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Best Famous Pam Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Pam poems. This is a select list of the best famous Pam poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Pam poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of pam poems.

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Written by Pam Ayres | Create an image from this poem

They Should Have Asked My Husband

You know this world is complicated, imperfect and oppressed
And it’s not hard to feel timid, apprehensive and depressed.
It seems that all around us tides of questions ebb and flow
And people want solutions but they don’t know where to go.

Opinions abound but who is wrong and who is right.
People need a prophet, a diffuser of the light.
Someone they can turn to as the crises rage and swirl.
Someone with the remedy, the wisdom, and the pearl.

Well . . . they should have asked my ‘usband, he’d have told’em then and there.
His thoughts on immigration, teenage mothers, Tony Blair,
The future of the monarchy, house prices in the south
The wait for hip replacements, BSE and foot and mouth.

Yes . . . they should have asked my husband he can sort out any mess
He can rejuvenate the railways he can cure the NHS
So any little niggle, anything you want to know
Just run it past my husband, wind him up and let him go.

Congestion on the motorways, free holidays for thugs
The damage to the ozone layer, refugees and drugs.
These may defeat the brain of any politician bloke
But present it to my husband and he’ll solve it at a stroke.

He’ll clarify the situation; he will make it crystal clear
You’ll feel the glazing of your eyeballs, and the bending of your ear.
Corruption at the top, he’s an authority on that
And the Mafia, Gadafia and Yasser Arafat.

Upon these areas he brings his intellect to shine
In a great compelling voice that’s twice as loud as yours or mine.
I often wonder what it must be like to be so strong,
Infallible, articulate, self-confident …… and wrong.

When it comes to tolerance – he hasn’t got a lot
Joyriders should be guillotined and muggers should be shot.
The sound of his own voice becomes like music to his ears
And he hasn’t got an inkling that he’s boring us to tears.

My friends don’t call so often, they have busy lives I know
But its not everyday you want to hear a windbag suck and blow.
Encyclopaedias, on them we never have to call
Why clutter up the bookshelf when my husband knows it all!

© Pam Ayres 2012
Official Website
http://pamayres.com/


Written by Pam Ayres | Create an image from this poem

Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth

Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth,
And spotted the dangers beneath
All the toffees I chewed,
And the sweet sticky food.
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth.

I wish I’d been that much more willin’
When I had more tooth there than fillin’
To give up gobstoppers,
From respect to me choppers,
And to buy something else with me shillin’.

When I think of the lollies I licked
And the liquorice allsorts I picked,
Sherbet dabs, big and little,
All that hard peanut brittle,
My conscience gets horribly pricked.

My mother, she told me no end,
‘If you got a tooth, you got a friend.’
I was young then, and careless,
My toothbrush was hairless,
I never had much time to spend.

Oh I showed them the toothpaste all right,
I flashed it about late at night,
But up-and-down brushin’
And pokin’ and fussin’
Didn’t seem worth the time – I could bite!

If I’d known I was paving the way
To cavities, caps and decay,
The murder of fillin’s,
Injections and drillin’s,
I’d have thrown all me sherbet away.

So I lie in the old dentist’s chair,
And I gaze up his nose in despair,
And his drill it do whine
In these molars of mine.
‘Two amalgam,’ he’ll say, ‘for in there.’

How I laughed at my mother’s false teeth,
As they foamed in the waters beneath.
But now comes the reckonin’
It’s methey are beckonin’
Oh, I wish I’d looked after me teeth.

Taken from the The Works: The Classic Collection 2008.

© Pam Ayres 2012
Official Website
http://pamayres.com/
Written by Pam Ayres | Create an image from this poem

A poem for the Diamond Jubilee

Dad took me to our local pub in 1953,
They had a television set, the first I’d ever see,
To watch a Coronation! I knew it sounded grand,
Although at six years old, the word was hard to understand.

But little kids like me, and others all around the world,
We saw the magic crown; we saw magnificence unfurled,
A brand new Queen created, the emergence and the birth,
And the Abbey seemed a place between the Heavens and the Earth.

Certain pictures linger when considering the reign,
Hauntingly in black and white, a platform and a train,
The saddest thing I ever saw, more sharp than any other,
Prince Charles. The little boy who had to shake hands with his mother.

