the land once more to its slow beat.

The Great Watery Wall of Australia

Tags

Australia stops illegal boat people, Australia's moat, Australian poet, Boat people, limerick, Limerick poem, Limerick poetry, poem, poetry, U.S. - Mexico border wall

Sorry U.S.A. – sorry to gloat,
But to get to us they need a boat.
The so-called refugees,
They must cross stormy seas.
We don’t need a wall – we have a moat.