Excerpts from The Wrong Ancient Mariner

from Minnehaha's Bison Breakfasts
         (the way to Hiawatha's heart!)

. . . Bison fritters, bison mornay,
Bison with a squirrel purée,
Bison trifle, bison brulée,
Bison fondue, bison sorbet. . .

from Small Ads From Shakespeare

Three Scottish vivisectionists will sell
Old cauldron cheaply due to lingering smell.

from Leonard Cohen's Christmas Hallelujah

. . . And kids will puke and fight and shout
And Ma will over-boil each sprout
To celebrate the baby.  Hallelujah!

from Christopher Robin's Party Animals

There are bottles and fag ends and litter 
          and thistles and owl pellets too:
the house is in need of a clean up 
          which Nanny refuses to do.
And Piglet is still feeling fragile 
          while Pooh’s in a comatose snooze.
So it’s me who is stuck with the housework 
          after the party at Pooh’s. . . .

.from To Mrs. Kipling from Rudyard

. . . If you could bake a rock bun, not a boulder,
And make mince pies from fruit and not raw meat.
If you could manage ‘flambé’ not just ‘smoulder’,
And make a sponge less like a thick foam seat . . .

from Now is the Springtime of My Discontent

         (after 'The Bloody Orkneys' by Capt. Hamish Blair)

, , , Bloody catalogues all lied,
Bloody plants all bloody died.
Bloody frame of greenhouse rotted,
Bloody knotweed bloody knotted . . . 

from Noel Coward On Council Flats

. . . But soon the wicked Tax Man will force us all to sell
All our family silver and our Stately Homes as well.
And after that we'll all reside
In whatever the Council can provide
As we drain the bitter cup
Of levelling down not up. . .

from Pam Ayres, Still Worrying About Her Teeth

. . . Mea culpa, Domine,
With dental hygiene gone astray
I stand before your Judgement throne,
My gums eroded to the bone,
Repentant dental dust and ashes
With scarce one tooth which truly gnashes . . .

from 'The Happy Prince' Brought Down
         (Oscar Wilde speaks after his sentencing)

. . . So please raise a glass to my glamorous past
When crowds stood and cheered as they cried out for more:
And wish as you drink that my writing will last
And Bosie's not all they remember me for . . .