I will stand up and be counted; I am for the monarchy,
And if they make mistakes, well they are frail like you and me,
I would not choose a president to posture and to preen,
Live in a republic? I would rather have the Queen.

A thousand boats are sailing, little ships among the large,
Close beside the splendour that bedecks the Royal Barge,
And as the pageant passes, I can see an image clear
Of the Royal Yacht Britannia; she should surely have been here.

I wish our Queen a genuinely joyful Jubilee,
Secure in the affection of the mute majority,
I hope she hears our voices as we thank her now as one,
Sixty years a Queen. A job immaculately done.

© Pam Ayres 2012
Official Website
http://pamayres.com/
Written by Pam Ayres | Create an image from this poem

Woodland Burial

Don’t lay me in some gloomy churchyard shaded by a wall
Where the dust of ancient bones has spread a dryness over all,
Lay me in some leafy loam where, sheltered from the cold
Little seeds investigate and tender leaves unfold.
There kindly and affectionately, plant a native tree
To grow resplendent before God and hold some part of me.
The roots will not disturb me as they wend their peaceful way
To build the fine and bountiful, from closure and decay.
To seek their small requirements so that when their work is done
I’ll be tall and standing strongly in the beauty of the sun.

© Pam Ayres 2012
Official Website
http://pamayres.com/
Written by Pam Ayres | Create an image from this poem

Yes, I’ll marry you, my dear

Yes, I’ll marry you, my dear.
And here’s the reason why.
So I can push you out of bed
When the baby starts to cry.
And if we hear a knocking
And it’s creepy and it’s late,
I hand you the torch you see,
And you investigate.

Yes I’ll marry you, my dear,
You may not apprehend it,
But when the tumble-drier goes
It’s you that has to mend it.
You have to face the neighbour
Should our labrador attack him,
And if a drunkard fondles me
It’s you that has to whack him.

Yes, I’ll marry you,
You’re virile and you’re lean,
My house is like a pigsty
You can help to keep it clean.
That sexy little dinner
Which you served by candlelight,
As I do chipolatas,
You can cook it every night!!!

It’s you who has to work the drill
And put up curtain track,
And when I’ve got PMT it’s you who gets the flak,
I do see great advantages,
But none of them for you,
And so before you see the light,
I DO, I DO, I DO!!

