Kirsten Dunst
Spent all her Bunse
On an overly lavish
Disgusting brunch.
Liquid prawns
On Monster Munch
With sour snails
For extra crunch.
She gobbled it down
‘Til way after lunch
And then was sick,
Obviously.
© Carl Burkitt 2018
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 – a daily poem for a celebrity’s birthday.
Michelle Pfeiffer quit being an pactor
And decided to become a pwriter.
But she wasn’t very good.
She kept putting a P in front of every pnoun.
Other pjournalists called her a pclown,
So she took them to pcourt for defamation.
But her plawyer said:
‘Don’t bother, you don’t have a pleg to stand on’.
© Carl Burkitt 2018
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 – a daily poem for a celebrity’s birthday.
Jessica Alba
Made some Melba toast.
She didn’t like to boast,
But it was drier, crispier and thinner than most.
She didn’t share it.
She at it all.
In one go.
Right down her gob hole.
She was a terrible host.
© Carl Burkitt 2018
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 – a daily poem for a celebrity’s birthday.
Sally Hawkins was in Paddington Station dressed as a grizzly bear.
She growled and chased passengers and chewed on their footwear.
‘Are you OK?’ asked a stranger, wth tenderness and care,
‘Of course! Why’d you ask?!’ said Sally, smearing marmalade in her hair.
© Carl Burkitt 2018
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 – a daily poem for a celebrity’s birthday.
Jet Li
Bought a Jet Ski,
Purely because of its name.
He couldn’t swim
So sacked it off
And bought a Jet Plane.
© Carl Burkitt 2018
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 – a daily poem for a celebrity’s birthday.
Al Pacino
Went to a casino
With all of his little friends.
The staff said hello,
Which made the friends laugh and bellow
And take out their money to spend.
© Carl Burkitt 2018
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 – a daily poem for a celebrity’s birthday.
Barbara Streisand
Found a hand
Just lying on her drive.
She screamed:
“Oh shit, who’s hand is this,
And are they still alive?!”
“Oh well,” she said
And picked it up.
“That takes my collection to five.”
© Carl Burkitt 2018
This poem is part of a challenge for National Poetry Writing Month 2018 – a daily poem for a celebrity’s birthday.
