The Slaughter of The Holy Vege-Innocents

by Tony Sims - (Copyright, 1988, 1994)

Beware the Giant Artichoke
Although He seems a pleasant bloke
In truth, He is but full of strife
A terror with a kitchen knife
With Cabbage: He attacks the head
And cuts it up till it is dead
His kindness proves a mere facade
As He stews up the poor Rhubarb
His thrust the Beet can not defend
And so it’s boiled alive at end
The Turnip’s feint just does not do
It’s soon diced up and in a stew
The weak defense of Pumpkin crashed
Once caught is steamed alive and mashed
The Eggplant’s glare is naught but bluff
Roasted! After being stuffed
The Chives are taken in a trice
Are garnish after being diced
And so ...
Beware the Giant Artichoke
Although He seems a pleasant bloke

The Rake Of The Lock
(A Rugby Union Ripping Yarn)

by Tony Sims (Copyright, 1991)

In scrums I pack at lock you know
To thrust against the second row
With each hand I hold hard and high
To clutch a firm and fleshy thigh
So when our scrum began to wane
With a heave I pushed us forward again
They lurched ahead with a brutal grunt
Quick formed a forward mobile front
Thus took the line where the ball was fed
And so we won a good tight head
But the halfback tried to weave and duck
We had to form an awesome ruck
The ruck was ours, but then a stall
We could not rake and win the ball
Their forwards had come over the top
To bring our movement to a stop
But then one culprit’s head came clear
I sized it up with an angry sneer
And brought my tags down clean and hard
Struck so well my whole leg jarred
I thought of blood and splintered bone
An ear, torn off and on its own
But then his face could still be seen
As if that strike had never been
Right near my foot a hole was found
I’d sadly missed and racked the ground
Yet sir was good, gave a penalty
But we could not kick for points of three
A minute left, then the game was dead
We’re down four points the scoreboard said
So we took a tap, the halfback flew
Our pack caught up and the maul rolled true
Right near the posts we held control
But they put in strength and stopped our roll
So I grabbed the ball and peeled off blind
Had the thought of scoring a try in mind
Leapt over the line with the space I found
But a flanker got between me and the ground
I am a battlehard lock, never say die
Pushed the ball through his kidneys to score the try
The flyhalf kicked us clear ahead
The hooter went and the game was dead
We won on the bell with a narrow squeak
And we’ll do it all again next week