The works of Thomas, Yeats, etcetera,
are patently a great deal betterer
than mine own attempts at poetry
which better suit the lavat’ry
(though foolscap doth thy ringpiece vex
most sorely - quite unlike Andrex)

Bacon, Lamb and De-La-Mare
none of these would have a care
their rhyming skills to so bamboozle
with those unfortunate words I choozle.
Kipling, Browning, poets like these
could never pen such testi -clese

I envy those who can and will
juxtapose with consumate skill
Barnacle, Blancmange and Brontosaurus
without the aid of Rogets Thesaurus -
Who’ve memorized the verbal feats
of Shelley, Auden, Byron, Keats
and the learned prose of poets long parst -
though I myself cannot be arst.

Time the Vladivar Gold to slurple -
a most etymologically challenged Purple

Ode to a Wierdy Beardy

Do the pyramids enthrall you
with their mystery and power?,
do you ponder over Stonehenge
and Ley Lines in the shower?

Are your biorythms stable,
have you read your daily stars,
is Pluto in conjunction
with your ruling planet Mars?

Is your Aura looking healthy,
are your crystals glowing bright,
will you scan the skies for U.F.O.s'
as you meditate tonight?

Is the I Ching still your Guru,
do the Tarot Cards agree
that your latest precognition
was just Telepathy?

Don't forget the Homeopathist,
and while we're at this juncture,
you can curb your urge for nicotine
with some timely acupuncture.

And finally, as you imbibe
your daily wheatgrass drink,
do you dream of bacon sandwiches
as you throw up in the sink?

R. MacDonald,