by Nick Gisburne
We had only just boarded the ship
When the cabin crew started to strip
On our naturist cruise
There were marvellous views
But the service charge spoiled the whole trip
As the god of fertility stood
He extended an old piece of wood
Something carved by his tribe
Which I cannot describe
Well I can, but I don’t think I should
They were trying to claw through the gate
To resist their attack was my fate
Devils gnashing their teeth
Demons drooling beneath
It’s the thing about teaching I hate
This is Jesus, burned into my toast
He’s the genuine, son-of-God ghost
And my promise to you:
I can prove it’s all true
If you send me your cash in the post
On a voyage to visit the moon
For a weekend vacation in June
We were lost in the night
Left at Saturn, not right
Now we’re landing on Venus at noon
After chasing a furious bee
I am stuck at the top of a tree
Not a bumble in sight
And I may be all night
So I hope that I don’t need to pee
I’ve been trapped in this tree overnight
With a bee keeper, keen for a fight
“All my bees have been found
Swimming backstroke or drowned
And the hives are now yellow, not white”
To the mermaid who lives on a rock
Winter weather is always a shock
So she warms up her skin
Drinking octopus gin
And her tail wears a fishing net sock
To the bon vivant, soul-sucking beast
Bands of gastronomes offer a feast
As an entrée, to start
Spicy, still-beating heart
And a buffet of bodies, deceased
When the Grim Reaper’s daughter wore white
She defended her death-driven right
“Black is dreary and dim
And the hooded cloak? Grim!
Look at me, Dad – an angel of light!”
