Melancholy pie ending

I read it in the Sunday Times
That you were convicted of crimes
I found myself quite mad at you
Like the cat that wouldn't eat the poo
But all, as it transpired, was well
Or seemed to be, but you never can tell
The sun was shining and everyone smiled
The Happiness Index forms were filed
And Permit B-7 obtained for EXCITEMENT!
Though his failure to enter his excess right meant
The permit was void and his license invalid
He wasn't even allowed to make fruit salad
Unless he got a court order
He sat down with a glass of water
And simply watched the world go by
While eating steak & kidney pie.

Recipe for disaster

There was an old woman who swallowed a shoe,
It's not the sort of thing she'd normally do.
The recipe came from the Fat Duck cookbook,
And requires Worcester sauce and a lot of luck
Which never seems to come my way
And so, I resign myself to stay
At home, and do the Listener weekly,
And send in the solution meekly
But alas, we never get the prize
The prize of the pies that are made of lies
Our entries are just never quite good enough
We're not really cut out for that sort of stuff.
However, we're awesome at making mince pies
Though eating them isn't entirely wise.
The pastry is laced with a poison so potent
You'd be well advised to stay in yo' tent.

The Karaoke Deity

Drawing and poetry go hand in hand
Like Ant and Dec or sea and sand.
They make such a harmonious pair
They sing the song from Go Compare
At Karaoke on Wednesday nights
He had a young woman in his sights.
He tried to impress her with a song,
At a karaoke club in Hong Kong.
Where Kung Fu experts liked to gather
And practice kicks; or, if they'd rather
Sometimes punches. It was a sight!
I thought it would go on all night
But God stepped in to stop the fight,
He broke it up with his godly might.
His smiting days were behind him. he felt
He slowly removed his smiting belt
And hung up his Smiting Pants in the hallway
That's how it went - I don't care what they all say.

Tool-based Story 3

I gave lots of money to Children in Deen
(I didn't want people to think I was mean)
They used it to build an orphanage for kids,
The contracts going to the highest bids
But the materials those companies used were sub-par
Hence them falling to bits, spilling oil everywhar.
If only they'd used better quality controls
And hadn't got distracted by playing bowls.
But they made the best of a bad situation,
Until they could smile with modest elation
They sold their story to some local rag
Whose sales were already starting to flag.
Nobody read it and nobody cared.
But it turned out OK, 'cos the shed got repaired!
It could once more be useful for storing the mower,
Some shelves had moved higher and some had moved lower
There was even room left for the spade and the hoe
Quite a happy ending, as tool-based stories go.

Laureate Schmaureate

O waxy man, O waxy man,
How lovely is your frying pan?
You've got the cash for good cookware
You earned it at last year's book fair
But that was before you forgot how to read
After which it became very taxing indeed.
It got slightly easier two ours in,
Especially with earplugs to cancel the din.
In fact it was peaceful, and reasonably quiet,
So I recommend that one day soon you try it
Unless you're in the mood for something more raucous
Like a fiery address at a subversive caucus
In that case you'd better call George Galloway
Though he often responds in a most shallow way
So he won't be much use if you don't stroke his ego.
He'll just mope about and go wherever we go.
And who needs a man with such lack of direction?*
This poem is amazing. Who needs Andrew Motion?

*It should be noted that this was misread as 'devotion'.

Predator

His eye was aglint as he bore down on his prey
He started running faster, just in case it got away.
Eventually he cornered it, between a pair of trees,
And with one punch he rendered it aquiver on its knees.
He yelled out his demands at it, and lo, it acquiesced
And once it had fulfilled them, it humbly confessed
That all it ever wanted was somebody to love
And maybe a balloon to soar up above
To make all the people look tiny and antlike
In their cars and their taxis, their BMX stunt-bikes
Popping their wheelies, and getting sick air
And always regretting the gel in their hair.

Hypersquare dream

There once was a cube called The Cube
It starred with Philip Schofield on the tube
But of Gordon the Gopher there was no sign
Neither on the telly, nor online
Instead, it fell to Edd the Duck
Who bummed it up and said "oh no".
But it was caught by Captain Hook,
Who's just a character in a book
So that's when I knew I was dreaming
I was so angry my ears were steaming
For I can't stand rapid eye movement
So I just stay awake; a marked improvement.