The Heron

Late upon one Winter’s morning

As I walked to get blood warming

I went down to my pond

To see the fish of which I’m fond

Their playful swimming brings me peace

They should, they cost fifty a piece

But instead of fish I got a shock

Perched upon a little rock

In black and white just like a felon

Was a bastard of a heron!

Down this neck there was a lump

The realisation made me jump

This fucker made his breakfast dish

With one of all my little fish

Well that was it, anger exploded

As my fish numbers imploded

Restocking how would be quite foolish

Unless I was that kind of ghoulish

Instead I made my solemn word

To get revenge upon the bird

I bought a trap and air rifle

And as I was not one to trifle

I got a hide and camo-gear

If I was a bird, I’d quake with fear

But the fucker wouldn’t show

Until I deigned perchance to go

For a few minutes at a time

Then he’d eat, the little swine

I put down nets and duck decoys

But it ignored these little toys

And instead the little snot

Would eat then run off like a shot

This is why I write this verse

To stop things from getting worse

This problem I have delegated

Before my fish are decimated

Maybe you can help me out

And in all earnestness I shout

Can you stop this feathered thief

And give my fish friends some relief

But if you can’t it’s just as well

Because this heron’s straight from Hell

And this hobby’s not for me

So I should stick to poetry

The phantom shitter

Later one evening, while using the phone

I felt a strong urge to visit the throne

Communing with nature, as some would put it

To put it succinctly, go take a shit

From the feel my stomach, there was some alarm

  So I stocked a newspaper stuffed under my arm

Turned to my colleagues and said with a smile

“If anyone’s looking, I may be a while”

I went to the room at the end of the hall

And proceeded straight to my favourite stall

I found to my joy that the door was unlocked

But with horror I realised the toilet was blocked

Water flowed from the bowl, and dripped down like rain

THE PHANTOM SHITTER HAD STRUCK YET AGAIN!

Who is this fiend, this pantomime villain

Who can’t use the jacks without it all spillin

Who when taking a whiz will constantly miss

Oh, where in the world where they taught to piss?

Too much in a hurry to forget to flush

Stuffs in the paper ’till it forms a grey mush

This cretin, this monster, not one bit house proud

I curse their name daily, with venom, and loud

We should keep a vigil, make watch till relief

Is found from this bastard who’s causing us grief

Name them and shame them, Let all people know

Who is the source of the mess that’s on show

But they are untraced, unknown who it is

So they are left free to miss when they whiz

And though that day, I found a clean stall

When I walked back along the hall

I kept up a thought, filled with pain

That the Phantom shitter may yet strike again