Sire Sets Choir Afire!
A Yemmish tale of horror.
Sir Ima Cu has hit the nail,
though rusty it may be
with his nostalgic, smelly tale
of Sire’s flatulency.
Dear J’aime Coudre with hot flush
is stumbling down the stair
and, in her mid-life-crisis rush,
forgot to comb her hair.
The King sits in his slippered feet
and cares he not one wit
that his birthday suit is now so neat,
no longer will it fit.
With stick and stone to break his bone,
and ribald comment rude
two ladies now accost the Throne
because the King seems nude.
Alas! What those two ladies sought
to cover with a flap
is now revealed to be nought
but a sausage in his lap.
When they say: “where there’s smoke, there’s fire”,
methinks that goes too far
for the King, while studying the choir,
was smoking a cigar.
Unhappily it seems he went
too close to frilly tights.
His burning cigar, as he bent,
set pantyhose alight.
The firemen, with high pressure hose,
cigar and King soon doused
and, as he wasn’t wearing clothes,
his sausage soon was soused.
Shewolf and Poetryality
were drenched right to the skin
revealing the reality
of see-through tops they’re in.
Yem’s sausages and clothes were soaked
and so were all the choir’s;
the awful stench of drench provoked
by smouldering bush fires.
It then became apparent that
on closer looks acquainting,
King’s birthday suit also his hat
was skilful body painting!
The moral of this tale, I deem,
which, out of fire transpires:
“Things are not always what they seem”,
even in the best of choirs!
Hugh R. January 19th. 2007.
Author notes
No notes. This is an example of Pure Pathetic Poetry at its peak of patheticacy.
In a list
- Huguenauties Poetry (NE) • next in list
- Humour & Fun Poems • next in list
- Huguelot Castle Capers • next in list
A contest entry
- There's A Fire In The Choir- Huguenauties ONLY by huguenauties.
500 points, ended January 29, 2007, 7 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
Please tell me what you think
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
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Oh my, oh dear, what do we have over here? A tale in deed, a tail of what? it sounds most interesting, clothes or not? cigars are burning, fires are starting, all is revealing and I am laughing ...
Thank you Hugh for giving me a hearty laugh tonight.
Love Petratani xoxox -
thank you, Sire for the entry and a great sense of humor in it all.
-
Dear Sire,
I love how you take the blame for the fire in the choir, that's so typical of you.
each poet has told a different reason, some are soooo funny they made me giggle.
Were you really smoking your cigar and caught the panty hose on fire?
I'm trying to visualize you in body paint
my mind boggles. 
Love Hine.
-
Good one Sire
Dear Sire, the news I heard about your suit
I saw myself as you sat upon the throne.
The body paint you wore it did look beaut
it was so real and colours bright were shown.
I beg you Sire be careful as you smoke
you swing your arms around and drop the ash
upon the pantyhose, you are a beaut bloke
so let's have fun tonight enjoy the bash.
Enjoyed your poem my friend I had a good giggle.
Pity about the sausage though.
Love Jen.
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You know that you could celebrate carnaval in Brazil wearing just your body painting hat and birthday suit
Did your cigar provoked all that smoke? The sausages are in flames, the shirts are wet, but at the end everyone survived
Indeed a shocking tale of fun!
keep the fire burning dad!
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tale indeed~
Oh my
You really caused the choir....
To get set afire....
Indeed things are not always what they seem
Even in my da's choir....else watch out...
He will set us all on fire....
Was posting me own poem when I got this IM the other night..and I sent ya an e mail back hope you got it...
Love ya da
Susan~~~
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No fair
no way..you can't copy me...I'll have Catz sic her kitties on you... Your poem can't be pathetic cause that's my discription of my pathetic piece of poetic poop..I was pathetic first...
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Your Majesty did you not know
There's No Smoking in the choir room
Each time you toke and smoke you blow
There is bound to be certain doom
The tights I wear will not catch fire
The fabric fire resistant
So for your birthday my dear sire
I'll give you a special present
A pair of tights that won't ignite
And a back court smoking shelter
My see through blouse was flesh tone so, you did not see what you thought you saw.
Love You Hugh! The challenge winner is you! What a burning catastrophe! Everyone, men, and women were singing in soprano voices in this song! LOL Great!
Renee
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If it was the most pathetic in the contest....it no longer is...I made sure of that!
It says as a suggestion to point out my most and least favorite parts...considering the subject of the poem and the attire of the King...I had better attempt a different method of analysis.
Just body paint...the water balloons will take care of that.
Definitely Yemmish in nature and a decidely Shocking Tale Of Horror!
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Dear Carol,
Oh! Pray do not impute my soul
with criticism or blame
that the choir is now beyond control
with pantyhose aflame.
I realise that my cigar
was what began the fire
but didn't think I'd gone too far
when studying the choir.
For choirs in harmony to sing
requires more than good voices.
Good boobs, good legs and everything's
essential in one's choices
My wife and I have stayed away
while we enjoyed a rest
entitled to a holiday
during the New Year fest.
But, now that I am back again
I'd love with you to talk
and a few things I will explain
as, hand-in-hand, we walk.
I hope you liked my poem and shed
the coffee from your nose
and that you've got, beneath your bed,
some unburnt pantyhose.
Love and hugs, XXX Hugh.
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OH what goings on!
OHHH Sire, Did you really cause the choir to catch on fire? Just as well the firemen came and put the fire out, but your poor sausage! It's burnt to a cinder, what ever will you do Sire without it?
LOVE IT!!!
Love Bea
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LOL, you made coffee go up me nose........
with you and a little bit of prose
and now, off to hut I stalk,
Sire, we must have a little talk...
You've quite let things run amok.
really, Sire, the choir doth suck.
They've been up to no good I know...
I've had to tell on them, and so...,
they ate yer cake and candles too,
that I made especially just for you.
I was so very good, Sire, I implore,
don't let them do that any more.
It's almost valentines, indeed
and a song of chivalry is what we need.
I do nto know how you hope to aspire
to get control of this steamy choir.
*walks out, hips drumming the sides of castle hall
as she she goes to check out music in the mall
-
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Dear Carol,
To talk of drumming with your hips,
may I try it with my fingertips?
Or better still, perhaps my lips
could lead us soon to come to grips?
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