Funny Poems P11
I’m piddl’n and paus’n and paus’n and piddl’n
and then I’m a-paus’n once more.
It’s three in the morn’n, I’ll be back before dawn’n
and I’ll walk that cold lavat’ry floor
It’s every two hours, these piddl’n wee showers
Get me up and roused out of my bed
First it’s one, then it’s three, then it’s five that I pee
I should be a-sleep’n instead
I’m there in the dark, at this ev’ry night lark
A-piddl’n and paus’n and curs’n
I can’t sleep hours eight, or even sleep late
Like a normally piddl’n person
Too late now I know, for long and smooth flow
When old prostate’s all swollen and knotty
‘twould be for the best if they cut out the pest
And I slept – ‘stead of piddl’n – int’ potty
I get up in the morning and greet it with a sigh,
Shuffle from the bedroom with hair and brain awry,
Totter to the bathroom with sorta knock-kneed gait
To beat an urgent urging, that does not want to wait.
Today I’ll write some verse I think
Pick up the pen and spread the ink.
The toaster in the kitchen, has features new galore,
It burns my bread, then pops it up and flings it on the floor.
The lurking ants are waiting as they do most every day,
Big and stout, they scuttle out and whisk my toast away.
If I have time I’ll write a rhyme
On ants that steal that toast of mine.
The dream I dreamt last night still rankles
My PJ’s slip down to my ankles,
I stoop to grab, and stub a toe
So say some naughty words I know.
The Menopause Blues
You may think I’m old and I’m wrinkly,
My body’s a terrible state.
My hair’s going gray, I suppose you might say,
I’m well past my ‘Best Before Date’.
I think that my hearing is muffled,
I know that my teeth are all plastic.
I’m blind as a bat, but I’m grateful for that -
The view in the mirror’s less drastic.
I’m obeying the old law of gravity,
And if it commands me much more,
I’ll have rucksacks for eyes, boobs down to my thighs
And my buttocks will drag on the floor.
At aerobics I’d drown out the music,
With that godawful cracking and creaking,
And I’d just feel like shit if I tried to ‘keep fit’,
My joints would protest with loud squeaking.
I’m not into jogging or swimming,
It’s too much like strenuous toil,
My body won’t take it: I can’t even fake it
With gallons of 3-in-one oil.
But before you throw me on the scrap-heap,
Or have me put down by the vet.
Just wait, hold the zimmer. There might be a glimmer
Of hope for the old baggage yet.
There’s a lot to be said for experience,
It wasn’t all trouble and strife.
Just let me have fun with somebody’s son,
And I’ll soon spring back into life.
I could do with a nice little toy-boy,
I’d teach him a lesson or two.
Or perhaps three or four, then maybe some more,
Let’s see what an old girl can do.
I’ve learned quite a lot in my lifetime,
Like how to be free and inventive,
The physical jerks would themselves be the perks,
Now that’s what I call incentive.
As much as I’ve gained in endurance,
In exchange, I’ve lost inhibitions.
I’m raring to go and show what I know,
For hours, without intermissions.
Or maybe I’ll go for an old one,
A ‘dirty’ old man, I just might.
So long as he’s clean, and I know where he’s been,
And he brings his own box of Yeast-Vite.
Though he might be a little bit slower,
At least he’d have more staying powers.
Though he may be wizened, once it has risen
He could possibly go on for hours.
An older man might have his drawbacks,
No hair, a loose denture that chatters.
But while he’s not flagging, I won’t mind him sagging
So long as it’s not where it matters.
But having said that, on reflection,
A young stud sounds much more appealing.
And if he’s too fast, and can’t make it last,
I’ll cry out “Now once more with feeling”.
When I was younger I worried,
About morals too numerous to mention.
Someone who’s older can be so much bolder,
And stuff all that pointless convention.
My creative streak has run riot,
There are no longer rules to the game.
I can play how I like and become an old bike,
Who cares if I get a bad name.
When I was young I was pretty,
I had men lined up in a queue.
But I sent them away, too frightened to play,
Sex was something that ‘nice’ girls don’t do.
Then later on I got married,
And sex was a matter of course.
Once it was duty it lost all it’s beauty,
To regain it I filed for divorce.
But sexual power is fleeting,
Before you know it, it’s lost.
Who wants to be naughty with frumpy at 40?
I’m now finding out to my cost.
