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THE PLUGGING OF CHARLIE MCCARTHY

Charlie McCarthy ate lentils and beans

and barbeque onions as well

Folk started running when they saw Charlie coming

’cause he came with a terrible smell.

 

Charlie McCarthy was partial to farting

he farted whenever he walked.

The Mayor of the city said ‘It’s just such a pity

but his butt hole should really be corked.’

 

He called the town doctor, who was a proct-

ologist, told him seal Charlie’s bum,

‘Just fashion a plug that will fit nice and snug,

using rubber and plastic and gum.’

 

The doc corked up Charles, but then came the loud growls,

from deep within Charlie’s behind.

Doc said, quite abrupt ‘If you’re going to erupt,

dear Lord, Charlie boy, please be kind.’

 

Then the doctor, he saw,  Charlie’s puckered back door,

quite suddenly open and close.

It blinked, then it winked, then the sphincter that stinked,

spat the plug out at the doctor’s nose.

 

Well, then came a roar,  like no other before,

as fart after fart filled the room.

Charlie lit a match, and the town was dispatched

with one massive explosion…KA-BOOM!!!

Allan Cropper

Poem of the Day

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INSIDE OUT

I found a box

I saw ‘inside’

though what’s inside

I could not see.

Without a doubt

it’s inside out –

outside ‘inside’

just stares at me.

Perhaps ‘inside’

should be inside,

and ‘outside’ shown

externally

But no,  ‘inside’

was outside wrote –

What’s ‘writ’ inside

perplexes me.

© Allan Cropper
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #30

Poem of the Day

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Inside

 

What has my tummy got inside?

I often sit and wonder.

(Sometimes it makes the strangest noise,

like very angry thunder.)

 

Now, what did I eat for breakfast?

Not that much, as I recall.

Fried eggs, baked beans, and marmalade,

with hot porridge first of all.

 

And what about last night’s dinner?

That yummy seafood pasta —

With chocolate mousse to follow,

Now that might spell disaster!

 

And there’s something I’ve forgotten:

All those TV snacks last night —

Iced VoVos, Twisties, Jaffas —

Helped quell my appetite.

 

All the food that I’ve been eating

Has nowhere else to hide —

It’s all down in my tummy,

And I’d hate to see inside!

 

 James Aitchison
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #30

Poem of the Day

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BEWARE! This is a HORRIBLE poem!!

Read at OWN RISK!!!

 

 

 

 

What’s for dinner, Mum?

 

First up

slurp up

sliced slug soup

seasoned with slaters.

 

Then

bite into

baked blowfly burgers

basted with blood.

 

Or

gobble down

goat gut goulash

garnished with grubs.

 

Next

munch up

minced mouse mousse

mingled with maggots.

 

Or

dive into

dragonfly dumplings

drizzled in drool.

 

And last of all

swill down

seaweed slime smoothies

smothered in snot.

 

Still hungry?

 

Glenys Eskdale
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #20

Glenys said: I heard a discussion on ABC talkback radio about sayings mothers used to have as answers to the question, ‘What’s for dinner, Mum’, so I invented a poem of the most disgusting stuff I could think of.

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Garth and his Bath

 

This is a tale of a boy named Garth

Who was far too lazy to have a bath.

 

One night when he did, he suddenly spied

A black ring running around every side.

 

When he asked his mum, “What’s that thing?”

She took a look and said, “A black bath ring!”

 

“It’s the dirt from when you walked in the mud,

“And that blob of gunk is when you fell ker-THUD!

 

“And see all that mess stuck around the ends?

“That came from playing with your friends.”

 

She got a soft cloth and her special spray,

And in no time at all scrubbed the bath ring away.

 

“That was hard work,” Garth told his mother,

“I have an idea to save all that bother.”

 

And he said with the widest smile she’d seen,

“Why don’t I stay dirty so the bath stays clean?”

 

 

James Aitchison

Poem of the Day

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Whiz Kids

 

Kate’s the quickest in our class

At working fractions out,

Wayne’s a whiz at Mental Maths,

He doesn’t mess about.

