Bob Harris Chinscape Blues

Moon landings changed me
My face now a sight for sore minds
As they point their microscopes
Under my yawning gumtray.

Oh, how I wish they had not faked
The landings there upon my chin
Upon its stage.
I sometimes put some bacon in
Saliva leaks
Upon that sacred skin
The guilt steams up
From holes behind my eyes.

I wish sometimes I were the moon
I could escape to my own room
The crushing cold the moon hangs in
I wish that I were in the bin.
Alas

The bin is full of fish.
Oh well.

Bob Harris' Beard

Sold!
Auction grinds to inertia
And cold sadness dripped
From the newly unveiled
Chinscape
Like dogs trapped in an avalanche
As they towed Bob's old beard away.

Bought by billionaire Boris
From St Petersburg Oil Refinery
To be installed
In his wife's armpit
No expenses spared.

Winnie the Who

Ukelele
Torn by bear
Broken wood asunder
Strings strangle
Ends dangle
Drumkit and bass mangled
Lets go for a shit in the woods
Before The Old Grey Whistle Test
Farts out a classic
Through unusual gaps
In Bob Harris' beard.