More Pokémon themed Poéms

Good afternoon,
Here are some poems I've done about Pokémon. That age old theme. I like Pokémon. I hope you like poems about them. Inspired by them. Here:

Pokémon Poems, Vol. II

7.) You’re as lovely as a Polywag,
And as daunting as a Fearow.
Dear mother.

8.) ‘Nigel, use Thundershock!’
Try as he might, Nigel couldn’t.
He’s a human.
Not an electric/normal type Pokémon.

9.) When did you last see an Aerodactyl?
Never. Is the answer. He’s a dinosaur type Pokémon and thus
Extremely rare.

10.) Professor Oak promised he would never do that again.
He said, ‘I only do it because you push me to it!’
Charmander shivered in a corner,
Praying that next time it would be different.

11.) Clutching a bottle of fine Scotch,
Tangela pissed on a Metapod,
By mistake.
He thought it was a bollard.

12.) ‘Run free, Ponyta!’
Screams Brock.
Loading his rifle and taking aim.

Of Children On A Bench (also Edinburgh Fringe)

Hello there, dear friend, dear lovely friend. I, yes, have been away. Doing the whole Edinburgh Fringe (festival) thing! I'm still there actually. It's nice and good (two of the best things). But not all is well up here. Because there are some kids apparently intent on RUINING THE FESTIVAL. So I've written a poem about them. Here we go.

Of Kids On A Bench

Two kids sit on a bench.
Harmless?
No. No, certainly not.
Armed. To the teeth.
With straws from Starbuck’s frappucinos,
With paper from the ground.
They roll up and they wad up spitballs,
And fire them all around.
They target boys.
And not just boys.
Girls too.
The dicks.
They then target a lovely dog,
Which calmly ambles by.
That does it, the bloody effing rotters,
I’ll learn them good, Thinks I.
So I kicked them and kicked them
Til they could be kicked no more.
Then, laughing, fired a spitball at them,
As they wailed up from the floor.

On Running

I've literally just been running, and what better way to cool off than to write a poem about cooling off after running? No better way!

No better way.

Enjoy!

On Running

I was just running,
I have just ran.
And now I’m sitting,
In front of a fan.

So if you ask me, darling,
What I’ve just done,
I’ll tell you plainly.
‘I’ve been for a run.

And now I’m cooling,
Myself the hell down,
Because that running
Is a sweaty work-out.

It might just be me.
I’m a very sweaty man,
Hence I’m cooling,
Via the breeze of this fan.

And I don’t mean fan as in a handheld fan,
And I don’t mean fan as in a fan of my brand
Of off-kilter poetry about how much I sweat,
I mean a motor-run fan that might dry me when I’m wet.’

Then you’ll look at me, darling,
And you’ll look quite ill.
Then it’s your turn, darling,
You’ll run for the hills.

Then you’ll have been running,
And of these things you never can
Be sure of darling,
But I think you’ll sit in front of a fan.

Zombie JFK

With mention on a previous blogpost ('Jesus - It's Been A While, Jesus') I'm sure what you've all been dying to know about is the history of Zombie JFK, right? Well wonder no longer, as I have the history of how he came into being coming up in this very blogpost!!!

Right, since I can't think of much more of interest to say, here is the poem. Enjoy.

The Rise of Zombie JFK

Waking up one morning
The Zombie JFK
Rubs his face whilst yawning.
Another Zombie day.

He’s been a zombie for some time,
Mayhap I’ll tell the tale,
If you sit comfortably and find
Compassion to inhale.

One morning four-score years ago,
Perhaps four-score and three,
JFK, in the earth below,
Was dead as you or me (will be :( )

When from below a zombie worm
Dug up into his grave
And did a groovy zombie squirm
In Presidential brain.

And just like that; a zombie born,
No pomp, no fuss, no lighting,
No pulsing or heart-stopping score.
Nothing the slightest frightening.

See, now JFK’s a zombie,
He holds not in his head,
Any presidential memory,
Of time ‘fore he was dead.

So he’s a zombie accountant,
With a penchant for brains,
And if you there do doubt it;
Well, just don’t - OK?



I hope you'll have noticed I've left it open for a 'series' of poems, about the Zombie JFK and his struggle to be accepted in the zombie community. A series that will be continued anon.
Feel free to post any suggestions about what the Zombie JFK could get up to in his next 'adventure' in the comments section!

Bye.

My Mother's Birthday!

