From Things You Find in a Poet's Beard by A.F. Harrold

i.

Great grey belly porker,

toothy yawning slug,

cow-nosed submarine,

giant in the mud,

'I'm fed up looking like Father Christmas,'
Muttered Father Christmas one year.
'I need a new outfit. I must move with the times.
So, for a start, it's goodbye, reindeer.'

The Hairyboos were hairy, the Smoothyboos smooth.

But they lived side by side and were never rude.

Deep in the depths of a dark, dark pool 
lives a water monster named Billy McCool. 
He's got shiny scales of pink candy ice 
and octopusy arms that he thinks very nice. 

Say, Good mornin, Granny Maama
Good mornin, Grandpa Taata.
Good mornin when it rainin.
Good mornin when sun shinin.
Good mornin.

Jumbie jump high
Jumbie jump low
Jumbie jumpin to calypso

Jumbie doin a dance
in de silk-cotton tree
he waitin for jouvay
an steelban music to breakaway

Lying on the sofa
all curled and meek
but in my furry-fuzzy head
there's a rapping beat.
Gonna rap while I'm napping
and looking sweet

To vaguely amuse
And banish the blues
Writing clerihews
I would choose.

Mr Merryhew
Would ferry you
Across the Thames at Bray
On a tea tray.

Bring on your shining armour, dude.
I'll be your damsel in distress with attitude.

His name is called and there's a pause

just long enough to halt a war

tame timber wolves and trim their claws

hide diamonds in a secret drawer