by Jasmine Kwe Kwe Akimbo
Praise be to Balding Billy,
Whose heir will have a willy,
Which, thank God, will surely mean
Not another bloody Queen.
Miss Akimbo is Chair of the Lewisham Poetry Collective
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Poetry?
By the time he comes of age as a chap, him being a queen might be compulsory.
Had his heir had a vagina
it would, in time have become our Regina!
But the willy in his “kex”
mean he will duly become our Rex!
All hails to Balding Billy,
Whose new heir has got a willy,
Hope to God that this won’t mean
Monarchial chap, compulsory queen.
I hope he doesn’t have his mother’s arse.
[…] by Jasmine Kwe Kwe Akimbo Praise be to Balding Billy, Whose heir will have a willy, Which, thank God, will surely mean Not another bloody Queen. Miss Akimbo is Chair of the Lewisham Poetry Collective Filed under: Announcements, Liberty Article by The Libertarian Alliance: BLOG. Read entire story here. […]
I don’t know about odes or poetry, but I shall throw my hand in with the other limericks.
There once was a child born to a Prince,
The excess wall-to-wall news makes you wince,
But by the time he is King, if there is still such a thing,
‘Britain’ (as we all know it) will’ve ‘long-gone’ since.
or
There was a child born to a duchess and duke,
The endless sickly coverage of which could make you puke,
Whilst we are glad the baby’s okay, on their very happy day,
Surely there’s much more news in the world to rebuke?
or
It’s a very happy and proud time for our Wills and Kate,
But the flag waving public risk another delirious state,
Like when Princess Diana died -and they all wept and cried;
To me the hysteria seemed over-the-top and quite fake.
or
I don’t know why some folk just cannot get enough,
Of how Prince Wills had got his Kate up the duff,
But whilst I do wish them well; and may their baby be swell,
I don’t know them personally – so I don’t give a stuff.
Given the attempt provided in the article, perhaps I ought to submit them to the (fictional, I hope) Pendle Poetry Society, lol.
Apparently, a small boy with a drum turned up earlier today at the hospital. Upon asking, “shall I play for him, parumpa-pum-pum?” he was shot by anti-terrorism officers. Three old men and several shepherds are reported to be assisting police with their enquiries.
Does this poetess actually exist?
Or is the real author of this poem someone else?