Contents:

·         Cat

·         Caterpillar

·         Christmas When

·         Frankie Wankie

·         Junira Nations

·         Approaching Twenty

·         Mná

·         Joan Maguire

·         My Love Bites

·         Lily White Breast

·         Alan Mullally’s Song (Now I’m Leaving)

·         The Hero

·         Kim Bassinger’s Diet

·         Statue

·         The Great God Pan

·         Worms

·         Spare a Thought

·         Resolution

·         Jimmy Loves Mary

·         Books

·         In Slattery’s

·         Krunchy and Milady

·         The Da

·         The Great Six-O

·         My Garden

·         Female Modes of Dress (or The Miniskirt)

·         Good Morning

·         The Dance in the Village Hall

·         Typing Section

·         Vacant Mood

·         Do You Yen for a Feel

·         Obsessed

·         Silver Wedding

·         Corrakit

·         The Civil Servant

·         The New Daughter of Houlihan

·         Mayo in July

·         Home Computers

·         Lewinsky

·         Jacussy

·         Tit Shaking

·         Paddy Macaroni

·         Hour on a Bean

The Outrageous Poems of Krunchie Killeen:

THE GREAT GOD PAN

(Pan, in mythology, is a god, in the form of a great hunk of a man as far as the waist, but from there on down he takes the form of a goat. He roams around the countryside playing sweet music on his flute, and those who hear this music, particularly females, are filled with zest for life; it awakens their sensual nature.)

The Great God Pan, when he plays his whistle,

Makes all the females that hear him bristle;

Quickens their pulse and, by the gallon,

Their glands secrete adrenalin.

As his gentle notes float down the valley,

Watch Mary prance, and Jane, and Sally;

See them cock their heads, and blush, and listen

For the Great God Pan on his whistle.

Bright-eyed, they throw a tentative smile

At any man within a mile,

Uplift their breasts and wag their bottom,

For Pan has put the longing on them.

'Tis Pan that drew that sensuous smile,

That eyelid flick for to beguile;

And, when they heave those sighs and moon,

'Tis the Great God Pan and his tune.

Then, what is it that women like the best?

Is it the guitar, the song, the verse?

'Tis not, for I'll tell you the very plain truth:

It's the Great God Pan, and the flute.

Copyright

You may copy the poems for your own amusement, but you may not distribute or perform any poem publicly or for reward until you have obtained my consent.

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