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Best Poems Written by Michael Birchmore

Below are the all-time best Michael Birchmore poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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A Lancashire Lad

There was young man from Lancs
who had a strange way of saying thanks.
With his mate Billy
they'd do something silly
like rolling in the mud down the banks.

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Stormbreaker

The once sleek lines of this defender of the nation
Now rusting and tired in a forgotten heap.
Where once it braved angry storms and gunfire
Now defeated by little more than dripping rain

This once brave warrior, fearless in the fray
Lies impotent now a forgotten shell
Rotten timbers are it’s gravestone
It’s victories little more than a distant memory

Time and again it charged the enemy
Time and again it pounded against  angry shores
Caring not for itself it battled for others
On those distant shores of Normandy.

Far from home yet for itself it cared not a jot
Through thunder shot and fire it pounded ever onwards.
Battle scarred and weary it turned for home
Still fighting on through dark angry waves.

Once in safe harbour it’s burdens released
It’s job done, it’s battles all won
For Stormbreaker now it’s days were all  gone
Retired to the scrapyard a pile of old junk.
©Michael Birchmore 2013

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Blood Count

Do you hear that creaking on the stair?
Have you ever wondered if there’s anyone there?
Well let me tell you, yes there is
And not what you want for a goodnight kiss.

I am your worst nightmare
I am the thing that you fear most
I am malevolence personified
I am the Blood Count

Bow down before me my minions
Submit to me your every desire
I demand from you your total submission
And I’ll take you down into inferno’s quagmire

I am your Jack the Ripper
I am the psychopath lurking in the shadows
I am your twisted sister
I am the Blood Count


I won’t take no for an answer
I’ll crawl through your mind and steal your soul
You may think of me as a pleasure enhancer
You want to live a life of rock and roll?

I am your Frankenstein monster
I am the whisper of the guillotine
I am the sympathy for the devil
I am the Blood Count.

I am addiction
I am perverse
I am affliction
Or the converse
I am confusion
I am base tempter
I am delusion
I am the Blood Count.
©Michael Birchmore 2013

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Nourishment

Sex for breakfast , lunch and dinner
That’s the F plan diet for me
I might take a break at coffee
Or during afternoon tea.
You could wear your marigold gloves
And we could explore every kink.
I could get the rubber plunger
 and make rude noises in the sink.

I want nourishment not punishment
She sighed breathlessly to me
They say sex burns up 100s of calories
Let’s see if we can get past 3.
We don’t need any Viagra
We’ll get by with what we can.
But just to be on the safe side
I’ll go and get some philosan.

They say desire diminishes with age
To which I say tosh.
And that passion loses its rage
That’s a theory that with me won’t wash.
I’ll pose topless in me jim jams
And you wear your frilly nightie
I’ll pretend that  I’m  a stud
And you my Aphrodite.

You look so sensuous and sultry
In your face pack and your flip flops
Nothing you do is paltry
To me you’re always the tops.
Your perfume is quite exquisite
Is it sweet essence of pine?
No, I am mistaken,
Of course eau de woodbine.

Ah the post coital fag
It really can’t be beat
What will we do tomorrow?
What do you think of me feet?
If sex is low in calories
I don’t want a diet that’s light.
Coo what’s that lump in the bed?
What again? Already?
Sorry I’m too tired, night night.
©Michael Birchmore 2013

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Shakespeare Versus the Spanish

I once knew a poet called William,
Of renown was this Stratford lad.
A writer of plays and sonnets was he
And his gags, they weren’t half bad.
Now Queen Liz wanted him to join t’ army
Cos she’d  ‘eard pen was mightier than t’ sword
And if this were really true
She could well beat Spanish horde.
She pictured Will as a warrior;
Well his last name was Shakespeare,
And she thought that the Spaniards ‘d tremble
If they heard that he was getting near.

But he didn’t impress Raleigh or Drake.
Two more of Liz’s great band.
“We’ll not have nonce what writes poetry and prose
On any of the ships we command”.
So William the bard got barred
He did not get on board with his sword.
And though William the bard thought he was ‘ard
‘is sword was more bawd than broad.
Now ‘ed written about the King ‘eneries,
One of whom was Liz’ dad
And remembering ‘enery’s fondness for ‘eads
‘e ‘oped she never got mad.

One day the Spanish came visiting
As Drake, his bowls he did play.
He said “’ey up lads ‘ave you come for a scrap?”
And they said “Si” and “ole”.
Now at this William felt miffed
And sat down to write a sonnet
He had enough in the lines he’s allowed
To put enough emphasis on it.

He sculpted his verbs and his nouns
And his insults were quite that of a predator.
They cut and they thrust as from the masts they were read
Such was his iambic pentameter.
Against this the Spanish had nothing.
Back to safety they quickly retreated.
Of William they roared and they cheered,
Never before has an enemy been so forfeited.

Now Liz and the court were impressed.
Never before had a battle been so fought.
No blood had been spilled nor gunpowder fired
And of mayhem and killing there was nought.
Honour had remained intact
And  the victory was ours.
The pen had proved mightier than the sword
A fact admitted by the disavowers.

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Humble Pie

I apologise
If my humble pies
Scandalise
Gastronomies
©Michael Birchmore 2013

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Nantucket Man

There was a young man from Nantucket
who git his stuck in a bucket.
When he couldn't get free
he said oh deary me
I wonder how I can ow unstuck it.

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Haiku

Blood red lips and fingernails
She was as restrained as she could be
Back arched, breathing quick, expectant.

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Depravity

Depravity depravity
Are you moral’s declivity
Sweet  libidinous enslavement on
Viewpoints collectivity.

Debauchery debauchery
A lewd and tempting witchery
It captivates imagination
And flagellates prudery.

Decadent decadence
Do not insult intelligence
You pervert the innocent
And corrupt resilience
©Michael Birchmore 2013

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The Day My Mother Died

The day my mother died
It was approaching Christmas tide.
A morning in December I remember it well.
She had a dicky heart
And a check up they thought smart
Before they booked there hols in NZ for next year.

The results eased their fear.
She was ok to travel next year
And that night she went to sleep with a smile on her face.
Although they weren’t keen on the flight,
They slept well and travelled by night;
A smiled to see their son, his wife and grandchildren.

But not all was as good as it seemed,
In the night fate had other things schemed
And she was struck down with a stroke or something like that.
I got a call early next day from dad,
He stayed calm when he said mum was bad
So I packed up shop to be at his side.

When I got to the hospital ward
I knew not what was in for me stored.
There was mum plugged into a life support machine.
It kept her heart rate and breathing steady,
But the doctor said we needed to be ready
Because the prognosis wasn’t good and there was only one way.

My aunt and uncle had gone home,
Leaving me and dad all alone
To say goodbye to mum who we both loved so much.
We knew it was for the best
As we let her slip to eternal rest
And now the angels can look after her.