Right feet wedged against the blocks,
Eager limbs met focussed brains.
Athletes faced their foes, the clock,
Deafened by the crowd’s acclaim.
Young, we hoped to prove our strength,
.
Smashing records, seeking fame.
Each would go to any length,
Thrusting forth to stake our claim.
.
“GO!” cried Miss. I ran, but soon,
Off it fell. My Egg! Damn spoon!
.
!
.
.
Paul Hughes 2010
.
.
Hmm, more difficult than I thought, this acrostic business…
Young Freddie was a naughty boy
who’d do things simply to annoy
He’d show the worst impertinence
And revelled in his flatulence
He’d fart all day and parp all night
It gave his sister quite a fright
The stench would make you curl your toes
And burn the hairs inside your nose
His parents said he must desist
“refrain from habits such as this”
But Freddie kept emitting gas
It caused him untold grief, alas
For tiring of his usual farts
He thought “I must improve my art
I’ll make the most tremendous noise
To ever come from little boys”
And so he ate three tins of beans
Then jars of pickled aubergines
Hard boiled eggs and lots of curry
He ate them all in such a hurry
Fred hadn’t stopped for long when he
Collapsed in dreadful agony
His guts recoiled, his stomach churned
His colon and his bowels were burned
Poor Freddie had become quite ill
His gasses gathered strength until
They burst forth with a mighty roar
As never had been heard before
Though I was once told in Samoa
That louder still was Krakatoa
I can’t be sure and I digress
It was so loud that nonetheless
The blast was heard in Sicily
And Freddie died quite messily
Ripped open by a wind so strong
Asphyxiated by the pong
Though wracked with grief his parents knew
That Fred’s last wish, at least, came true.
Paul Hughes 2008
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