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Index of poems:
- Retrieved Passage 1: Prologue
(From The Lost Book of Tuberlantis) - Retrieved Passage 3: From The Book of Days, Sonnet 2
(From The Lost Book of Tuberlantis) - The Strumpets' Last Temptation of Sir Wholegrain
(From The Further Strumpet Chronicles) - Gothic Strumpet Tarts
(From The Strumpet Chronicles) - Two Potato Limericks
- Never Again
- Isembard Ping
From The Lost Book of Tuberlantis Many leagues beneath the sea where the flat-winged sloth skate flies lie the million fossil eyes of Tuberlantis: drowned city. There tuber groovers, bright and bold who once cross-dressed for star-crossed love lie prone while freight ships pass above they sleep in silt, like buried gold. For all the laughter and the beers, the long-lost camp, the gaiety for buried lives of mystery we weep for them, and droop our ears. And Oh! The laugh like cackling loons And Ah! The whip that downward swings upon the tuber's broken wings and scattered crumbs of macaroons. Here lie the pages of a sage who fought against becoming mad who wrote the only thoughts he had through fizzing fits and gnashing rage.
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From The Lost Book of Tuberlantis For Lo! I must relate this tome to you who gather here to listen and believe to tell the story I believe is true before my sanity (BARK!) takes its leave. The Spuds in Exile traversed the terrain wearing long dresses of the fine-spun silk all travelling by sedan car and train with their bright ears fresh-bathed in llama milk and (UUUURRRGGHHH!!) such necklaces as seldom seen made of gold-plated prunes and aubergines graced the neck-less heads of brown and green of these arcane potato libertines. And (WOOF!) soon you must go and leave me here for my time of insanity is near.Back to top
The Strumpets' Last Temptation of Sir Wholegrain
© The Potato of Terror
From The Further Strumpet Chronicles They tempted him with saucy saveloys, Butternut squash, fair swedes fresh from the soil; Yet he was hip unto their wicked ploys And nothing could his purity despoil. They tempted him with frilly fripperies, Plunge necklines lower than Hell's catacombs; And quick, enticing glimpses of their knees, But still he sent them back unto their rooms. They stroked him with banana and plantain, Powdered his toenails with Turkish delight; He fell to slumber. Thence he did remain, While still the strumpets teased him through the night. But oh! Such dreams as never came before Didst turn this sleeping knight into a whore!Back to top
Gothic Strumpet Tarts
© The Potato of Terror, May 2004
From the Strumpet Chronicles The Gothic Strumpet Tarts of Bethnal Green Go out array'd in deathly-black attire; They sleep in coffins, silk-lined, so serene Until night comes to set their blood afire. Some Gothic Strumpet Tarts are fallen girls, Who strayed from Bethnal Green's true path of light, While some are drag firemen or cross-dressed earls, Who rise from sleep at moon-rise, for a bite. They swirl their cloaks, they gnash their hungry fangs, They clack their metal heels along the street, Sneaking around in Gothic strumpet gangs To dine with, or upon, the friends they meet. Oh darling, be my Gothic Strumpet Tart, Partake of me, ravish this tuber heart!
Two Potato Limericks
© The Potato of Terror
A Cara from York once declared,
"My body's too old to be shared,
my chest need refining
my belly needs ironing,
I streaked once, and nobody cared!"
* * * * * * *
A satanic potato called Hades
thrust his buttocks out of a Mercedes
whence a bus full of nuns
took offence at his buns
as he roared "cop a load of this, ladies!"
* * * * * * *
Never Again© The Potato of Terror October 2004
Chorus lines of mincing marmots shimmy through my brain Wearing feathered riding breeches teamed with shiny spats; Dreams of dancing pandas come to torture me again As clowns leap from my wardrobe, wearing clashing party hats. Gallivanting grey gorillas ravish my mind's eye Waving their capacious bottoms in each other's face; Prancing parakeets are baking millet in a pie As ancient aardvarks sashay by in lavender and lace. Goose-stepping giraffes are marching in my memory's maze The sight of waltzing wallabies is driving me insane; Piroetting polar bears go spinning through the haze - And that's the last time I shall mix tequila with champagne.
Isembard Ping
© The Potato of Terror, September 2003
Isembard Ping loves to shake his thing funks out like a marrow on the wing shimmies like a turbo macaroon, plays his kneecaps with a wooden spoon. Luke Walsby-Tickle Does strange things with pickle Some cats say he's fly and rather fickle. Goes out dancing in a pink zoot suit Drinks absinth and smokes a rare cheroot. Ignatious Bong Wrote a strange love song Sang it on the roof in a fur thong. Huge crowds came to hear his serenade Awe stuck by the vast organ he played. Heroic names Rare grooves and parlour games, Ah how my lingeree bursts into flames, At thoughts of bygone times of long before - I'm not invited to such parties any more.
