Verses Please

I thought I'd share a few of my favourite works with everyone - so from time to time look out!

How to get literature into the thick -
Write on a basball bat, or wrap round a brick.

"To meet a gold-dust sunset down the owl-light in the lane" - what a marvellous turn of phrase!

Sorry dave you made my brain melt.. I lost it half way through

I am unKultured

Tinker wrote:

Sorry dave you made my brain melt..

No - that was the drugs

Tinker wrote:

I lost it half way through

Story of your life

Tinker wrote:

I am unKultured

You said it - I'm surrounded by philistines!

It never ceases to amaze me that there are people out there who can't quote pieces of verse at length - who don't have a "party piece" they can recite from memory or who don't actually own a book of rhymes. I BLAME THE TEACHERS.

I can't still believe that some people consider a "party piece" reading something boring!

When I show off at parties I fart the tune of Eastenders - not recite Byron!

G.

Whats a party?

Is that where those hip young people hang out?

There are parties and parties. Not all have to have noisy thudthuddy "music", lager and pretzels.

Aparrently not all involve clothes or going home in the car you came in either

I'm reading Cormac Murphy's The Road

Scary stuff, brilliantly written. I'm desperately tempted to flick forward to see what happens but I daren't.

For those of us who can't read it's coming out on film soon

Not for the faint hearted I feel.

www.theroad-movie.com/

ermm I am

not reading anything at the moment.. except the adventure which I must do tonight.

I am

1) Killing Zombies

2) Trying to make ISK in eve and not getting my internet spaceship blown up by some sneaky bastard while at the same time trying to be an evil bastard and blow someone elses ship up.

3) Trying to save the universe from evil nasty aliens, while having sex with any of the female characters I can (I wonder if there is an achivement for that in game) as well as being ruthless with anyone I meet.

4) Getting shot lots and killing a few people in Battlefield.. Man I SUCK at that game and I F$%king hate snipers.

5) EQ nuff said


Saying hello to the kids at least once a day.

Tinker wrote:

ermm I am

not reading anything at the moment.. except the adventure which I must do tonight.

I am

1) Killing Zombies

2) Trying to make ISK in eve and not getting my internet spaceship blown up by some sneaky bastard while at the same time trying to be an evil bastard and blow someone elses ship up.

3) Trying to save the universe from evil nasty aliens, while having sex with any of the female characters I can (I wonder if there is an achivement for that in game) as well as being ruthless with anyone I meet.

4) Getting shot lots and killing a few people in Battlefield.. Man I SUCK at that game and I F$%king hate snipers.

5) EQ nuff said


Saying hello to the kids at least once a day.

Father of the Year award? Gives me hope for the future

G.

P.S As one kid I taught said - "Poetry? It's a poor mans rap!"

Can't Beat'em join'em!

My Missus

I never believed what people said
That me missus liked other blokes in her bed
So I'll tell you my story,
Each word it is true
Just in case it should happen to you

Came home from work
Early one night
Walked into my house
And had quite a fright
My missus was chained
From her toes to her head!
She saw me and fainted -
When recovered she said......

"Oh Harry, you gave me a terrible shock -
I was trying my lovely new chain-mail frock!!"

I chose to believe when I looked in her eyes
Just couldn't conceive that she'd ever tell lies

Then later that week
On returning from darts
I noticed my wife had the terrible farts
I asked her "Pour quoi?"
She replied as such -
"The eggs, they were off
And I ate far too much!!"

I thought nothing of it,
Settled down for a nap,
But was aroused from my slumber
By our squeaky cat-flap

I thought this quite odd
As our cat was long dead
Then through sleepy-hazed eyes
I could see this blokes head!

I jumped from my chair
And I pointed with blame
"This man is your lover,
Now tell me his name!"

She tried to stay calm
But her voiced dripped with fear
And she feebly offered.......
"It's the milkman my dear!"

I should have paid heed
To the words people said
Indeed it did seem
That she liked 'giving head'!

I confronted her thus,
In response she did say,
"But to you I can't do it -
I think that you're gay!"

I took a deep breath
Told her "Don't hit the roof,
But it seems now's the time
For the sharing of truth.........

Don't take it too hard,
But the truth of all this
Is the 'Mr' you married
Was at one time a 'Miss'!!"

Copyright Louise Nelhams.


Grans Demise

What's the worst thing that could happen to you whilst waiting for a bus?
How about your leg exploding and covering you in pus?
Granted, it's quite unlikely but it happened to my gran,
Although she's a special case, she was formerly a man.
Dont let this incident deter you if you're on your way today
To have your bits and bobs fiddled with and turned the other way
I'm assured by those who know about these things it's quite unlikely
That your limbs will go bang and leave a mess that's most unsightly.
See, the trouble with my gran (or gramps, depending on your view)
Was a general view of life considered sane by just a few.
So when he or she decided fun could be had by changing gender
She did the op at home instead of acting like a bender.
Now gramps (as he was formerly) had no surgical expertise
And the tools he used were better employed for chopping trees
But still he thought a successful home op would make him famous
Maybe thats why he f**ked up and sewed his leg to his anus.

Copyright Dean Nelhams.


Saved the worst till last - TEXT ONLY, BUT NOT WORK SAFE

Spoiler:

SHALL I CONTINUE???

Lori wrote:

P.S As one kid I taught said - "Poetry? It's a poor mans rap!"

Shakespear should cap his ass.
MoFo don't know nuthin''
He should spend more time hanging with the homeys in the library.

Jeez! Tell me Horatius at the bridge isn't more exciting than 50cent telling us about ho's, robbing 7-11s, booty and bling.

