A cinquain poem…

Peter
was a silly
bloody fool on Thursday
He only thought it was Friday…
The dick!

© Carl Burkitt 2014

The man looked at the hat.
The hat looked at the man.
The man smiled at the hat.
The hat frowned at the man.
The man put the hat on his head.
The hat sighed
And farted on the man. 

© Carl Burkitt 2014

The pervert started perving on the sexy lady
From 50 perverted feet
As he pervily cycled towards her
on his great big pervy perv bike

He perved on her boobs.
He perved on her legs.
He perved on her lips.
He perved on her nose.
And as he went by
He perved on her side
from her sexy head to her sexy toes.

With her now behind his pervy back
He opened his perverted mouth and perved out a pervily, pervy piece of perv
But his pathetically perverted, pervy front wheel
Pervily clipped the curb
Sending him over his rock hard, pervaciously perverted
handlebars.

The pervert landed pervily on the ground
and died
With a smile upon his face
And a bollard right up his arse.

The perv.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

The man grabbed the arse
of the female stranger.
She’d trodden on a land mine
and her bits were everywhere.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

La lune
et de la fourche.
Dimanche.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Mick Hucknall looked
at his reflection
and gave himself
one
great big
pat on the back.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

The tarantula
badly damaged one of its legs.

Hearing the news it would have to be
amuptated
was hard to take.
Telling his best mate they’d have to pull
out of their school’s
twelve-legged race
was crushing.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Vera’s headache persisted for so long
That when it went away
She slept with her skull
Clamped in a vice.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

The pedants went home;
Five o’clock finally
Putting an end to
There exhausting day.

© Carl Burkitt 2014

Marcus hated seeing
How much weight he’d put on
So he ate
His eyeballs

© Carl Burkitt 2014