Accidental Poetry

Hot stuff

Look at me!

On top of the world

I'm on the red carpet

Each arm has a girl.

What a great hair day

And check out my smile!

You haven't seen me

Look this good in a while!

My shoulders are square

My chest puffed out -

This is what spunk

Is all about!

It's about perfection

Hey honey - you dig this stance?

Holy shit.

I've forgotten my pants!

Four Favourites

Of my four favourite words, the last is “perambulate”,

Its meaning: “to walk or stroll” is something to which I relate;

It is rhythmic and fluid, it literally ambles from your lips

And prompts you to go a-sauntering, and loosen up your hips.

“Lebensmittelgeshäft” is German, it comes in at third,

It has so many varied sounds stuffed into one word!

Alas, it designates something I have no time for:

For it translates into “supermarket”, or “grocery store”.

At second is a melon: the word is “cantaloupe”,

I’m a bit biased here as it’s one of my favourite fruit,
The word rolls sweetly about your tongue, like it’s juicy flesh

It’s soft and musical and leaves your mouth feeling fresh.

My favourite term is short, and it defines a sound,

And the word itself is the funniest one around,

It could find itself in comedy, when something’s about to drop,

You can’t say it without smiling; try it, it’s “plop”!

Copyright © Richard Mason

The Fart

Why does it linger

When you squeeze one out?

Like a ghostly finger

It just hangs about.

The fart is lightning quick

How it travels, no-one knows

From the back of a bus

In a blink: up the driver's nose.

Why does it always go

Where you don't want it to?

It should react to gravity

Just the same as poo.

You can drop a fart then move

But will it stay where it passed?

The bloody thing will follow -

Why does it cling to your arse?

It can be most embarrassing

Unbidden wind from your bum

It's inconvenient in a lift

Or when meeting your girlfriend's mum.

At gym class, legs stretched wide

The spinchter fully dilated

It very hard to contain

All the gases you've created.

It's always most handy

To have kids or dogs around

You can lay the fart-blame elsewhere

When a smelly one hits the ground.

Some folk are quite skilful

They can fart a tune you name

Or light the jet of gas

And make a foot-long flame.

Why are farts so funny?

A harmless "parp" in a quiet crowd

Can cause a rippled giggle

Or cause a laugh-out-loud.

There's much fun to be had

With the wind that's from your seat

You can fart on your brother's head

Or trap girlfriend beneath the sheets.

"Who farted?" is a question

You can ask in many ways

The query can be posed

With a colourful phrase:

"Who punched Humphrey?"

"Who dropped their guts?"

"Who kicked the dog?"

"Who opened their lunch box?"

There are four types of farts

As far as I can tell

Based on its sound

And importantly, the smell.

The "Trumpet Bum" variety

Makes your butt-cheeks reverbrate

And in extreme instances

Creates a small earthquake.

The "Stealth" is rather nasty:

It comes out without a peep

But can destroy nasal lining

And send small dogs to sleep.

"Thank God" is quite noiseless

But the smell you'll nervously await

And then sigh with relief

When no odour eventuates.

"Trumpet Bum" is entertaining

When shared with a mate

But the "Stealth" can be deadly

And cause a room to evacuate.

The third type is most appealing

But the fourth is called "The Poo"

It's definitely the worst: