Poem number 39
Pope John Wayne
A Bishop once tried to elope
With a choirboy who worked for the Pope
But the Pontiff gave chase
On his horse Holy Lace
And lassoed them both back with a rope.
Poem number 132
“Admiral Ackbar!” they cry, “Admiral Ackbar!”
They charge into the crowd, lightsabres ablaze
They slash and maim and kill
No longer Jedis, though they mouth the words
The Dark Side has suffused and seduced them
The Force cries out in pain
And Yoda weeps.
Poem number 139
Hold It In, Vicar!
Vicars never urinate on Sundays
They just tie their bladders up with bits of string
They hold the wee inside
As they tell how Jesus died
And they cross their legs discretely as they sing.
Vicars never defecate on Sundays
They’ve a holy cork they use to keep it in
They’re hiding writhing cramps
As they light the holy lamps
And they shudder as they speak to us of sin.
Vicars always urinate on Mondays
Then they defecate in simple silent bliss
That sweet moment of relief
Is God’s reward for their belief
Oh sweet Jesus it’s Divine to shit and piss!
Poem number 161
Prayer For The Day
Dear Lord of all the little things
Thank you for the rain,
Thank you for the extra sleep –
I missed the bus again.
Thank you for the walk to work
That soaking, fun-filled trek,
The slightly clammy trousers
And the water down my neck.
Thank you for the flooded path
I jumped from rock to rock,
Thank you for the leaking shoe
The soaking, squelchy sock.
Thank you Lord for all these things
You’ve made my Monday ace
Stay away on Tuesday
Or I’ll punch you in the face.
Poem number 184
Oi! No Vay!
A rabbit with no ‘t’ becomes a rabbi
But I’d never let it circumcise my lads
For I’ve got a squeamish wife
And she’d give me endless strife
If the stupid bunny missed, and bit their nads.
Poem number 248
The Romans liked ventriloquists
And acrobats and choirs,
They weren’t so fond of jugglers
Or those men who walk through fires
And if truth be told they hated
Nay detested, could not stand
Anything to do with magic
So all hypnotists were banned.
Now a man arrived amongst them
With prodigious magic skill
He could take a bloke with leprosy
And stop him feeling ill
He could wave a watch, and hypnotise
A crowd quite underfed
And convince them that their socks and shoes
Were really fish and bread.
Now the Romans, unforgiving
Took against this trickery:
They caught and beat the hypnotist
And nailed him to a tree
But the final laugh was his, it seems
For though they thought him dead
He had hypnotised the watching crowds
And fled the scene instead.