Poems / poetry / verse

Two nights ago I held a hand that made my sad heart sing,
the loveliest hand I'd ever held...two Ace's and a King.

buttercup, buttercup, will you please lift your left buttock up.

Granny

Through every nook and every cranny
The wind blew in on poor old Granny
Around her knees, into each ear
(And up nose as well, I fear)

All through the night the wind grew worse
It nearly made the vicar curse
The top had fallen off the steeple
Just missing him (and other people)

It blew on man, it blew on beast
It blew on nun, it blew on priest
It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-
But most of all, it blew on Granny!

Fatty & Skinny went up in a balloon
Fatty let a fart off and blew Skinny doon

Fatty and skinny went to bed,
Fatty blew off and skinny was dead

The Rolling English Road

by G.K.Chesterton

Before the Roman came to Rye or out to Severn strode,
The rolling English drunkard made the rolling English road.
A reeling road, a rolling road, that rambles round the shire,
And after him the parson ran, the sexton and the squire;
A merry road, a mazy road, and such as we did tread
The night we went to Birmingham by way of Beachy Head.

I knew no harm of Bonaparte and plenty of the Squire,
And for to fight the Frenchman I did not much desire;
But I did bash their baggonets because they came arrayed
To straighten out the crooked road an English drunkard made,
Where you and I went down the lane with ale-mugs in our hands,
The night we went to Glastonbury by way of Goodwin Sands.

His sins they were forgiven him; or why do flowers run
Behind him; and the hedges all strengthening in the sun?
The wild thing went from left to right and knew not which was which,
But the wild rose was above him when they found him in the ditch.
God pardon us, nor harden us; we did not see so clear
The night we went to Bannockburn by way of Brighton Pier.

My friends, we will not go again or ape an ancient rage,
Or stretch the folly of our youth to be the shame of age,
But walk with clearer eyes and ears this path that wandereth,
And see undrugged in evening light the decent inn of death;
For there is good news yet to hear and fine things to be seen,
Before we go to Paradise by way of Kensal Green.

that's fantastic!

I must go down to the sea again, the lonely sea and the sky
I left my vest and underpants out in the sun to dry

that's fantastic!

+1

A graphic designer from Hackney
Likes to measure his penis exactly
"I prefer to inspect
When completely erect,"
He stated matter-of-factly.

A graphic designer from Hackney
Likes to measure his penis exactly
"I prefer to inspect
When completely erect
While my girlfriend makes lewd gestures at me."

A graphic designer from Hackney
Likes to measure his penis exactly
"I prefer to inspect
When completely erect
In private, where people won't catch me."

^All winners! First one is my favourite

A musician from County Tyrone
Was reputed to lower the tone
The troublesome fact is
He turned up to practice
His penis inside his trombone

The Rolling English Road

Incredible poem.

Philip Larkin - This Be The Verse

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.

Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.

An old one of mine...

I found it in the street.
It was small, about the size of my fist,
But still alive.
I took it home,
Put it in the oven,
Re-warmed it.

The small pings told me it was done,
I ignored it at first hoping it would cease.
Then with my gloves I took it out,
It was still alive,
I realised it always would be.

The day after tomorrow, I tried to break it.
A week later, I attempted to smash it.
One Month later, I tried to drown it.

Love it. Here's another incomplete one...

I hope it is not an affront
To women and men of the hunt
When I speak of Jane Bounds
Who was fond of the hounds
...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6zEVZGuU3BU

^^Not him from the litter cursed as the runt

Sickly Sammy McSeven
Was sent rather early to Heaven
On ringing the bell
He thought, at least it's not Hell
When a voice screamed "Come back at eleven!"

I hope it is not an affront
To women and men of the hunt
When I speak of Jane Bounds
Who was fond of the hounds
So she gave them a taste of her cumberland sausage sandwiches that she'd made

Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Bat,
How I wonder what you're at:
Up above the world you fly
Like a tea tray in the sky,
Up above the world you fly
Like at tea tray in the sky.

Champagne!

TWAT
John Cooper Clarke
Like a Night Club in the morning, you’re the bitter end.
Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you’re clean round the bend.
You give me the horrors
too bad to be true
All of my tomorrow’s
are lousy coz of you.

You put the Shat in Shatter
Put the Pain in Spain
Your germs are splattered about
Your face is just a stain

You’re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.
Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.

You’re like a dose of scabies,
I’ve got you under my skin.
You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!

People mention murder, the moment you arrive.
I’d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.
You’ve got this slippery quality,
it makes me think of phlegm,
and a dual personality
I hate both of them.

Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.
Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.
Like a death a birthday party,
you ruin all the fun.
Like a sucked and spat our smartie,
you’re no use to anyone.
Like the shadow of the guillotine
on a dead consumptive’s face.
Speaking as an outsider,
what do you think of the human race

You went to a progressive psychiatrist.
He recommended suicide...
before scratching your bad name off his list,
and pointing the way outside.

You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.
You’re heading for a breakdown,
better pull yourself apart.

Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.
Your attitudes are platitudes,
just make me wanna piss.
What kind of creature bore you
Was it some kind of bat
They can’t find a good word for you,
but I can...
TWAT.

Rose are red, violets are blue
so goes the age old rhyme.
But I know violets are red and roses are blue,
I've seen them hanging on the line.

RIP Benny Hill

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QaG8IzSmdYI

Very bloody good.