Oh, when the goose is amorous, Willing to express his tender romantic inclinations To Mrs Goose And love is quite the possibility, Goose poetry forms in his mind, And words take on extra meaning To which he gives voice, To goose sonnets and goose odes To explain his heartfelt love. He takes a deep breath And strikes her gentle shoulder And says HONK
A storm of words cascades through his brain! He eulogises the sweetness inherent in Mrs Goose That she should set afire his soul With burning lust, That he should softly purr this tender refrain: HONK
And Mrs Goose is turned on by his words, Turned on by the subtlety of his eloquence And replied with great charm And a keen eye for erotic repartee HONK
William Shakesgoose with his feathery quill Penned odes to love which on the page he did spill Explaining what it mean to be alive and be free That even today we should proudly quote he Standing proud on that Elizabethan stage and proclaiming HONK
Oscar Wildgoose, with a fey wave of his wing Could reduce a room to laugher with his legendary wit For language danced at his beck and call, Such hilarious put downs and Bonne mots For he was often heard to quip: HONK
Flying to Belgium The pilot just happened to be a goose Came over the tannoy to give us The expected arrival time in Brussels HONK
A crowd of sexed up male gooses Gathered outside the vehicle hooter testing facility They’re getting ever so wound up By the sky sexuality of the Noises coming from within. Oh, baby baby, Talk dirty to me. HONK
Goose literature Translated for a feathery audience The Rime of the Ancient Mariner HONK Les Miserables HONK The Canterbury Tales HONK Marcel Proust’s A la recherche du temps perdu HONK HONK (It’s in two volumes) And perhaps A haiku HONK
The man of my dreams, so butch and fit With a face like Adonis and the body of a god Oh, I said to him, sing for me, Stefan, Give voice to your Rampant masculinity And he said . . . . HONK
Robert Garnham 