The man of her dreams

Sinking

she rose,

spluttering,

a gem in her hand,

a moment from time

usually lost.

Truth snatched

from the reverie,

just before sleep.

As she slipped off

after a day of infinite choices,

selections, ticking boxes,

it came to her:

she liked her men

strong,

sensitive,

soft,

embossed.

Just like her toilet paper.

Armed with knowledge, now she can rest.

Advertisements

Chariots of the gods?

Nice car, Pastor.

What’s the mileage?

Does God drive one like that?

***

I have a solution

to arguments about evolution:

go and feed the poor.

All of you.  Yes, you too.  Off you go.  Shoosh.

***

How many angels dance on the head of a pin?

All of them!

All the time!

Everywhere!

Join in!

***

Brand new Theologica

Theologi – car

Shiny bright

Across the sky it can drag a star

Make day from night

For the toughest labours

of Hercules

Safe for the family

and the Crash of the Titans

Theologica!

(You wouldn’t guess its a hybrid.)

***

Yes, it remains a fact that no matter how often they look in the Holy Book, not a theologian alive can tell me, what does God drive.  The only motorbike in the Bible is the Triumph, though.

I posted a poem about ancient astronauts and relationships with fathers here.

And please remember, the portal to all things Joe Chippish is here.