There once was a writer from Memph-is
Whose poetry was all full of guess-is
About the nature of sex.
Was it a blessing or a hex?
And if all things were bigger in Tex-is.
There once was a writer from Memph-is
Whose poetry was all full of guess-is
About the nature of sex.
Was it a blessing or a hex?
And if all things were bigger in Tex-is.
There once was a writer from Sandusky /
Who was tall and a little bit husky. /
He wrote every day. /
He was a poet they say. /
And his clothes wore a wee bit crusty.
Once a science fiction writer moved to Saskatchewan. /
He heard that’s where all the aliens had gone. /
They’d landed there /
For the Canadian healthcare /
And belief that they could belong.
There once was a writer from Dubuque.
He thought his success was a fluke.
Still, the notoriety, it’s said
Inflated his head
And his wife caught him with a girl half as cute.
There once was a writer at night
Who wrote all the way to daylight.
His stories were grand
About a sun-drenched land
But his descriptions were never quite right.
There once was a writer from Hell
Who could tell his stories quite well.
Full of fire and hate
They kept his readers up late –
And then there was their god awful smell.
Filed under 2020, photo by David E. Booker, Poetry by David E. Booker
There once was a writer from Sandusky
An outdoor fellow and husky.
He wrote about the birds and the bees
And even humans on their knees
But he himself was never lucky.
Filed under 2020, Monday morning writing joke, Poetry by David E. Booker
There once was a writer of Romance /
Who had a stance on love at first glance. /
It was hard for him to believe /
Or even try to conceive /
That it could be done while still wearing your pants.
There once was a writer in the Kremlin
Whose words were always dissembling.
No matter what he’d say
The writer would explain it away –
Even when Trump was Putin dwelling.
There once was a writer of Romance /
Who had a stance on love at first glance. /
It was hard for him to believe /
Or even try to conceive /
That it could be done while still wearing your pants.
Filed under 2019, Monday morning writing joke, poetry by author