Objet Trouvé

( Photograph taken on a farm in Devon – 2005 by WHB  © )

Objet trouvé

Victim of the guillotine?

Or could it be of nicotine?

Doll-ish head, a baby lass,

Laid to rest on a bed of grass

Verse by WHB (aka Roland Keld  © )

One of the series in which I re-publish some of my previous posts. This is one of those in which I presented some of my collection of  whimsical,  quirky,  humorous photographs, snapped up, Autolycus-style, on my travels over the past few years.

A Seattle Limerick

‘The Pox Devil’ – WHB, 2018

 

‘Single man with toilet paper seeks woman with hand sanitizer for good clean fun.’

 

An old hooker who lived in Seattle,
Developed a cough with a rattle.
Yes, she had caught a chill,
And began feeling ill,
And soon knew she was losing the battle.

So she took herself off to the docs,
Who gave her the worst of all shocks,
When he said to her, “Dear,
It would seem to appear,
You’ve contracted a dose of the pox.

If you do not want to be dead,
I suggest you spend less time in bed.
It’s all much too risky,
So when you feel frisky,
Take one of these tablets Instead.”

 

 

 

The Cough With A Rattle

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

An old hooker who lived in Seattle
Developed a cough with a rattle;
Yes, she had caught a chill
And began feeling ill,
And felt she was losing the battle.

So she took herself off to the docs,
Who gave her the worst of all shocks.
When he said to her, “Dear,
it would seem to appear,
You’ve contracted a dose of the pox.

If you don’t want soon to be dead,
I suggest you spend less time in bed.
It’s all much too risky,
So when you feel frisky,
Take one of these tablets Instead.

 

Photo by Anna Shvets on Pexels.com

 

On Waking Up

Photo by NEOSiAM 2020 on Pexels.com

Waking, this morning I said,
I don’t think I’ll get out of bed.
There was no concealing
I had hurt her feelings,
I’d spend the day sleeping instead.

Waking in fear and dread,
I regretted those words I had said
I’d not meant to hurt,
Just meant to assert,
I cried crocodile tears when I bled.

Waking and wond’ring what’s next,
I decided to send her a text,
To tell her I’d lied,
Our love had not died –
Just sulking because I was vexed.

 

Late Love

LATE  LOVE

Eagerly he jumped into bed
His vows to now fulfil
His lady fair sat on the bed, 
Took a little pill. 

Seductively she stripped and then
Slipped on her pink silk gown;
Opened the drawers beside the bed
She twirled and then sat down. 

Slowly she took her dentures out, 
Popped them into a box. 
Beside this she placed her spectacles, 
Her things, her rings, her rocks. 

Off came her hair, a huge blonde wig, 
Into the drawer it followed. 
A few more pills went in her mouth, 
Then these she swiftly swallowed.

Next a glass eye was taken out, 
Put in a velvet box, 
Then placed sedately in the drawer
Beside those golden locks.

She then unscrewed a wooden leg, 
Wrapped it in a napkin. 
That also went into the drawer
“What else to come?” I’m asking.

Until, she said, “At last my dear, 
Now I am all yours.”
But I was undecided, p’raps
I’d be better in those drawers.