© Pam Ayres 2012
Official Website
http://pamayres.com/


Written by Alexander Pope | Create an image from this poem

The Rape of the Lock: Canto 3

 Close by those meads, for ever crown'd with flow'rs, 
Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow'rs,
There stands a structure of majestic frame,
Which from the neighb'ring Hampton takes its name.
Here Britain's statesmen oft the fall foredoom Of foreign tyrants and of nymphs at home; Here thou, great Anna! whom three realms obey, Dost sometimes counsel take--and sometimes tea.
Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, To taste awhile the pleasures of a court; In various talk th' instructive hours they pass'd, Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; One speaks the glory of the British queen, And one describes a charming Indian screen; A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; At ev'ry word a reputation dies.
Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that.
Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day, The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray; The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, And wretches hang that jury-men may dine; The merchant from th' Exchange returns in peace, And the long labours of the toilet cease.
Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites, Burns to encounter two adventrous knights, At ombre singly to decide their doom; And swells her breast with conquests yet to come.
Straight the three bands prepare in arms to join, Each band the number of the sacred nine.
Soon as she spreads her hand, th' aerial guard Descend, and sit on each important card: First Ariel perch'd upon a Matadore, Then each, according to the rank they bore; For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race, Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place.
Behold, four Kings in majesty rever'd, With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; And four fair Queens whose hands sustain a flow'r, Th' expressive emblem of their softer pow'r; Four Knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band, Caps on their heads, and halberds in their hand; And parti-colour'd troops, a shining train, Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain.
The skilful nymph reviews her force with care: "Let Spades be trumps!" she said, and trumps they were.
Now move to war her sable Matadores, In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors.
Spadillio first, unconquerable lord! Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board.
As many more Manillio forc'd to yield, And march'd a victor from the verdant field.
Him Basto follow'd, but his fate more hard Gain'd but one trump and one plebeian card.
With his broad sabre next, a chief in years, The hoary Majesty of Spades appears; Puts forth one manly leg, to sight reveal'd; The rest, his many-colour'd robe conceal'd.
The rebel Knave, who dares his prince engage, Proves the just victim of his royal rage.
Ev'n mighty Pam, that kings and queens o'erthrew And mow'd down armies in the fights of loo, Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid, Falls undistinguish'd by the victor Spade! Thus far both armies to Belinda yield; Now to the baron fate inclines the field.
His warlike Amazon her host invades, Th' imperial consort of the crown of Spades.
The Club's black tyrant first her victim died, Spite of his haughty mien, and barb'rous pride: What boots the regal circle on his head, His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread; That long behind he trails his pompous robe, And of all monarchs, only grasps the globe? The baron now his diamonds pours apace; Th' embroider'd King who shows but half his face, And his refulgent Queen, with pow'rs combin'd Of broken troops an easy conquest find.
Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen, With throngs promiscuous strow the level green.
Thus when dispers'd a routed army runs, Of Asia's troops, and Afric's sable sons, With like confusion diff'rent nations fly, Of various habit, and of various dye, The pierc'd battalions disunited fall.
In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms them all.
The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts, And wins (oh shameful chance!) the Queen of Hearts.
At this, the blood the virgin's cheek forsook, A livid paleness spreads o'er all her look; She sees, and trembles at th' approaching ill, Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille.
And now (as oft in some distemper'd state) On one nice trick depends the gen'ral fate.
An Ace of Hearts steps forth: The King unseen Lurk'd in her hand, and mourn'd his captive Queen: He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace.
The nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky; The walls, the woods, and long canals reply.
Oh thoughtless mortals! ever blind to fate, Too soon dejected, and too soon elate! Sudden, these honours shall be snatch'd away, And curs'd for ever this victorious day.
For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crown'd, The berries crackle, and the mill turns round.
On shining altars of Japan they raise The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze.
From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, While China's earth receives the smoking tide.
At once they gratify their scent and taste, And frequent cups prolong the rich repast.
Straight hover round the fair her airy band; Some, as she sipp'd, the fuming liquor fann'd, Some o'er her lap their careful plumes display'd, Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade.
Coffee, (which makes the politician wise, And see through all things with his half-shut eyes) Sent up in vapours to the baron's brain New stratagems, the radiant lock to gain.
Ah cease, rash youth! desist ere 'tis too late, Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla's fate! Chang'd to a bird, and sent to flit in air, She dearly pays for Nisus' injur'd hair! But when to mischief mortals bend their will, How soon they find fit instruments of ill! Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace A two-edg'd weapon from her shining case; So ladies in romance assist their knight Present the spear, and arm him for the fight.
He takes the gift with rev'rence, and extends The little engine on his fingers' ends; This just behind Belinda's neck he spread, As o'er the fragrant steams she bends her head.
Swift to the lock a thousand sprites repair, A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair, And thrice they twitch'd the diamond in her ear, Thrice she look'd back, and thrice the foe drew near.
Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought The close recesses of the virgin's thought; As on the nosegay in her breast reclin'd, He watch'd th' ideas rising in her mind, Sudden he view'd, in spite of all her art, An earthly lover lurking at her heart.
Amaz'd, confus'd, he found his pow'r expir'd, Resign'd to fate, and with a sigh retir'd.
The peer now spreads the glitt'ring forfex wide, T' inclose the lock; now joins it, to divide.
Ev'n then, before the fatal engine clos'd, A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos'd; Fate urg'd the shears, and cut the Sylph in twain, (But airy substance soon unites again).
The meeting points the sacred hair dissever From the fair head, for ever, and for ever! Then flash'd the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.
Not louder shrieks to pitying Heav'n are cast, When husbands or when lap-dogs breathe their last, Or when rich China vessels, fall'n from high, In glitt'ring dust and painted fragments lie! "Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine," The victor cried, "the glorious prize is mine! While fish in streams, or birds delight in air, Or in a coach and six the British fair, As long at Atalantis shall be read, Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed, While visits shall be paid on solemn days, When num'rous wax-lights in bright order blaze, While nymphs take treats, or assignations give, So long my honour, name, and praise shall live! What time would spare, from steel receives its date, And monuments, like men, submit to fate! Steel could the labour of the gods destroy, And strike to dust th' imperial tow'rs of Troy; Steel could the works of mortal pride confound, And hew triumphal arches to the ground.
What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs should feel The conqu'ring force of unresisted steel?"

Book: Shattered Sighs