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Heal My Sore
Up Here

There is a secret place I go,
It isn't all that far, you know,
A little hillock, round and high,
With grassy banks to linger by,
The slopes are steep, the climbing tough,
The ground is course, the grass quite rough,
Sometimes the hill seems rather steep,
So I lie down when I reach it's peak,
And press my head upon the ground,
To hear a curious rumbling sound.

When I reach the very top,
I sometimes find I have to stop,
To look around at such a view,
And see what's grown that might be new.
A little well is in the ground
Upon the hillock's grassy mound
Waterless, except for rain,
It mainly houses worms and grain.
I sit by this and often linger,
Tracing its contours with my finger.

The view up here is quite sublime,
It really makes it worth the climb,
To the South I see the lair,
Of the Snake with curly hair.
To the North lie lands of plenty,
Housing only kings and gentry,
Luscious lands with hillocks ample,
Upon which worms and fairies trample.
Beyond these lands the face of God
Smiles down at me and gives a nod.

Oh how I love this gentle land,
With hills and vales as pale as sand,
Quite unexplored except by me
(others have been banned, you see)
Where happiness is all around,
Within the hillock's softest ground
Which wobbles so, just like a jelly...
I love it here on Nathon's Belly.


You are the wall on which my ivy grows
The tree on which my fruit expires
The bush that cools my beaded brow
The stream that feeds my tired eyes
The sun that warms me with a smile
The birds that sing upon my bough
You're the earth beneath me,
Sky above,
You're my air, my food,
my only love.

You're the snow that falls upon my head
The moon that shines upon my bed
The dog that whines outside my door
The cream I use to heal my sore
The milk I drink inside my tea
The only man for me.

You're a whisper on my darkest night
The cock that wins the biggest fight
The cat that got the cream
I see your face in every dream.

You come to me when times are hard
You smear my life with lard.

Your voice is music to my ears
Your joyfulness allays my fears
Your natural smile keeps me complete
Your head is lovely as your feet
Your hands are like the smoothest stone
(- the kind that won't leave me alone)
Your lips give me a tender peck
Despite my fingers round your neck
Your lily skin is black and blue
With marks of love I've given you
Your back may break, you never ask
- me why, you need another task?
Your face is nice your bum is great
This poem sucks. I'm going...

Missing Nathon

As I sit here sniffing sadly,
I miss my Nathon really badly.
My life is empty, tears are falling,
The silence here is quite appalling.

Time ticks by, what can it mean?
I've not seen him since 8.15!
I'll be so sad, barely alive,
By the time it gets to 10 past 5.

His boxer shorts lie on the bed,
And I can see his squashy head -
inside my mind with smiles so sweet,
I can almost smell his lovely feet.

And in the kitchen, dead and hollow,
I sing a song of pain and sorrow.
I really don't know what to do
Alone am I (but for Kazoo).

His tender lips I long to kiss,
His loving arms I miss and miss,
His sweet perfume, his warm embrace,
The spots of bum-fluff on his face,
The way he fills up pooh for me*,
The way he makes each cup of tea,
The way he rolls a great big joint,
Alas! My life now has no point!

Oh sad sweet clock, why move so slow?
4 long hours are left to go,
before my sweet heart does return,
Oh how my heart does ache and burn!

(And how my breast does heave and groan!
And how my lips do swell and moan!)

My heart's a sea, bereft of fishes,
I think I'll go and wash the dishes -
Try to wash away my sorrow,
(And not put it off until tomorrow).
Down the sink my tears will roll,
Amidst the grime from off the bowls,
My tears mean nothing to the plates
They do not care about my fate.

10 minutes now have crept on past
Since I began this verse, alas!
10 minutes in 10 hours! Oh!
Will these hours ever go?

So now I bid you fond adieu,
I long to meet again with you,
And squish your cheeks with hands so happy
And not feel sad or bad or crappy.

So see you soon, my dear sweet cake,
And take good care, for goodness sake
And don't get sat on by a gorilla,
And be sure to look out for the killers.

I will just sit here sad, and wait
For you, forever...
Love you...

*Probably better not to ask.

Parochial Plops HomeParochial Plops  
January 2001

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