The Bearded Lady

The Bearded Lady took a bow

Although she longed to curtsey,

The audience clapped louder now

And whistled without mercy.

 

She smiled and when she left the ring

Trapeze artists took their places,

She sat beside the monkey king

And looked up at their faces.

 

Maria swung and triple-flipped;

Her pretty smile unfaltered.

The Bearded Lady sat tight-lipped

And wished she could be altered.

 

The beard, though entertaining, was

A nuisance when eating

She kept her head out of the warmth

For fear of overheating.

 

She hated people being shocked

At her feminine gender

For just like every woman

She too was loving and tender.

 

On this day she did decide

To win the heart of Mike

The Ring Master who could ride

A lion like a bike.

 

So out the Big Top, Beardy went

And found the sword-swallower’s blade

She took some foam from the clown’s cream pie

And with the two she made

 

A shaving kit to solve her woes

To de-fuzz her hairy chin

While she was at it she shaved her toes

Then took a deep breath in.

 

The crowd applauded Mike’s display,

A flame juggling dance

But the clapping stopped and jaws dropped

As Beardy took her chance

 

To kiss her man who whispered then

“My lady I desire you

For seven years I’ve loved your beard

(But now I’ll have to fire you)”

 

So that was it, the beard was shaven

The Lady got her catch,

They lived together in marital haven

With moustaches to match.

The Train That Never Stopped

What would you do if you got on a train, a train that never stopped?

It would chug along passing the world as if it had forgot

 

That locomotives as a rule visit railway stations

And let people on and off for business or vacations

 

I think I’d try to work the brakes and stop the busy engine

If that failed I’d bo berserk and rope all of my friends in

 

(Who’s to say you can’t make friends whilst constantly moving?

‘Distance makes the heart grow fonder’ is the theory we’d be proving.)

 

So there we’d be, a bunch of travellers desperate to be freed,

Hoping to the heavens that over time we’d lose some speed.

 

I’d look out of the window and see a warning sign

In large letters I’d read the words ‘DANGER: END OF THE LINE.

 

At that moment I’d pinch myself and hope that I’d been dreaming

If it didn’t work I’d have no choice but to go out screaming

 

Would we hurtle off the track and zoom out into space?

Or would it be the sticky end to a train with a constant pace?


 

Trump

An orange man with a fart for a name

Is currently of American Presidential fame.

Disappointingly and much to my regret

He has not sat on a whoppee cushion yet.