Tag: Sherri Turner

Happy Hour by Sherri Turner


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This ledge is very narrow
once you get up here and see.
I hadn’t realised how small
the folks below would be.
I’m trying not to wobble
and I feel a little sick.
The evening dampness on the tiles
is making them quite slick.
It must have been the Happy Hour
that caused my over-drinking
and made me climb here for a bet.
What can I have been thinking?
I wish I’d been more sensible
and hadn’t drunk at all.
My sense of balance isn’t great,
I think I’m going to…

Sherri Turner lives in Surrey. She has had numerous short stories published in women’s magazines and has won prizes for both poetry and short stories. She likes to write silly poems when she feels in danger of forgetting that this is supposed to be fun.

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Ruined by Sherri Turner


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He got me into trouble
before the second date –
a lustful, careless coupling
against the garden gate.

He didn’t hang around, of course,
to see the consequences.
I had a heavy price to pay
for flirting by the fences.

It would have been a good idea
to practise some restraint.
If only I had read the signs –
the ones that said ‘Wet Paint’.

Sherri Turner lives in Surrey. She has had numerous short stories published in women’s magazines and has won prizes for both poetry and short stories. She likes to write silly poems when she feels in danger of forgetting that this is supposed to be fun.

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Inboxicated by Sherri Turner


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It’s like a drug, the vilest kind,
that rules your life and screws your mind.
A minute passed seems like an age
since checking that infernal page.
You click ‘refresh’ and still you fail
to hear the beep of ‘you’ve got mail’
and when you do – you’re near hysteria!-
another message from Nigeria.
The craving keeps you on the hook.
You have to take just one more look
but it’s a thirst that can’t be sated.
You know you are inboxicated.

Sherri Turner lives in Surrey. She has had numerous short stories published in women’s magazines and has won prizes for both poetry and short stories. She likes to write silly poems when she feels in danger of forgetting that this is supposed to be fun.

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Bravissima by Sherri Turner


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I’ve never been blessed
with a bountiful chest
so to offer some zest
to my pitiful breast
today I got dressed
in a garment that pressed
on each fleshy crest
till they both pointed west.
It made a nice nest
on which someone could rest
but I still worried lest
the result of my quest
was an increase in jest
when I sadly confessed.

So I gave up the test
and went back to my vest.

Sherri Turner lives in Surrey. She has had numerous short stories published in women’s magazines and has won prizes for both poetry and short stories. She likes to write silly poems when she feels in danger of forgetting that this is supposed to be fun.

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MARIE (who stole husbands and ended up alone) by Sherri Turner


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The favourite sport of loose Marie who lived at number twenty three,
was practising seduction when she flirted with her neighbours’ men.
Her reddened lips would pout and tempt and no poor soul would be exempt
until they could resist no more and turned up at the harlot’s door.
When she had had her evil way they asked Marie if they could stay
but she just shooed them off before she moved on to her next amour.
The wives despised this piece of fluff and pretty soon had had enough
and so they all devised a plan to frighten off the bravest man.
The message first reached Toby Grey who, playing golf one Saturday,
found all his club mates in a snigger because his ‘niblick’ wasn’t bigger.
The next to hear was Jack McGrew who learned that everybody knew
how premature the consequence of his excess exuberance.
The worst was grocer Michael Stout, who nearly died when he found out
his customers were all aware his veg were not a matching pair.
The men soon found that all who’d strayed had had their failings well displayed.
They hung their sorry heads in shame and knew Marie must be to blame.
Despite the shortness of her skirt and fine ability to flirt
her efforts now were quite ignored. No longer was Marie adored.
She soon became a dreadful sight: her lipstick smeared, her hair a fright.
No company of either sex would anymore her threshold vex.

It’s rumoured that, on warmer nights, she walks the streets in fishnet tights
beseeching anyone to visit.
It’s no surprise they don’t, though, is it?

Sherri Turner lives in Surrey. She has had numerous short stories published in women’s magazines and has won prizes for both poetry and short stories. She likes to write silly poems when she feels in danger of forgetting that this is supposed to be fun.

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