Today's poems [12.3.19]
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Part 7 of 12
His repertoire ranged from classics to jazz,
He achieved new effects with bubbles of gas.
With a good dose of salts
He could whistle a waltz
Or swing it in razzamatazz.
A lacklustre lady of Brougham
Weaveth all night at her loom.
Anon she doth blench
When her lord and his wench
Pull a chain in the neighboring room.
Part 2 of 2:
Then when she had wiped off her bung
Of the clinkers that thereunto clung,
She would singe off the hair
That had sprouted down there,
And would lick her twat clean with her tongue.
Many many years ago
when I was twenty three,
I got married to a widow
who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter
who had hair of red.
My father fell in love with her,
and soon the two were wed.
This made my dad my son-in-law
And changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother,
For she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matters worse,
Although it brought me joy,
I soon became the father
Of a bouncing baby boy.
My little baby then became
A brother-in-law to dad.
And so became my uncle,
Though it made me very sad.
For if he was my uncle,
Then that also made him brother
To the widow's grown-up daughter
Who, of course, was my step-mother.
Father's wife then had a son,
Who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandson,
For he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother
And it makes me blue.
Because, although she is my wife,
She is my grandma too.
If my wife is my grandmother,
Then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it,
It simply drives me wild.
For now I have become
The strangest case you ever saw.
As the husband of my grandmother,
I am my own grandpa.
There was a young harlot named Schwartz
Whose cock-pit was studded with warts,
And they tickled so nice
She drew a high price
From the studs at the summer resorts.
Her pimp, a young fellow named Biddle,
Was seldom hard up for a diddle,
For according to rumor
His tool had a tumor
And a fine row of warts down the middle.
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