I’m left with a bit of a problem,
Now I’m ready, geared up for the kill.
Outside of the blind, it’s so hard to find,
At my age, a lover who WILL.
What It Was
A computer was something on TV
from a science fiction show of note
A window was something you hated to clean
And ram was the cousin of a goat.
Meg was the name of my girlfriend
and gig was a job for the nights.
Now they all mean different things
and that really mega bites.
An application was for employment
a program was a TV show.
A curser used profanity.
A keyboard was a piano.
Memory was something that you lost with age
A CD was a bank account
and if you had a 3 inch floppy
you hoped nobody found out.
Compress was something you did to the garbage
not something you did to a file.
And if you unzipped anything in public
you’d be in jail for awhile.
Log on was adding wood to the fire
Hard drive was a long trip on the road
A mouse pad was where a mouse lived
And a back up happened to your commode.
Cut you did with a pocket knife.
Paste you did with glue
a web was a spider’s home
and a virus was the flu.
The Last Hoorah
When I was young and in the dawn,
I rose to put my trousers on
For some adventurous new day
Of shining sun and making hay,
There was no sense of deja vu,
No fears possessed me in the loo,
And when I shaved my stripling chin
I found it hard to check a grin.
Handsome and brave, devoid of cares,
I’d race to breakfast down the stairs.
Now I have drained that youthful cup,
It takes me ages to get up
And first among the day’s adventures
Is finding where I put my dentures.
The bathroom mirror’s ruthless light
Suggests I passed away last night
And at the door the postman knocks
With mail that’s full of evil shocks
While by my plate a heap of pills
Bears witness to a dozen ills.
Take my picture as I stand
Posing proudly on the sand,
My cornetto in my hand.
Towel concealing all that’s floppy,
Smile controlled and not too soppy,
Everyone will want a copy.
I wake up each morning, scratch my ass and head,
Then read the day’s obits to see if I’m dead,
And seeing I’m not I get up for a piddle,
Then crawl back in bed where I diddle a little.
At six I make coffee and drink it down black,
And eat me some toast, without teeth I just smack.
I turn on the TV, tune in to ‘Today’
And watch that cute Katie, she’d make a great lay.
I watch for a while till I drop off and doze,
Then wake with a start and go put on my clothes.
If it is not raining I go for a walk
And have me a good time just hearing me talk.
But if it is raining I pick up the phone
And call up my kids who have left me alone.
I find it amusing to make them feel bad
For not ever visiting their feeble old dad.
At lunchtime I slurp on a bowl of beef soup,
Then just before nap-time I take a long poop,
But if constipation has clogged up my tract
I drink some fresh prune juice to get it unpacked.
And daily I tune to the ‘Lawrence Welk Show’
To hear the best music, old tunes that I know;
Before I watch Oprah I empty my bladder,
To miss her from pissin’ would be even sadder!
I have early supper then sit in the swing,
While watching the sunset I hear the birds sing;
And when it gets dark I sneak over to watch
Miss Jones through her window while squeezing my crotch.
And feeling quite happy at how the day ends,
I piss before bedtime and put on ‘Depends.’
Then after I put my false teeth in a glass,
I lie on my bed and I scratch my old ass.
Have you ever noticed when you’re talking with your spouse?
No matter if you’re out with friends or wandering round the house,
That when you have a thought you think is worthy to express,
You’ve scarcely uttered half of it before your thoughts digress,
And you have quite forgotten what it was you wished to say,
But there is no need to panic for your spouse will save the day,
And without the need for prompting, and indeed without a pause,
Your partial thought’s completed, with an extra thoughtful clause.
My friends to whom I’ve spoken, and I’ve spoken to a few,
Have noticed this phenomenon, and so perhaps it’s true,
That when you live together an extended length of time,
The need for speech reduces and there’s more accent on mime.
Grandma’s Off Her Rocker!
In the dim and distant past,
When life’s tempo wasn’t fast,
Grandma used to rock and knit,
Crochet, tat and baby sit.
When we were in a jam,
We could always count on gram.
In the age of gracious living,
Grandma’s life was one of giving.
Now grandma’s at the gym,
Exercising to keep slim,
She’s off touring with the bunch,
The Girl You Knew
The girl you knew at twenty two
Who heard the vows you made,
Became your wife and shared your life,
May now look slightly frayed.