I bet I have had more exposure to (c)rap than this twerp has to decent literature too: I therefore dispute his claim to be any kind of judge. When he has AT LEAST an A level in English Lit he can try saying that - not before.

Morgrin wrote:

[size=18]
SHALL I CONTINUE???

Self-Improvement

Just before she flew off like a swan
to her wealthy parents' summer home,
Bruce's college girlfriend asked him
to improve his expertise at oral sex,
and offered him some technical advice:

Use nothing but his tonguetip
to flick the light switch in his room
on and off a hundred times a day
until he grew fluent at the nuances
of force and latitude.

Imagine him at practice every evening,
more inspired than he ever was at algebra,
beads of sweat sprouting on his brow,
thinking, thirty-seven, thirty eight,
seeing, in the tunnel vision of his mind's eye,
the quadratic equation of her climax
yield to the logic
of his simple math.

Maybe he unscrewed
the bulb from his apartment ceiling
so that passersby would not believe
a giant firefly was pulsing
its electric abdomen in 13 B.

Maybe, as he stood
two inches from the wall,
in darkness, fogging the old plaster
with his breath, he visualized the future
as a mansion standing on the shore
that he was rowing to
with his tongue's exhausted oar.

Of course, the girlfriend dumped him:
met someone, après-ski, who,
using nothing but his nose
could identify the vintage of a Cabernet.

Sometimes we are asked
to get good at something we have
no talent for,
or we excel at something we will never
have the opportunity to prove.

Often we ask ourselves
to make absolute sense
out of what just happens,
and in this way, what we are practicing

is suffering,
which everybody practices,
but strangely few of us
grow graceful in.

The climaxes of suffering are complex,
costly, beautiful, but secret.
Bruce never played the light switch again.

So the avenues we walk down,
full of bodies wearing faces,
are full of hidden talent:
enough to make pianos moan,
sidewalks split,
streetlights deliriously flicker.



Since we're on the subject of rudie poems

Here among long-discarded cassocks,
Damp stools, and half-split open hassocks,
Here where the Vicar never looks
I nibble through old service books.
Lean and alone I spend my days
Behind this Church of England baize.
I share my dark forgotten room
With two oil-lamps and half a broom.
The cleaner never bothers me,
So here I eat my frugal tea.
My bread is sawdust mixed with straw;
My jam is polish for the floor.
Christmas and Easter may be feasts
For congregations and for priests,
And so may Whitsun. All the same,
They do not fill my meagre frame.
For me the only feast at all
Is Autumn's Harvest Festival,
When I can satisfy my want
With ears of corn around the font.
I climb the eagle's brazen head
To burrow through a loaf of bread.
I scramble up the pulpit stair
And gnaw the marrows hanging there.
It is enjoyable to taste
These items ere they go to waste,
But how annoying when one finds
That other mice with pagan minds
Come into church my food to share
Who have no proper business there.
Two field mice who have no desire
To be baptized, invade the choir.
A large and most unfriendly rat
Comes in to see what we are at.
He says he thinks there is no God
And yet he comes...it's rather odd.
This year he stole a sheaf of wheat
(It screened our special preacher's seat),
And prosperous mice from fields away
Come in to hear the organ play,
And under cover of its notes
Ate through the altar's sheaf of oats.
A Low Church mouse, who thinks that I
Am too papistical, and High,
Yet somehow doesn't think it wrong
To munch through Harvest Evensong,
While I, who starve the whole year through,
Must share my food with rodents who
Except at this time of the year
Not once inside the church appear.
Within the human world I know
Such goings-on could not be so,
For human beings only do
What their religion tells them to.
They read the Bible every day
And always, night and morning, pray,
And just like me, the good church mouse,
Worship each week in God's own house,
But all the same it's strange to me
How very full the church can be
With people I don't see at all
Except at Harvest Festival.

As I gird on for fighting
My sword upon my thigh,
I think on old ill fortunes
Of better men than I.

Think I, the round world over,
What golden lads are low
With hurts not mine to mourn for
And shames I shall not know.

What evil luck soever
For me remains in store,
'Tis sure much finer fellows
Have fared much worse before.

So here are things to think on
That ought to make me brave,
As I strap on for fighting
My sword that will not save.

III.

Her strong enchantments failing,
Her towers of fear in wreck,
Her limbecks dried of poisons
And the knife at her neck,

The Queen of air and darkness
Begins to shrill and cry,
'O young man, O my slayer,
To-morrow you shall die.'

O Queen of air and darkness,
I think 'tis truth you say,
And I shall die to-morrow;
But you will die to-day.

Ballad of the Frogman
“Been around the world twice, talked to everybody once.
Seen two whales fuck, Been to 3 world fairs,
and I even know a man in Thailand with a wooden Cock.
I push more peter, more sweeter, and more completer, than any other peter pusher around..
I’m a hard bodied hairy chested, Ruttin’ Tuttin’ Shootin’.Parachutin’ demolition double cap krimpin’ Frogman.
There aint nothing I can’t do, No sky too high, No sea too rough, No muff too tough.
Learned a lot of lessons in my life.
Never shoot a large caliber man with a small caliber bullet.
I drive all kinds of trucks, 2x, 4x, 6x, and those big motherfuckers that bend and go "CHHH CHHH” when you step on the brakes.
Anything in life worth doing is worth overdoing, moderation is for cowards.
I’m a lover, I’m a fighter, I’m a UDT Navy SEAL diver.
I’ll wine dine, intertwine. Then sneak out the back when the re-fueling is done.
So if you’re feeling froggy then you better jump. because this Frogman has been there, done that, and is going back for more.“