 

Tran’s a turbo-jet on skates,

But Polly owns the pool,

She swims the 100 metres

Like a fish on rocket fuel.

 

Sam’s a super sprinter,

Always first across the line,

Jess is quick to say, “Well done,”

And give the thumbs-up sign.

 

Chen’s a champ at cleaning up,

He empties every bin!

Emmy’s quickest with a joke,

And William’s quick to grin.

 

Me? I’m the lazy, laid-back type,

I like to take things slow,

But when Ms Mark says, “Class dismissed,”

Well, you should see me go!

 Jill McDougall

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Through my Window

 

Morning comes in through my window

making shadows on my wall

I can see the roses waving

I can hear the magpies call

In the street the dogs are barking

busy people start their day

I stay wrapped within my doona

till it’s time for me to play

Morning comes in through my window

beams of sunlight make me smile

Mummy’s calling me to breakfast

‘In a while, Mum. In a while’

Then I smell the crispy bacon,

maple syrup, pancakes, more.

Morning comes in through my window,

I go racing out the door.

 

Allan Cropper
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #6

poetry-prompt-6

 

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MEET THE HOPPERS

We live up on the hillside,

And our burrows dot the grass,

Where we play and romp and sleep,

And just watch the clouds float past.

 

Although it gets chaotic,

We can still have heaps of fun,
‘cause my family’s really large,
And I love them, every one.

There’s …

Auntie Flo whose strawberry RED,
And Uncle Bob who’s ocean  BLUE,
They’ve two little PURPLE bunnies,
My cousins one and two.

Auntie June is butter YELLOW,
Fire engine RED is Uncle Clive,
Their three little ones are ORANGE,
Cousins three, four and five.

Old Uncle Jock is deep sky BLUE,
Lemon YELLOW is Aunt Devine,
Lime GREEN are my other cousins,
Six, seven, eight and nine.

Dear Uncle George is WHITE as snow,
And BLACK as night is Auntie May,
Cousins ten to fourteen turned out,
Five different shades of GREY.

Then cousin Joy is tree-frog GREEN,
Her partner Pete is ruby RED,
They have six BROWN bouncing bunnies,
All tucked up tight in bed.

My Mum and Dad are both pure WHITE,
And I could never really see,
How I turned out like I did,
With COLOURED spots all over me.

I guess I have a bit of all,
My large family mixed in me,
But I’m happy, it’s who I am,
How I turned out to be.

love SPRINKLES

Sandra Hopf
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #3

poetry-prompt-3

Sandra said: I love writing in a quirky, fun style, but with still a lesson hidden in there. Most of my work tends to be rhyme as I simply can’t help myself!

 

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An Orange Egg

 

I’m sure that I can eat an orange egg.

You do not have to plead. You needn’t beg.

I do not think that I have ever tried

An orange that’s been boiled, poached or fried.

Nor have I yet consumed an egg that’s raw,

Been neatly peeled, and sliced up into four.

 

An orange placed on toasted sourdough

Is not a taste sensation that I know.

I haven’t eaten egg as marmalade.

I’m not convinced that it would make the grade.

I know! I’ll mix the two into a goop,

And eat them as an eggy, orange soup!

 

© Stephen Whiteside
  • Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #45

poetry-prompt-45

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Tongue Torture

 

If you like to eat cold meat and consider that a treat,

Have you ever thought of adding chilli sauce?

Use a little, not a lot, since this sauce is rather hot

And you wouldn’t want to singe your tongue, of course.

 

Don’t be led astray by greed and take more than you will need.

If you do, I can assure you, you’ll regret it.

Though your tongue may twist and turn, your whole mouth will seem to burn

And I doubt you’ll soon be able to forget it!

 

Monty Edwards

Submitted in response to Poetry Prompt #32

poetry prompt #32

Monty says: The pickle prompt got me thinking about other sauces and relishes which adults enjoy, but children’s palates may not be prepared for.