Category Archives: humorous verse

Chocolate

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.

I like

chocolate buns;

chocolate pudding; chocolate mousse;

chocolate cup cakes; chocolate fudge cake; chocolate cheesecake;

strong hot chocolate with full fat milk, a spoonful of coffee, another of cocoa, extra sugar to take the bitterness away, a few squares of chocolate melted into it, topped off with swirls of cream and finished with a generous helping of grated chocolate;

anything that contains the words, “chocolate” and “double”;

or better still, the words, “chocolate” and “triple”;

or simply the one word, “chocolate;

and chocolate, chocolate,

chocolate.

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A guitar-playing, rainbow-winged, triple-tailed red kitten
flies around my kitchen, whispering:

“Fat is an illusion”,
in sing-song rhythm to the strumming of his strings,

but much as I would like to trust him,
I know the truth;

The cat is an illusion.

The fish-tailed, pixie nosed, six-legged, twin-horned pink unicorn
that swims in my sink
told me so,

and
he wanted me to know
that chocolate is slimming.

Fish-tailed,
pixie nosed, six-legged,
twin-horned pink unicorns
generally tell the truth,

so I believe him.

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The Daily Post #Illusion

©Jane Paterson Basil

Anagram slam

Toad Ode –

An anagramatic tongue-twister – go on, see how fast you can say it without swallowing your tonsils…

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A ten ton, one toed toad,
toted a donated date,
notated a neat ode,
noted date…

ate note, not date;
no ado,
no ante-dote…

dot… dot… dot…

done.

Toad –
note tenet;
don’t eat note,
eat date.

End.

***

Funny how constraints can make or break a poem. Were they too tight? I’ll let you decide.

The Daily Post – #Detonate – a day late, but achieved without pressing the red button marked D, or single a mention of the Trumpeting Dicktator… oops – I’ve blotted my copybook.

©Jane Paterson Basil

A Poor Example

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Six foot three,
gleaming, even teeth,
walks with confidence,
clean, impeccably dressed
rippling with reassuring muscle,
manicured, shaven and trim:
Magnificent him.
Mmm…

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His eyes hint at an intimate secret
hidden within a mystery
five fathoms beneath a turgid sea,
where he and I, alone,
may swim… must swim… have swum…
in an alternative reality.
His lips pulse a promise of depths to plumb…..
sensual pleasures to come.

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His voice
is a blatant embrace;
in a purring masculine bass:
.“You have the face of an angel,” he says.

I’m fevered and flustered, bashfully blushing,
I’m stumbling and flushing. I don’t know what to do.
I want to drink champagne out of his shoe,
to sweep inhibitions out of the way
and make crippling love for the rest of the day.

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His velvet voice becomes husky, like rough hessian:
“Have you had surgery? It’s essential to make the best of yourself.
Look at my perfection;
I’ve had hair implants, a tummy tuck, liposuction, silicon, botox shots,
a nose job, throat job, butt-cheek job, a penis extension –
all the better for a blow j……”

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……As I leave
he is yelling that on closer inspection,
his first impression had been a tad sketchy,
and I’m not the woman he’d thought me to be.
My legs are too hairy,
my attitude lairy;
to bed me he’d need a large fee.

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As far as I can see, the flat of my hand
has left a strong impression on his plasticised face;
as for my impression of him…
he’s a pretty poor example of the human race.

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The Daily Post #Impression

©Jane Paterson Basil

Fickle Cupid

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Alas; his tickling fingers
……shall no more set my innards aflame,
…………pulling exquisite music from my hidden strings.
They have found a new tune to play.

It’s true I am humble,
……no graceful Steinway,
…………but I adored him all the same.
He said he loved my plinkety-plonk,
……then plumped for aristocracy, (plump being the operative word)
…………seduced by those sumptuous curves, and that persuasive lilt.
.I have been jilted.

Why does he want Miss Steinway?
……True, she sings kinda sweet, and her body may gleam
…………but it’s pretty near the size of a football team,
………………………………………………….…and she’s one leg short.

This upright piano may be poor,
……but I have four legs, and if you showed me an average door
…………at least I could fit through it…
………………………………………………..…as you saw.

I stand deserted in a forgotten room,
……gathering dust and spiders webs
…………beneath a leaky roof.
Raindrops take the place of his caress,
…….and they never hit the spot
…………where beautiful music is made.
The missing slate is above my A flat,
……leaving me longing…
……………maybe if you could move me a little,
the drips would work their way to the G.

Oh fickle cupid, bring him back;
I’m wilting from a damp attack.
Play me gently, soft and low,
then raise me to a cre-scen-do.

Written for Michelle’s Photo Prompt. This week’s image is a little bit naughty… or maybe it’s just my interpretation…

©Jane Paterson Basil

Street Theatre

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Sex dope,
going at it like resuscitation,
doggedly pumping,
slip-sliding, butt bucking,
humping to the fast-tracked beat of “Staying Alive”,
displaying a peachy, arse-crack smile,
engrossed in groaning grunts
which drift through gaping, window
toward waiting silence.

Gaining pace, heart racing,
you feel the tantalising itch rise…
so close, so close…
the climax rocks your body.
You buck, then stop, sopping up
the thrill, the rhyme behind the tickle;
those fresh, yet familiar
silken ribbons of inner ripples…

Sated, you flop.

From the seething street;
raucous jeers,
course roars,
tumultuous applause.

Exposed…
too late you know
you should have kept your curtains closed.

🙂 🙂 🙂

Sex dope is an anagram of #Exposed

Note to porn site spammers – I’m not interested. Gimme a break, so I don’t have to go to the trouble of deleting your weird comments 😉

©Jane Paterson Basil

Yoke

egg

An egg with no yoke
….is an unfunny joke
……..for one who doesn’t like white,
…………while a double-yoked sample
…………….may be quite ample
………………..for the aforementioned type,
……………………but if you’ve no taste
……………………….for yolk, it’s a waste,
………………………….while an egg that’s all white
……………………………. is alright.

.

©Jane Paterson Basil

Gotcha

abstract tree_cave

.

The tunnel shimmers with a tempting threat;
….its marbled darkness beckons and repels.
……..Her instinct is to flee this place, and yet
…………some hunger in her quickening soul rebels.

She stoops to taste the water at her feet,
….and gasps at fruity flavours rich and rare,
……..Bending low she sups the nectar sweet,
…………then steps into the cave without a care.

Reflections from the water light the walls,
….to.dance with twisting shadows of the tree,
……..Behind her, warning silence weakly calls,
…………But she’s enchanted by the leaping filigree.

The air grows dank, and scratches reach her ears.
….She hears an evil grunt, and rasping breath,
……..a distant, deadly scream awakes her fears,
…………then silence reigns, as if a breath is held for death.

The grunts resume, and splashing sounds ensue
….like clumsy footsteps searching out their prey.
……..Her horror deepens; she cannot construe
…………from whence they come; they echo everyway.

The light retreats and deepest darkness falls
….within the depths of that unhallowed hollow,
……..while lumbering evil bounces off the walls;
…………she knows not which dread trail to follow.

All at once she sees the apperition,
….the gnashing teeth and angry threads of drool.
……..She screams in fearful recognition…
…………the teacher drags the truant back to school.

.

Gotcha… (inspired by an image I put together in an idle moment)

©Jane Paterson Basil