Besides, it only has fifteen lines so it doesn’t count.

He shortly encounters the honeymoon moments
When everything clicks and it all goes to plan
With no entertainment of rash complication
He soaks up these days for as long as he can.

Time seems succumbant to deceleration
The incline increases and weariness clutches
The ground underneath either stops or goes backwards
He seems to be cursed by whatever he touches.

All through the night he ploughs on through the darkness
With no real direction or sense of the time
But when daybreak peers on the distant horizon
He shrugs off exhaustion and sprints for the line.

Scared and in confusion
Confirmation of my fears
Came about when it was clear
My arms protruded from my ears.

I found a pair of spectacles
To fit my naked chest
Tucked the arms into my armpits
And embarked upon my quest.

John Craven said a pint of beer
Would get me back to normal
But the barman threw me out
Because my dress was too informal.

With much deliberation
I am keen on relocation
Somewhere vibrant and exciting
That will help inspire my writing.

Much time I shall be giving
In my quest to make a living
That will help the books to balance
And yet utilise my talents.

If this can’t be achieved
Then I will not feel too aggrieved
Just so long as all the while
I remember how to smile.

I walked with caution to the hole
In fear it was a giant mole
I peered into the muddy pit
To see a figure, dimly lit.

‘Are you okay’ I asked politely
‘Okay? Does that look fucking likely?’
Despite the man’s uncouth retort
I pulled him out without a thought.

The man was clothed in just a beard
‘Wait here’ he said, and disappeared.
He came back with some ketamine
Said ‘cheerio’ and jumped back in.

I sense perhaps the question begs
Why people need to see my legs
Pay no attention to them please
Say nothing of my calves or knees.

Til the sun gets more effective
Still they shall remain reflective
When the heat gets more intense
Then rapid burning may commence.

Be assured I do not think
We all look nicer when we’re pink
Take the recommended notion:
Bake yourself in suntan lotion.

I quickly put my foot down
In a fit of deathly fear
But he merely pedalled faster
Only inches from my rear.

(I’m referring to the car
And not my derriere of course
It’s not a verse about
Intergalactic intercourse).

He caught me up and pulled me over
Took out all his dentures
Then asked me how to get
To Chessington World of Adventures.

Now I’m back in bed again
And many hours have passed
I’ve discovered if too early
I can’t rhyme things very fast.

I tried to write my sixteen lines
Before I had to leave
But it seems I hold no poetry
Up my pyjama sleeve.

It could be that I can’t write poems
When night clothes I’m adorning
So I’ll write them in the nude
Or wait til later in the morning.

As you say it’s most unfair
My compliments are all too rare
So just this once, my love, I’ll humour
You to quash this vicious rumour.

You are like a summer’s day:
Sometimes sweaty, sometimes grey
Like the sky your judgement’s clouded
Your main attraction’s overcrowded.

We’re stuck, like in a traffic jam
But I am not a perfect man
And on occasion you’re sublime
Much nicer than the wintertime.

I telephoned my landlord
Asking if he had a spare
But he said that mine was working
As far as he was aware.

He said the problem could be cured
With ample lubrication
After several pints of oil
The blades remained in their location.

I pushed and stamped and leant
And dealt it several manly blows
But it chopped both of my hands off
So I’m typing with my nose.