Misunderstood [A Poem]

A poem about sharks:

With giant teeth and a sinister grin
They watch you sceptically
In deep blue waters; your body immersed
You glide so perfectly 

A killer they scream, blood thirsty and cruel,
Unqualified the labels they add,
When hunting is eating and eating is life,
The last thing you do is be bad 

Arrogance (Poem)

I’m just so sexy 

You know it’s true. 

I may be fat 

And hairy too

But I don’t care

That’s who I am 

I’m not a fraud 

But what a man. 

I’ve got the brains 

A boffin prince

I am unique

The last in print. 

Just call me Barry,

Like Manilow 

Now be my Mandy 

Third base we’ll go

So now I’ll end 

This glorious piece

I know your love

Will never cease. 


And Bahahahahahaha. 

Inspired by the theme song of Tyler Breeze. 

Enter the Chunk [A Poem]

Have you heard my name? 

It’s not a secret that I hide. 

It may not be up in the stars 

But I wear this badge with pride. 

It comes from simple observation

From wobbles in my tum

No six pack will you find with me 

Though apparently a nice bum. 

They call me chunky monkey 

And my moobs are there to see

I may not be a George Clooney

But there’s no one else like me. 

34 updates. 

Oh computer with your updates,

They are driving me insane. 

Why did I turn you on so late?

Is that now why you make me wait?

I just want to go lie down 

my bed is calling me you know 

But you are busy installing files 

And you will never let me go. 

I promise to launch you more often

Because 34 updates are quite the joke

So help me God this is the last

For this tired and thirsty chunky bloke

Bras and Boobs (A poem) – not to be taken seriously 

They hold within objects so dear

To many a man who likes a woman 

And in a multitude of materials woven

and colours so varied for one to lust. 

As to whether their support is needed

I am not one to offer judgement 

Though when I see one; or just a strap

My mind begins to wander over

Yes, what they hold will sink a man 

and make him surrender all his honour

Those cushion hammocks are to plunder

If only she would take my number.

A cheeky thought had crossed my mind 

That beauty is far more than a teet

But bouncing bossoms will take me under 

Oh what a sight; a glorious treat. 

A poem about bras

I am trying to write a poem about bras but I can’t make it funny enough. It is really bumming me out.

Who would have thought writing a poem about bras could be so hard? Or that it would be so hard to get something to rhyme with “squishable pillows”.

No, my minder is not in the gutter! Do not look at me that way. I am simply an artist and this blog is my canvas.

I’ll get there…eventually…right?!

Boobs [A poem]

You’ve got to love boobs,

Well at least if you’re male 

It’s hard to say why 

But their charm never fails

It’s not about size

Or how bouncy they are. 

Give me a chance 

And I’ll make them go far 

I’m kidding of course

Though I like them a lot

They can make my day brighter

Yes I think they’re quite hot

My reasons for this

Of that I’m not sure

Maybe I’m tipsy

But my mind is not pure

Though soon I will sleep 

There’s one hope tonight 

That I’ll dream about boobs

Yeah, that would be alright. 

Pia [A Poem]

We were doomed from the moment I met you
But I was too blind to see
That your love wasn’t fair
And my heart could not bear
That your love was not shared just with me.

It was a dangerous liason, a lover you had
But your happiness was never with him
But when your love grew,
You could not break through
Of that mistake that you were in. 

Where you failed was that you told me you loved me
When you were balancing us both at the time.
How could I trust you,
When your words were not true. 
As your bodies did still intertwine.

You slept with him for FOUR months.
When you cried “it was over ” to me.
But you couldn’t quite choose
Which one you would screw.
In the end it wasn’t with me.

But what saddens me most  is the fact we were close
Though the lies they had pulled us apart.
And I’d hate that you cried
Even though that you lied.
And you’ll always have part of my heart.

Empty Chest (A poem)

If my heart was a tool

I’m afraid that it’s broken 

Unused for so long

That it’s rusted inside

It hasn’t found love for so long;

That it may have shrivelled and died 

But I hope that someone comes along

So that one day it will be woken. 

So many I’ve wanted to love 

But my love’s been turned down 

If what’s in here is what matters 

Then maybe there’s nothing worth having.

The very thought of that 

Leaves me terrified.