A study, not very scientific
was analyzing roadkill accidents.
Of crows, vehicle-struck, to be specific.
Considered a number of incidents.
Reported two findings, unusual,
which was asserted as being the case,
for understandable cause, integral,
apart from unstoppable speed and haste.
First, 98 per cent hit by lorries
or trucks. Only 2 per cent killed by car.
Second, that the crows themselves had worries.
Tried to warn their fellow birds from afar.
But, with limits of language, they were stuck.
The crows could cry “cah”, but too late said “truck”.
OLD MEXICAN JOKE.
Mexican gang given information,
by a snitch, about their rivals’ drug stash.
Told to them, secret of the location.
Also there, it was said, was hoards of cash.
Unusual aspect to look out for,
so certain it was the right place to be,
(for this, need to be absolutely sure)
was what snitch said looked like a bacon tree.
A quick reconnoiter, then plans were made.
They would go straight away to steal the loot.
But when they got there for the light’ning raid,
Other gang, armed, appeared; ready to shoot.
The bullets flew with a whizz and a whoosh
‘not a bacon tree, there, but a ‘h’ambush.
A monk with artist’s eye and steady hand,
was called to the records office in Rome
to copy sacred texts, some even banned.
One day finds, whilst he’s working on a tome,
that the script he copies is a copy.
This is what all the monks there are doing.
Copying from an earlier copy.
“There’s a flaw there in that way of doing”,
he explains to the chief abbot in charge.
“A mistake in an earlier version
will carry through”. “My duty I’ll discharge,
by checking the original version”,
Later the abbot in tears and irate.
Says “Someone dropped the ‘R’ in ‘celebrate’ “.
At one minute to midnight, Christmas Eve,
Three men die; queue up at the Pearly Gate.
St. Peter says “I can ask you to leave,
or let you in to an after-life, great.
To enter, show me something symbolic.
Part of joyful Christmas celebration.
The first man brings nothing alcoholic,
Shows lighter flame. – Candles – explanation.
The second man provides a set of keys.
Shakes them together. Makes a tinkling sound.
Like ‘Bells’. For Christmas, their ringing will please.
The Saint asks the third man “What have you found
to get in, to rest on heaven’s laurels ?”.
“Ladies underwear!” “What?” “Well, they’re Carols”.
PAWNING THE STAR.
The Assyrians in protracted war
with the Hittites. King Ozymandias
needs more money to continue the war.
“If victory’s to be, must supply us”,
the word from Assyria’s armed forces.
To raise cash, the King must release the Star.
All considered, that’s what the best course is.
Bejewelled Star of Euphrates is the star.
Taken to the ancient days’ pawn broker.
King demands for it, a million dinar
Broker says “much less. Million, no hoper”.
“But I’m King of Kings, not a small trader”.
The response: “When you wish to pawn a Star,”
(well known rhyme) “makes no diff’rence who you are”.
There it is on the ground in the wood chip.
A solitary centipede moving.
Wriggling really. Working its legs a bit.
Its chances of surviving improving.
Mobility means finding food to eat.
A tasty morsel, the size of a spot.
Prepared by a trampling of five score feet,
Providing a heap to see what it’s got.
One centipede’s an army on the march.
A platoon of foot soldiers all in one.
But mistaken to think nature’s been harsh,
with more legs than us when they need to run.
Okay for football, but not for cricket
As likely be out leg before wicket.
‘DIRTY’ VEGETABLE SONNET (GROWN WITH AN EXTRA COUPLET).
It’s obviously common sensible
to freely plant herbs and vegetables.
On public grounds it’s grown intentional.
Ready to eat after short interval.
Even if you’re prone to become ‘well-oiled’,
you’ll never forget this veg grows well soiled.
And however cooked – most likely it’s boiled –
the flavour’s impossible to be spoiled.
Doesn’t matter, if not perfectly formed.
Carrot and turnip shapes are never scorned
for being too knobbly. No growers warned.
May not look the same but taste is the norm.
Onions, Peas and all sorts around to pick.
Odd shapes, with roots, skins, and straight as a stick.
[And if not sure, you need not be worried.
The veg that’s here is excellent curried.]
I am trying on some animal suits.
My plan to visit you for amusement.
First on is a bear suit with furry boots.
You’ll probably think it an improvement.
You said I was too tame for your liking.
Said you wanted more of the beast in me.
With this costume, hope doing the right thing.
Though I’ll grunt and snarl, hope you’ll speak to me.
Next up, the tiger skin with those sharp claws;
Or the lion attire, all bright orange.
Scratch your back or clutch you in my vast paws.
Soft skin bite with fabric mouth, can arrange.
Hope you find this effort pleasurable.
Dressed as your very own wild animal.
GREAT LINE. (COLLAPSE OF A SONNET.)
I’ll see you on the dark side of the moon.
“That’s ten syllables”, she said. “Write a line
like that” – doesn’t have to be for a tune –
“and your sonnets worth it”. And there’s the rhyme.
I could say, ‘Our time on earth gone too soon’.
‘Maintain the machine in the engine room’.
‘Blown up and deflated like a balloon’.
‘What dark matter is there space to exhume’.
‘I’ll see you on Mars, oh mound of Venus’.
Oh No. I’ve lost it. The ridiculous.
From the obvious rhyme, abstemious.
Just passing through like King Caractacus.
Don’t think the great line will come in this verse.
For that wish, the silver balloon has burst.