Whilst Darryl was listening to the BBC Radio Lancashire interview with Woods of Morecambe as we celebrated 90 years in business, he hit upon more ideas for poems.....
CHEEKY BUM
Does my bum look big in this you ask,
Of course not I declare,
I think your bum looks just the same,
in everything you wear.
Ooops! That is not what I meant to say,
I meant to say - its fine,
I did'nt mean to say it is big,
To me your bum is sublime.
It's probably the best I've seen,
- And I've seen a few,
Ooops! I did'nt mean I've studied them,
I meant compared with you.
I wouldn't look at other bums,
I promise you, my love,
Your bum is all I'll ever need,
It's sent from heaven above!
You're obsessed with bums you filthy beast,
What of the rest of me?
I don't think I can win this one,
I'm off now for my tea!
© Darryl Ashton February 2008
IN DAYS OF OLD ...... UNDERWEAR?
In days of old when stone was 'henged',
And loin cloths were the thing,
Our underwear was furry bits,
Tied up with handmade string.
Then suede and leather, sacking, too,
All different kinds of weave,
But still not proper undies,
To protect us from the breeze.
In days of old when nights were bold,
The men wore armour plate,
The pants were most uncomfortable -
The front? A wrought-iron gate,
The dresses flowed, our bosoms showed,
Our petticotes were many,
But still beneath them all you'd find,
She wasn't wearing any.
In days of old when princely men,
Wore cloaks and cut a dash,
Poor Darcy wore his breaches tight,
They surely caused a rash.
We ladies had to squeeze things up -
In corsets oh so tight,
A lover would take half an hour,
To have it off at night.
In days of old, the century turned,
And modest we became,
We covered up our lumpy bits,
Then covered them again.
The roaring twenties came at last,
What joys for us to wear,
With satin slips and stocking clips,
French knickers if we dare.
In days of old we fought a war,
And times (and wool) were grim,
We knitted all our underwear,
On a circular knitting pin.
Those swimming pants that at a glance,
Would hold a young man true,
When wet would sag (like a carrier bag),
And turn his thingammies blue.
In days of old I'd not complain,
I had a flattened chest.
My Marks and Spencer knickers were,
For school and matched my vest.
In teenage years, a trim size 12,
I wore the latest style,
But now I am fat and 40
I find undies such a trial.
If history shows in time gone by,
How clever you can be,
Then why has Marks and Spencer,
Not designed a bra for me?
I'm only medium ladies size,
But a good fits hard to find,
And I can be the only Marks fan,
With an extra large behind.
I'd love a t-shirt bra (no seams),
To hide my bits and pieces,
And modern, coloured lacy pants,
That won't show all my creases.
I know I can't wear thongy things,
Or a 'shelf-style' balconette,
But must I wear white on a Saturday night,
When I'm not quite 90 yet?
Come on you guys, a larger size,
I'm not the only one,
If you can't come up with a wider choice,
I'll end up wearing none.
© Darryl Ashton February 2008
