Month: June 2017

The Twemlow cycle

Twemlow’s laser bicycle
has been an online hit;
you can buy it pre-assembled
or build it from a kit.

Not for Twemlow clanking gears
or pedals that rotate;
not for him the oily chain
that tends to irritate.

Twemlow’s novel concept
of velocipedal motion
involves the use of lasers
and a red-hot fiery lotion.

Just apply the lotion
to your nether parts each day,
then let the laser action
whisk you briskly on your way.

No need for frame or saddle,
cos you won’t have time to sit:
you’ll be at your destination
before you’ve thought of it.


 

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Eastern wisdom

Let’s see if Captain Tandy
has anything to add
to the testimony given
by the Prince of Ishfahad:

Did you see a camel
steaming through the souk,
like ‘a bolt of lightning’
or, as some say, ‘a truck’?

— There are no words that can describe
the mysteries of the East:
a camel steaming through a souk
must rank among the least.

I can’t deny I saw it,
though I’m not sure that I did.
Some things out East are quite opaque
while others are quite hid.

— But come now, Captain Tandy,
you must help the court decide:
‘truck ‘or ‘bolt of lightning’
— which simile applies?

I have no truck with similes,
and lightning’s just as bad,
but a wise man doesn’t contradict
the Prince of Ishfahad.


 

The good ship

An Adriatic brigantine
is beetling round the coast,
graceful as the moonlight
and silent as a ghost.

Is she bent on brigandage
beneath the bright new moon,
or is she just a bugaboo,
some fleeting Brigadoon?

— No, that’s the good ship Twemlow,
that’s beetling o’er the main,
bringing bent bananas
from Brindisi to Belmain.

And so….brimful of bananas,
the brigantine floats by,
graceful as the moonlight
that fills the midnight sky.


 

Visions of love

They say that love is blind,
or short-sighted at least:
how else could I have married
a demented wildebeest?

They say that love is blind,
or at least a tad myopic.
I never would have married
if my eyes were emmetropic.

They say that love is blind,
or sees only with a squint:
that’s how you end up married
to a cruel and callous bint.


A horse of a woman

— Dash it all, Fidelma,
what’s a man to do,
when you’re standing in the paddock
and blocking all the view?

Could you be more circumspect,
a little less pronounced,
when we’re trying to observe
how the jockeys hold their mounts?

“It’s not my fault that I’m big-boned;
I’ve had a lousy life.
Ever since I married you,
I’ve been a slave to strife.”

— Just shift yer butt, Fidelma,
we don’t need your tales of woe,
but the jockeys must be ready
for the race at Neuf Château.

“You care more for your horses
than you ever did for me!
Is it any wonder
that beyond me you can’t see.”

— Now the jockeys are confused
by your equine weight:
if you don’t shift, Fidelma,
you’ll be at the starter’s gate.


 

News from Poole

Five new solar twemlows,
designed by Captain Sproole,
have won plaudits at the airshow
that’s delighting folk near Poole.

Each twemlow is a masterpiece,
a pleasure to the eye;
the very air adores them
as they beetle through the sky.

So if perchance a twemlow
should fall into your lap,
give it back to Captain Sproole,
the aeronautic chap.