Bad Poetry You probably never want to read

The Nonsense Farmer

There was a man lived in Blicket Bload

In a farm right down Yackity Road

He had twenty acres of rich land

Where he grazed ten pickety pand

Eight nickety nous, four hackety hees

And a rackty ripe with nobbly knees

The only problem with his own flock

Was that they always got themselves stuck

The nickety nous are furry and pink

They really love to drink and to drink

They have long tails and a little snout

To suck up water and the occasional trout

The problem with one nickety nou

Is he drank so much water he was stuck in a shoe

He puffed up so big and squeezed in the toes

But when he moved he was wedged with his nose

Sticking out of the hole where your feet go

To get out, the water he had to blow

Over the fence into the neighbour's garden

Then pop round and say to them 'pardon!'

Next farmer went to check his hackety hees

But you'll never guess, they were all up in trees

Now the hackety hee is a ground dwelling fellow

About cow sized and all over yellow

With the odd spot of green on their bum

They tend to really stick with their mum

To climb up a tree is mostly unheard

That domain was made for a bird

But something had given them quite a fright

For they had been staying in the trees all night

They were shaking and shivering, too scared to come down

Across their long faces they all wore a frown

He had to grab their favourite food

A strange looking vegetable called a klood

Each was thin and bendy and blue

Sticky and sappy and dripping with goo

The hackety hees jumped straight for their treat

Completing their descent with an incredibly feat

Of twisting and turning within the air

Within just a moment they were now there

Stood on the grass munching so fast

That those poor kloods just would not last

They charged at the farmer baying for more

It was such a haste they knocked him to the floor

They pleaded and pleaded with their clacking sound

But poor old farmer was not waiting around

He charged and he fled away from the place

It was almost as if he was in new a race

To get as far from his animals as he could

At least at this he really was good

Next he came for the rackty ripe

But he could not find him try as he might

He looked at the field and up the mountain

He looked in the bins and in the fountain

He looked in his favourite spot by the stream

And tried to coax him with scones and cream

He looked up in despair to a great height

And there was rackty ripe stuck in a pipe

How did he get all the way up there?

He must have climbed 'cos there was no stair

How to get it out, where could he go

There was no doubt, he would have to blow

The farmer bent over and drew in some air

Then blew through the pipe with considerable care

At first nothing happened so he had to blow more

Then out flew racty ripe with a terrible roar

He arched over the house and field back yonder

Making a noise louder than thunder

He hit the barn with an ear splitting crash

And on into the pond with a great splash

He left a hole in the barn the shape of his body

The pond was now all dirty and muddy

The fish had been flung almost half of a mile

To get back to their home would be quite a trial

The farmer was happy another animal was free

But there was one left to complete his spree

He ran to his collection of pickety pand

But luckily for him they were very bland

They had fur of beige and no spots at all

They did not get stuck or lost or fall

There they still were grazing in the field

With one whistle blow they did all yield

And came to the farmer all faces a beaming

With joy and love their whole bodies were teaming

He gave the group a hug, one mass of fur

And like a large cat they let out a big purr

From these he wished the others would learn

For at least the pickety pand were not a concern