Tweaky's Poetry, but please post your own as well.

Loved that Moyra:thumb:

Time for another amusing one from Tweaky.

Entitled. Digits.

If you had some extra fingers
What purpose would they serve
You couldn't wear a normal glove
They'd think you were a perve

Five in the glove some sticking out
No no I hear you mutter
There would be so many gains
Well think of one or curb your tongue
What if you had two of those
You could lick your girlfriends ear
At the same time lick her toes

Think of all the extra things
More hobbies to pursue
What about three testicles
Only boxer shorts would do
One left one right one central
It seems a bit far fetched
The more I think along these lines
The sillier it gets

What about two noses
Three ears four eyes two chins
I can hear the sirens wailing
White coated men come in
Seven toes three feet four organs
Sexual I think

Now that could be a handicap
When you've had a bit to drink
I can already miss the toilet bowl
Handling only one
Christ if i had four of them
I'd be a man my son

You'd have to have a system
And group them in both hands
You'd need some extra fingers
Well well, who'd have thought?

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:D:D:D:D:D:DThat is so funny! You naughty man, you!:D:D:D:D:D:D

 

The Gypsy,

She stood in the doorway to a shop,
as I ran across the road from the bank.
She put out her arm and made me stop.
Her grey hair on her shoulders lay lank.

"Cross my palm with silver, dearie,
and I'll read your palm for you."
She looked awful tired and weary
and I didn't know what to do.

So I slipped two shillings into her palm,
wondering what else I could do.
Surely it could not bring me harm
if I did not believe it to be true.

My past she then began to unfold
and of this she certainly was right.
"More money" as my hand she kept hold
it gave me such a dreadful fright.

A pound was all I had in my purse
and although I thought I knew better
I gave it to her to avoid a curse,
which she promised if I upset her.

What she has told has since come true,
but it ever again I chance to meet,
another gypsy, I know what I'll do,
stay on the other side of the street.

 

The Glory of the Garden

• [SIZE=+1]O[/SIZE]UR England is a garden that is full of stately views, Of borders, beds and shrubberies and lawns and avenues, With statues on the terraces and peacocks strutting by; But the Glory of the Garden lies in more than meets the eye.
  For where the thick laurels grow, along the thin red wall, You will find the tool- and potting-sheds which are the heart of all; The cold-frames and the hot-houses, the dungpits and the tanks, The rollers, carts and drain-pipes, with the barrows and the planks.
  And there you'll see the gardners, the men and 'prentice boys Told off to do as they are bid and to it without noise; For, except when seeds are planted and we shout to scare the birds, The Glory of the Garden it abideth not in words.
  And some can pot begonias and some can bud a rose, And some are hardly fit to trust with anything that grows; But they can roll and trim the lawns and sift the sand and loam, For the Glory of the Garden occupieth all who come.
  Our England is a garden, and such gardens are not made By singing:--"Oh, how beautiful!" and sitting in the shade, While better men than we go out and start their working lives At grubbing weeds from gravel-paths with broken dinner-knives.
  There's not a pair of legs so thin, there's not a head so thick, There's not a hand so weak and white, nor yet a heart so sick, But it can find some needful job that's crying to be done, For the Glory of the Garden glorifieth every one.
  Then seek your job with thankfulness and work till further orders, It it's only netting strawberries or killing slugs on borders; And when your back stops aching and your hands begin to harden, You will find yourself a partner in the Glory of the Garden.
  Oh, Adam was a gardener, and God who made him sees That half a proper gardener's work is done upon his knees, So when your work is finished, you can wash your hands and pray For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away! For the Glory of the Garden, that it may not pass away!

anon.