Hairy Wombat
Hairy Wombat Poems
It's Father's day today,
his wife, known everywhere
as Mother Wombat
reminded him, which was
...
A wombat rested in the shade
a breeze rose off the Murray,
he sipped some Mango Lemonade
and was not in a hurry.
...
I step into the meadow gingerly,
though heavy are my feet from grief,
wild things surround me, stars
drift in, like teenage boys, the sky,
...
The snot ran slowly, in rivulets,
coloured by staph and streptococci,
mixed in haphazard way, down
and came to rest within the coarse
...
My friends, I really must confess
my life has been a sordid mess.
She bought, at Pierre's, a brand new dress
it was expensive, can you guess?
...
The priest wanted her to undress
but she said, I will do so unless
you have sinister plans
for my pots and my pans,
...
There once was a land of great folks
who forever were telling good jokes.
When for breakfast they had
scrambled eggs (it's no fad) ,
...
He had, as Shakespeare said
at last he'd had it.
He closed the book to make
as clean a sweep as he could do.
...
There once was a fellow named Ted
he was fond of his waterless bed.
While he slept someone came
and took exquisite aim
...
Well, my kids, in first grade learn to read
we are practicing daily, indeed.
Said boy John I have took
a good look at the book
...
Unter Wogen tief im Wasser
lebt ein Wesen und er schwimmt
unermuedlich, als ein nasser
der das Leben tragisch nimmt.
...
So what's this thing the world calls hate,
are humans capable to fabricate the stuff?
Does it occur when men debate,
when words can trigger something known as huff?
...
Hairy, Hairy, quite contrary
sat upon a stool.
Came the kindly wombat fairy
from the Fairy pool.
...
Father's Day
In nineteen-ten, on Father's Day,
my real father went away.
...
I covered her, against the cold,
a towel bearing the insignia of
The Radisson Hotel, all lily white,
I had been right that day in 98,
...
Of all the things men contemplate
one is extremely odd,
arriving at the Pearly Gate,
we make our peace with God.
...
A toad sat on a railroad track
and polished there his scales.
He could not reach his centre back
with his long fingernails.
...
It would please me immensely, of course
and I thank you for thinking of me
if my wish were a high-flying horse
you can guess where its rider would be.
...
There once was a Wombat so hairy
his hair matched the Magical Fairy,
so they took him away
in the light of the day
...
The Best Poem Of Hairy Wombat
Wombats
It's Father's day today,
his wife, known everywhere
as Mother Wombat
reminded him, which was
he thought, a kind
and happy thing to do.
He stretched his hairy legs
and scratched, which is
of course a wombat habit,
scratching underbellies,
hairy folds around the crotch,
and scratching loosened up
the peristaltic moves
that would, with sound
initiate itself at once.
We do, my friends, you may
not know this, pay me mind,
lay cubes of turds upon
the roof, which keeps the flies,
all acid rain and objects
from the sky, outside,
the house that wombat built,
that's what the kids do say,
though God made every log,
and oversaw the hollowing,
the shaping of it all,
no logs are found with ease
that would be suitable,
to serve as toilet rooms,
for those occasions, scheduled
or by random moods decreed,
when what is in be blown
out to the world around.
Proud bunch these wombats are,
no other creature can,
no matter what (and they do try)
lay sigmoid eggs whose edges are
not round, but fair and square.
The lack of proper space,
of neat facilities for dumping waste
mandates a novel way to lay
each day, the spent and well digested,
and pleasant mass of coloured stuff,
up on the very roof that keeps the rain
and, well you know, the critters out.
In time this grows and grows, and grows
until the cold wind blows and shows,
the imminent arrival of the Fairy Snow,
each part of every wombat, and each toe
must be protected from the elements,
and here the cleverness of a unique design
reaps heavy benefits to all, (you like this line?) .
So many days of wombat poo, each day anew,
piled up to make the roof an insulated one,
it's rated R thirteen by industry and trade
and will not fall or slide (up to a ton)
unless a human comes and brings his sharpened spade.
Inside the log, the family sits on the bed,
a lichen blanket covers all and smiles abound
as Father Wombat climbs to see the sights
and add a bit of insulation, once again
then he returns and Mother says, turn off the lights.
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4/19/2024 6:27:48 PM # 1.0.0.1119