Today, the 24th of June, is my mother's birthday! Hurray! And what a lovely day! In order to celebrate it, and so you can all too, I've written a lovely 'Birthday Poem' for her, but I've taken great pains to ensure I haven't mentioned what age has befallen her.

I hope you enjoy it, and wish Elizabeth Cule a Happy Birthday!!!! (Elizabeth Cule is my mother)

Mum's Poem

First and foremost I’d like to say,
If nothing else on mum’s birthday -
Four and Twenty days of June -
Thanks for carrying me with you,
You, my mother, I want no other.

Find yourself a drink and drink it,
Over all the years you’ve earned it
Unless it’s the years before I was born,
Really, I don’t know what went on.

This poem may be scarce sufficient,
Oh well, it’s here and inefficient.
Dear mother, after all you’ve seen,
All I can say is that you’ve been-
Yes! The best! The very best!

Happy Birthday Mum!

A Tale For Our Times

So, sometimes I listen to Adam and the Ants, on account of the fact that me and my three sisters used to listen to them and, indeed, we rocked out accordingly. I may be the only one who still listens to them. But I'm glad I do, because their New Romantic gibberish has prompted me to write this poem which I just wrote just now. It is based 'pon a lyric from the Adam and the Ants hit song 'Strip'. The lyric it is based on is the title of the poem. I hope you like it.

I Am Not A Man Who Believes In Lies Like An Octopus With Big X-Ray Eyes

As the title suggests,
I’m not a man
Who believes in lies.
Or at least…
I wasn’t.

All this changed one winter’s morn,
I stepped outside with my jacket on.
A normal day, thus far you’d think -
I thought this too.
A big mistake.

Look up.
See.
THIS ENOURMOUS FUCKING OCTOPUS!!!!
Flee.

I got to work that day,
Thought I had run away,
And by the end, well, hey -
I’d forgotten all about it.
Some scary, half-awake fragment.
Of a dream.

How wrong was I?

VERY WRONG!!!!!!!!
For that very night, I was watching TV
I could feel something could see me.

I peeped out the window,
Into the glistening dusk,
Saw hide ni’ hair ni‘ eyeball,
Of Giant Octopus.
But still I felt that furious gaze,
It shimmered ‘pon me like a haze,
That’s when I saw it.
Clutching my wall.
A pink - stroke - purple
Tentacle.

‘Hey pal,’ I heard a deep voice say,
Echoes sounding ‘cross the bay.
‘Why is it all the livelong day,
No-one I spoke to could hear me?
But now you can, oh man in house,
And you can help this octopus.
See I have a problem ‘twixt my pals;
If you can answer it then I shall
Stop spying on you.
With my x-ray eyes.’

‘Ok,’ I spluttered nervously
Wondering if he’d seen me pee,
Or worse, go for a number three.
Thus I responded hurriedly;
‘What’s the problem then, buddy?’

‘I believe in lies,’ Moaned the behemoth,
‘And all my friends think I’m stupid.
Does that make me stupid?’

‘Yes,’ replied I brusquely, curtly.
‘Oh - did you say that to hurt me?
You’d best not have done because,
You see,
I’m as tall as the tallest tree.’

‘No,’ said I, coolly, calmly,
‘I said it because, my friend,
I am not a man who believes in lies,
Unlike you,
Oh, octopus with big x-ray eyes.
Who is also big himself.’

‘Well maybe you should believe in lies.’
That was what the octopus said,
In a weedy voice.
And then he dropped dead.
He died of a broken heart.
I had smashed all of his dreams.
And now even in my sleep,
I hear the octopus scream:

‘You are not a man who believes in lies,
Unlike me; Octopus With Big X-Ray Eyes.’

Jesus - It's Been a While, Jesus.

I have been away from blogging to the point of ridicule. But now, like Eminem and The Zombie JFK before me, 'I'm back'! I'm now going to kick myself in the head every night to ensure I keep this ever so updated from now forever or until all the poems and such I have in my head have been kicked out. To kick start this process I have a poem about the very best programme on television these days - 'Inside Nature's Giants'. Seriously. Watch it.

Here is the poem:

Standing on the Innards of Giants (name)

Last Tuesday I fell inside,
Fell inside the belly of a python.
Oh no. Oh yes.

The Tuesday before I might have died,
Died when I fell inside the belly,
Of a Great White Fucking Shark.
Oh yes.

The Tuesday before that I can’t remember,
Remember what it was I was doing,
Because I don’t have Inside Nature’s Giants
As a point of reference because it was
Not on.