Oh My!

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The Post 'One Vowel Poems' Competition

Oh My! By Beatrice

Oh words of O, my hobby now

To try to form or concoct

Works of only O, so lo -

My go, don’t throw no popcorn!

Bob McLoon from north of Troon’s

Fond of bonny Loch Lomond

Yoko Ono from Tokyo

Shops for song books, onyx bowls

Looks for oxymorons

Gordon Brown from London town

Snowy Stockholm’s Bjorn or Morton

Thor from Oslo, Sonny Bono

Molly Brown who won’t go down

Go to Soho on foot.

Who’s sorry now?

Orthodox Lord Longford shows horror

Porn shops shock or fool

Look who’s cool,

Long, don’t drool,

Soft spot for foxy Flo,

From glossy Cosmo front on Hollywood’s door

To common room of sobs, drops of sorrow on torso

Wot? No condoms?

Schoolboy trophy, no control

Slowly drown, forgot tomorrow

Do not cry.

No rock n roll storm, no prog rock show

No Motown songs or Doors

No Donny Osmond, only Snoop Doggy Dog

No lofty ghostly chords

Two jolly folk, on pony, hoof of gold

To Mojo Jojo’s dojo go


No spoon, no fork, no chop of pork

No sloppy hot dogs too

No grog, no froth, no hot Scotch broth

No bloody good mood food to scoff

No top of ol’ smoky, woo-hoo!

Took no port or Oloroso

Why’s forty-two on Hootoo’s goo?

Nobody, only Gnomon knows…

Two short-shorn crooks on broom

Boldly go by sporty zoom

To loopy golf tomorrow

Or monthly trot to Cork zoo spot

Good God! No loos on brooms

Don’t look down!

Torchwood, Dr Who on TV glow

Wot? No Vogons?

Dot-coms grow, only photocopy of books work.

From Cotswolds croft by corn cobs

Oxford dons consort to knock on wood for Kosovo

Old dogs howl to moon

Owl forlornly on dry holly thorn log

Crow on yon moor hops by cold brook

Longs for lost tooth

Glow-worms cry for Oryx’ fowl yolk

Or St Johns wort

Shops from donors don’t oft stock logo tops

Nor showrooms brown prom gowns, or spotty frocks

Or thongs of gold (so, so wrong!)

Toss down my thorny crown

Sold clown for chloroform joy

To my cost.

On to Toronto pronto Tonto


Who shot JFK from boggy knoll?

Who shot JR?

Doctor No?

Lord Byron?

Roy Wood?

Two-ton Orcs?


Two wrongs don’t work, so doom looms soon...

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Poetry by Various Contributors


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