Puns

I thought it would be rather fun,To write a poem about the humble pun,A pun is essentially a bit of wordplay,And I just want to say,That wordplay is my favourite play of all,Second only to foreplay and by a small -Margin followed by radio plays,And then plays written in the female gaze.Often called “Dad jokes” puns have been cast aside,But doesn’t Mum and Aunty want to come along for the ride?I say a pun is for everyone,And is not the sum -Of it’s comedy teller, It’s funny no matter the seller.You can pun no matter your gender or size,No matter your religion or the colour of your eyes,I’m not pregnant I’ve got a pun in the oven,And as most things are cheaper by the dozen,If I had twins I’d want one of each a pun and daughter,Ohhh I’m on a punning whirl like a lamb to the slaughter,If I was in a film with Tom Cruise it would be Top Pun,Because girls just want to have a pun,I’m running through so many puns but we are on the right track,The pun train is always ahead of the pack,Gosh this punning has been rather fun,But now stick a fork in me I’m pun.

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Breast stroke

Breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke,

Pause – like on iplayer not on a cat.

Breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke,

Soft strokes – it’s not like wiping your feet on a doormat.

Breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke,

Don’t you hope I’m talking about swimming.

Breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke,

And FYI men have breasts as well as women.

Breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke,

Chickens have breasts too and legs which some people prefer to eat.

Breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke,

“Are you a tits or a legs man?” could actually refer to meat.

Breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke,

Don’t worry it is definitely a water based stroking.

Breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke, breast stroke,

Well, if it was self love I’d be a bit too busy to write a poem gloating.

Hangover

Wrote this one at the Edinburgh Fringe!

Why is a hangover called a hang over?

Its not like hanging your chin over a tub of clover,

I mean, what is the bit that is meant to be hanging?

When I am hungover I hate any banging,

So perhaps what is hanging is your head?

Hanging over a bucket at the side of your bed?

Or is it the shame hanging over you from the night before,

Remembering that you did karaoke and had an argument with the floor.

Maybe it’s more like a sleepover that never ends,

You have a night in with a load of friends,

And there’s always that one who stays for too long the next day,

No matter your hints they won’t go away.

So perhaps a hangover is that lingering friend,

When you’d rather be alone and try and mend –

The damage done to your brain cells the previous night,

And the obligatory post on Facebook so others understand your plight.

My favourite bit of the word is that bit at the end,

Over is so final, a way to finish with a boyfriend,

A lover would understand that over means no more,

So why isn’t your hang showing itself out of the door?

What I’m saying is, it feels like this pain will never cease,

I’m hungover, yes I’m hanging and I just need some peace!

Dress Mania

Dear the world and people who read,

I am a woman in desperate need,

I have a dress that I absolutely love,

But the price tag is way above,

What you should spend on a bit of material,

Even though this dress is practically etherial,

It’s giving me pangs and fashion woe,

Maybe I can buy it and wear it in my show,

Then I could claim it back against tax,

Like my haircuts, tampons (otherwise I’d bleed on stage) and all those immacs,

If only my social calendar was full to the brim,

Then I could just buy it on a whim,

I could just get it as a treat to myself,

And but it in a box and keep it on a shelf,

And protect all those layers and stitching,

Yes that or I’ll just dance around in it my kitchen,

Do you know an event that I could come along to?

Then I’ll have an excuse and will forever love you,

Maybe I will just do it I’ll click buy,

Oh gosh what a feeling – it’s like I am fashion high,

I’ll just check if there are any discount vouchers online,

Oh no I’ve seen another dress! Oh this is the one! Really I’m serious this time …

Nude fun

Podcasting is the BAINES of my life,

But my name (Baines) means fun not full strife,

Record in the loo whilst you are in the nude,

In between takes you can gobble some food,

If there is one night that you just can’t get off to sleep,

Make a new podcast about Green Wing actor Mark Heap,

With a podcast you really can do anything you might,

Except perhaps setting your guest alight,

Except if your guests are Lou Lou and Take That,

You wouldn’t want to get into a spat,

But they do repeatedly sing “relight my fire”,

Refusing their request may cause them great ire,

It seems with all that singing they’d really like us to grant this wish,

Although maybe they mean it metaphoricalish,

Yes I made up that word but as I’ve already said, 

When you have a podcast you can do whatever pops into your head,

And now that my foods ready and I’m in the loo,

Just for weird accostics not for a poo,

The time for Baines podcasting has began,

And you can even listen on iTunes – just search ‘Baines Plus One’.

Westminster attack

I wasn’t there but I was near,

At Oxford Circus we didn’t hear,

Everything seemed ‘normal’ until I got a text,

Is everyone okay? What happens next?

The news seemed to be reporting something far off and strange,

But at that moment I felt the change,

The coverage was pounded out dominating our screens,

Images of those shocking and horrifying scenes,

London had a hush like never before,

Not since our transport was hit and before that the war,

Travelling into Westminster the streets were empty,

Moving against a stream of about twenty,

Who were all leaving the area heavily heading home,

This was not a place to wander, not the time for a roam,

Helicopters were buzzing and filling the skies,

Sirens blaring and weary Policeman’s eyes, 

I grabbed a tea in a Pret and felt a little tense,

Soon comforted by the Police presence,

The officers popped in for a coffee such a commonplace thing,

But today it seemed importantly ordinary – something with which to cling, 

The country and the world send love to everyone affected,

Such an awful day for anyone connected, 

We have opened our hearts and many have prayed,

To those who would terrorise us we say #wearenotafraid 

I know my poems are usually light-hearted and funny but it felt important to mention the events in London today. Hope you don’t mind a bit of serious poetry. xxx