Mr Jones, the Lighthouse Keeper,
had an ever increasing collection of masks,
finding them on Amazon,
going for a song on Ebay,
an Amazonian Warrior,
Donald Trump, the colour of desperation,
everyday waiting for the knock.
The Postman whistling his happy little tune,
handing over the packages,
waiting for the signatures,
the always offered cup of tea,
wanting to g...
There was consternation in Chutney on the Fritz when a fairly decent writer, who doesn't bang on about his poetry on social media turned up for the Words Matter poetry night in the King's Bottom on Wednesday night.
Deirdre Rhyming Couplet from the...
This is a poem about going mad. Possibly about having already gone mad.
I thought it up whilst on a bus, stuck in traffic in Bangkok. That city may have been a contributory factor in my downward spiral. Life, like the heat, is intense there, and an extended period of intensity can have an extraordinary effect on someone, particularly someone who spends a long time in isolation, away from anyon...
I've always drunk water EVER so cold
And have done since I was 15 months old
Afore that, kind Sirs, I'm bound to admit
I was keen for a suck of me dear old mam's tit
And sometimes, still am.
Oh, please, Sirs, I beg you! Don't scold me! Don't chide!
From your derision, 'tis true, I have nowhere to hide
Don't hate me! Don't slate me! It's a lie! I'm not cheap!
(Though it's true I once had...
I'm the cat amongst your pigeons
I'm the writing on your wall
I'm the black sheep in your family
No, I don't fit in at all
I'm the sight that raises eyebrows
The cause of nervous coughs
The fly in soup and ointment
The cap that's never doffed
It's me! The spanner in the works
The dust speck in your eye
When everything seems out of sync
You know that I'm nearby
I'm the scalpel lef...
Hag, slag, you filfy old bag!
Your minge is a sewer, your titties, they sag
You can't call me squeamish, but I had to gag
When I saw your pug-mug in that tacky slut mag
Your 'friends' they all hate you, your pimp is a fag
Trundlin' along in his clapped-out old Jag
Your looks, about which, no cretin would brag
Ho', that no right-minded being would shag
Explanation for this...
I like milk, I'm inclined to say,
And I drink it keenly, ev'ry day
One me Corn Flakes, in me tea,
Sans milk, the same, it would not be
Does the milkmaid, on her stool
Know the bliss she brings this fool?
Udder clenched - then, without fail
The white stuff spurts into her pail!
And then the milkman, on his float
Provides according to Mum's note
Chilled and pure as driven snow
Ants, ants, ants
They're not very nice
Weird little bodies
Creeping, crawling, swarming
But they're all 'people'
If we go back far enough
They can't help their nasty habits
So leave them alone
Bees, bees, bees
They're not very nice
Black and yellow
Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing
But they're all 'people'
If we go back far enough
They can't help their nasty habits, so leave them alone...
Kobe Bryant wrote a heartfelt poem about retiring from NBA Basketball and all he's faced, just about, is flagrant abuse from some members of the writing community. Sure, some die-hard Kobe and Lakers fans think Shakespeare or Chaucer actually wrote t...
I've ridden the wicked draw that runs from shytown to the edge of the heinous herd
that abomination of unspeakables which propagates fear in the dreams of the unweary
in the center of that heinous herd you will find the apocalypse
sitting smug, wrapped in oil skins on a heap of 2 day old horned imp skulls
Giddy up you old fool
The heinous herd was an abomination that even all of hell reject...
For National Poetry Month, Walt Whitman's recent return from the dead for his reading of "Song of Myself" was overshadowed by the shocking arrival of Donald Trump, who said that he had not heard of Whitman, but was intrigued by the title, which he thought was "Shlong of Myself," and by prospects for spontaneous "call and response." However, sources confirm that his outbursts merely echoed phrases...
Among the belongings of the late great Irish writer and dramatist Brendan Behan has been discovered a short Romantic poem.
Seemingly, Behan had visited the great Irish jump race meeting at Cheltenham in the spring of 1961 and wrote the poem on the back of a bookie slip that he evidently intended to throw away. It may well have been written by him for his own amusement. It is a parody on the wo...
(With apologies to William Butler Yeats)
Churning and churning in the miasmic mire
The Tea Party cannot stand the Moderates;
Things fall apart; the center cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the GOP;
The Wing-nut tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of common sense is drowned;
The best lack all compassion, while the worst
Are full of fanatic in...
I found the most interesting poem yesterday when I was thumbing through the "Baseball Digest," from August 15, 1987. I was looking over some old baseball cards I had examining the edges and looking for creases. I wanted to see what they were worth.
There is a certain quality to the poem that I can't describe.
I want to share it with you.
I'm an IntCom guerrilla
Trade wars to the highest seller
I'm a tinpot Godzilla
I'm a street-bombing prancer
A global-heating moral cancer
A swift-declining Panzer
But let's not talk about peace and ethics
And kids that don't explode
We're losing all of our respect and honour
Universal chaos motherlode, yeah baby
I'm just no good at small talk
Narrow and bijou
Microscopic and minute
Sorry, what do you do?
Dinky winky, little, dwarf
Incy wincy, klein
Matchbox, kneehigh and compact
Can I top up your wine?
Teensy weensy, minimal
Teeny weeny, wee
Itsy bitsy, miniscule
Would you like a cup of tea?
Baby, mini, miniature
Shrunken, titchy, speck
Narrow, nipper, iota, mite
Get naked? What the h...
It's obvious my uterus has seen a better day.
Too many years invested, in erotic sexual play.
Committed now to aging with grace its duty done.
A child carries on my name - a generation comes.
My sex life is a private matter, I care not to discuss.
Why Politicians think they speak ... for my uterus.
Men are lusty school boys - ask any Catholic wife.
If it wasn't for contraception, we'd be...
We in the Neanderthal Independence Party (NIP) feel threatened by Homo Sapiens
They may cause our lives not to have happy ends
The Neanderthal Independence Party says we are culturally unique
Though we're a little low-brow and evolutionarily weak
We have more grass roots support than Neanderthal Labour
And we'll try to reduce casual sex with our neighbours
The Neanderthal Health Servic...
Sorry, you can't go back any further!
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