PORRIDGE POETRY
THE PORRIDGE POET
Dear Children, I would have you know it:
That this is me, the Porridge Poet,
My inspiration’s in the ice-box;
My rhymes I pick out from the spice-box.
My verse is very free and easy,
Its flavour sometimes slightly cheesy;
But that, my friends, is no great crime in
The gentle art of kitchen rhymin’.
I’ve made delicious maccaronics
From peelings off spring philharmonics.
And as for comic songs or ballads,
I turn them out like summer salads.
’Tis to the cook-book that I owe it,
My reputation as a poet.
And if you’ll watch my pot a minute
I’ll show you how I mix things in it.
Now take a pint of vermicelli
And pound it to a nice smooth jelly;
If necessary use a hammer.
Then add a pinch or two of grammar.
Shake in an ounce of sifted syntax
And half a teaspoonful of tin tacks,
Then flavour with eggstravaganza,
And there you have a lovely stanza!
THE PORRIDGE POET