Have a smile, but please be aware that the nearer to the bottom of the page you get, the ruder the rhymes become.

Wordsworth's original manuscript found

I wandered, lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o’er vales and hills

When all at once I saw a crowd,

 A host of golden chrysanth crisanth

Oh bugger it, daffodils

Round Britain Love

In Ellesmere Port

She learned what he tort

But he took her to Chester

Where he kissed and carester

And over to Wales

Where true love prevales

So while staying in Rhyl

She went on the phyl.

In old Aberystwyth

What a passion they kystwyth!

In the port of Fishguard

They made love in a yuard

They then crossed the Severn

And drove down to Devern

But when they reached Exeter 

The men craned their nexeter

So across to Torquay

They thought they should fluay.

On the Island of Wight

He was more than polight

And when they reached Hythe

She was bonny and blythe.

In Walton on Naze

He heaped her with praze

Then on to The Wash

Where the hotel was pash

And thence to Kings Lynn

At a more modest Ynn.

In Flamborough Head,

They’d a four-poster bead.

In the castle at Alnwick

Their love was so malnwick

That they sped off to Berwick

To be wed by a clerwick.

For a week in Kirkcaldy

He worshipped her baldy.

The weather in Buckie

Was fine – weren’t they luckie?

Near the Vale of Glencoe

They played in the snoe

But she fell in the lough

And ruined her frough

So they went south to Ayr

And snuggled up thayr.

Then they drove to Carlisle

Where they stopped for a whisle.

On the M6, near Chorley

She felt rather porley,

So they turned back to Lytham

Taking painkillers Wytham

Till a doctor in Fylde

Said “My dear, you’re with chylde”.

They went to the Lakes

To rest from her akes

And there, my good friends,

This love story iends;

They live still in Ullswater

With three sons and a dater.


Strange relationships


I got married to a widow, as pretty as could be.

She had a grown-up daughter

With hair of flaming red.

My father fell in love with her,

And soon the two were wed.


This made my dad my son-in-law

And changed my very life.

My daughter was my mother,

For she was my father's wife.


To complicate the matters,

Although it brought me joy,

I soon became the father

Of a bouncing baby boy.


My little baby then became

A bro-in-law to dad.

And so became my uncle,

Though it made me very sad.


For if he was my uncle,

That also made him brother

To the widow's grown-up daughter

Who, of course, was my step-mother.


Father's wife then had a son,

Who kept them on the run.

And he became my grandson,

For he was my daughter's son.


My wife is now my mother's ma

And it makes me feel quite blue

Because, although she is my wife,

She is my grandma too.


If my wife is my grandmother,

Then I am her grandchild.

And every time I think of it,

It simply drives me wild.

 For now I have become the strangest

Case you ever saw.

As the husband of my grandmama,

 I am my own grandpa! 

A heartfelt prayer


 Oh blessed virgin, we believe

That without sin thou didst conceive.

Teach us then, while so believing

How we can sin without conceiving

‘Twas in a restaurant they met,

Romeo and Juliet.

He had no cash to pay the debt

 So Romeo’d what Juliet.

And here's one for the pedants (or grammarians, as we prefer to call ourselves)...


There’s epistrophe, apostrophe, analogy, anastrophe

Parameters which, wrongly used, could lead to a catastrophe

Metalepsis and meiosis, metaphoric and metonomy –

More rules and regulations than are found in Deuteronomy!


Then there’s simile and syncope, syllepsis, synesthesia

Synecdoche, synesis, not to mention Kinesthesia 

Parataxis, paralipsis, polypopton and parrhesia

Periphrasis, pleonasm – it’ not getting any easier


Hypophora and hamartia, hyperbaton, hypotaxis,  

If used without discretion can bring on anaphylaxis

But when carefully inserted in a manner that is practical

Make sense if they’re correctly and rhetorically syntactical.


Rhetoric and sophistry, ellipsis and magniloquence

Can lead to accusations of the worst sort of grandiloquence

So let’s end the isocolons and the intertextuality,

Hyperbole and sophistry, and get back to reality


And another one for pedants...

I was thinking of writing a thesis
On the elegant use of tmesis
In Shakebloodyspeare
But no cases appear...
(Please excuse the aposeopesis)


On the chest of a barmaid called Gail

Was tattooed the prices of ale

And on her behind

(For the sake of the blind)

 Was the same information in braille

The amoeba

The little amoeba shuns coition

And propagates its kind by fission,

A process it finds most effectual

Though I prefer the method sexual.

The portions of the female

This poem is said to have been written by that great literary figure Sir Alan ("A.P.") Herbert.  I suspect the second and third verses may have been added by others, who also altered the first verse so that it no longer contained that nasty four-letter word.

The doctor's lament

The portions of the female that appeal to Man's depravity

Are fashioned with considerable care;

And what at first appears to be a modest little cavity

Is really an elaborate affair.

Now doctors of distinction have examined these phenomena

In numbers of experimental dames

And given to these ornaments of feminine abdomena

A number of delightful Latin names:

There's the vulva, the vagina and the jolly perineum

And the hymen in the case of certain brides;

And there's lots of other gadgets you'd just love if you could see 'em

The clitoris and Lord knows what besides

Now isn't it a pity that when common people chatter

Of the mysteries to which I have referred

That they give to this so vital and so elegant a matter

 Such a very short and unattractive word.

The layman's reply

The eminent authorities who study the geography

Of this obscure but interesting land

Are able to indulge a taste for feminine topography

And view the graphic details close at hand.

We ordinary people, though aware of the existence

Of complexities beyond the public knowle

Are usually content to view the details from a distance

And treat them, roughly speaking, as a whole.

Moreover when we laymen probe the depths of femininity

We exercise a simpler form of touch

And do not cloud the issue with superfluous minutia

But call the whole concern a such-and-such.

For men have made this useful but inelegant commodity

The subject of innumerable jibes

And while the name they call it by is something of an oddity

 It seems to fit the object it describes.

The woman's retort

You erudite philosophers are really rather comical

Despite your pseudoscientific facts,

For all your heated arguments on matters anatomical

Have very little bearing on your acts.

You may agree to differ and make learned dissertations

On the relative importance of a name,

But we women find that when it comes to intimate relations

Your reactions are essentially the same.

Moreover when you analyse, in phrases too meticulous

Our relatively simple little vent

You overlook the verbiage, so rude and so ridiculous

Which designates the gadgets of a gent.

But then perhaps it's 'cause you find the emblems of virility

So very, very difficult to hide,

That your jealousy induces you to scoff at our ability

 To tuck away our privacies inside.