Best Boris Poems
In my dreams
like many have dreams,
I went to number 10 Drowning Street.
in this pandemic, isolation to cheat,
there is no other better place
to meet, greet, drink and eat!
In the back garden, I sat with Boris,
chatting and laughing a guff!
Donald sat drinking a can of beer,
American, of course! all in good cheer,
tears rolling down his eyes in mirth,
as he recounted his Capitol trick!
there were a number of barking dogs,
running around and wagging their tails!
that waited to be fed of the remains
on the table!
their long ears pricked
but their faces were human.
I thought they must be Boris’ pets
all drawn from his cabinet.
The party lasted long into the night,
hopefully from media-hush, hush- out of sight!
such fun, such fun, such god damn fun,
with such a pack of looneys to govern,
this old queen’s country to run!
someone said the poor old bloke is dead!
that guy to whom the queen was wed!
couldn’t recall his name, these drinks,
makes you go fuzzy in the head!
Shall catch up in the morning,
send a wreath, or something,
right now let’s get on with the drinking!
there were some souls that stood
all in silence in the outer ring.
a crowd of souls, a very large crowd
in ‘thousands of thousands’ that watched.
I thought these must be the ones
that passed during the pandemic
dying in loneliness away from their families….
…and that shattered my dream..
I was back in my home nursing my own,
in fear, and all alone…..
Written 03/02/2022
Quis? Ego
~ on the anointing of Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson
So what if it was just a drunken dare
Quis? Ego! Made at Eton long ago
I dub thee Boris of the Golden Hair
Servus, servum, servi, servo, servo
So what if afterwards they went to town
and ordered tiny sparrows stuffed inside
six rare exotic birds and chased it down
with virgins' tears in mouths so open wide
one could believe designed to fit the poor
in at such times there are no partridges
Amo! Amas! Deus! Deum! and more
Dom Perignon! To Boris! Boris is
The Chosen One! So long ago, the dare
At Eton, or more probably, elsewhere
© Gail Foster 24th July 2019
(To the tune of Robin Hood)
Boris Blood Boris Blood
Mayor of London town
Boris Blood Boris Blood
Some say he;s a clownl
Takes off the poor
Gives to the rich
Boris Blood Boris Blood.
Boris Blood Boris Blood
Went to public school
Boris Blood Boris Blood
So who does he fool
Takes from the poor
Gives to the rich
Boris Blood Boris Blood.
Boris Blood Boris Blood
Claims he does care
Boris Blood Boris Blood
Says he is being fair
Takes from the poor
Gives to the rich
Boris Blood Boris Blood.
Boris and Doris
There was a man name Boris
who had a wife name Doris
when he coughed
wife did scoff
they both couldn't sing chorus.
Written: Nov. 9, 2015
Theresa
Boris the wombat was very fat
So fat in fact
That he had to sit back on his hind legs
Just like a dog when he begs
His best friend was called Pat, the wombat in the Akubra hat
One day Boris and Pat, the wombat in the Akubra hat
Went to pay a visit to their friend, Roxy the fruit bat
But when they finally got there Roxy explained in a pained voice
That she slept all day and played all night
So Boris and Pat, the wombat in the Akubra hat
Said goodbye to Roxy the fruit bat
As she snuggled up tight
Boris and Pat, the wombat in the Akubra hat
Wanted a friend and so in the end
They decided to see Nelly the Numbat
When Nelly saw Boris and Pat, the wombat in the Akubra hat
She asked them if they had seen Roxy the fruit bat
But they told her that Roxy wouldn’t come out to play
In the day
And that was that
Then Nelly the numbat
Asked Boris why he was so fat
And asked Pat why he wore that stupid Akubra hat
Well they had enough of being insulted
And so they bolted
After that they were sleepy and exhausted
And all of Boris’s bulky weight made his legs seem like lead
And Pat the wombat’s Akubra hat seemed glued to his head
It was getting late
And the duo still hadn’t found a play date
So they decided to call it a day
And that’s the end of the story, mate!
Boris was a strange looking creature
The Lord Mayor's pride and joy
The Mayor was known by several names
But officially as John son of Roy.
The Mayor told the people
Boris was a stallion of the finest stock
The Mayor controlled the taxes
So the people dared not mock.
The Mayor believed in fairness for all
So he gave tax relief to the poor
But he said the super-rich were also in need
So he gave them more.
The annual Lord Mayor's parade came around
And mounted on Boris the crowd the Mayor passed
Until a young voice was heard
'That is no fine steed, it is merely an @ss'.
The crowd was hushed into silence
Then began to point and laugh
The Mayor's face grew crimson red
And could not control his wrath.
His anger changed to embarrassment
As he gripped tight on Boris' rein
He turned and headed for the hills
And was never seen again.
The moral of this little tale
Is a lesson set true and fast
Is to think before you speak
Or you will look an @ss.
PM Boris Johnson wrestles with bad hair days, but he doesn't seem to care!
Would some kind soul lend the bloke a comb and brush to tame his tousled hair!
Boris the Beagle
This is the story of Boris the Beagle,
Fearless and brave like Eddie the Eagle.
Ski jumps, sky dives, death defying dare,
Hang gliding stunts, spinning in the air.
High speed zip wire, Boris on the line,
Jumping off a bridge into the brine.
Planning a wing walk over the sea,
Strapped to a plane, how brave is he?
Bungee jumping down Niagara Falls,
Our Beagle abseils, skyscraper walls.
Invited to perform at the Royal Variety show,
But he’s flying with the Red Arrows,
So, unfortunately can’t go.
It was the snow over the earth
in every edge,
the candle burned on desk, of course,
it waited change.
Like summer midges in the swarm
that fly to fire,
the snowflakes flew from yard to warm
near window frame pyre.
The blizzard made some booms and balls
on glass of window,
the candle burned on desk, of course,
like lonely widow.
And all the shades were falling down
on painted ceiling,
Crosses of arms and legs and gown
of Fate and feeling.
Two shoes were falling on the floor
with knocking sound,
And wax tears from a night light's core
dripped on the dress and ground.
And everything was getting lost
with white-gray snowing,
the candle burned on desk, of course,
and it was glowing.
The candle was blown from the nook,
Seducing fever
was like an angel wings, their look
was like wild river.
All month snow February was
all night and, rather,
the candle burned on desk, of course,
and nothing other.
P.S. This is my translation of poem by Boris Pasternak
There once was a gal from motor city
who drove a Prius to give her celebrity.
Her guy drove a Ford
and cursed her “Oh, Lord!”
Their divorce was a forgone necessity!
Their children, a boy and a girl,
took sides and gave each car a whirl.
The girl took the Ford
the boy took the Concorde?
Both lost control and hit a squirrel?
Mom and Dad, Madge and Lars said “Good grief!”
You two kids, “Go get jobs, BUY A Leaf!!!
ride a bike, or a tyke
row a boat, take a hike
"Give the keys over please. You’re relieved!”
*The kids names were Boris and Natasha ;)
Two weeks of sun at Xmas and new year
Palm Oasis in our nineteenth year
Always a joy around the pool we sat
Never did we think to make a friend
Called Boris the cat
The old chap was friendly and his nose had seen many battles
We called him Boris as he resembled our Prime Minister
His white fur also a mess but not so sinister
He would take his afternoon nap
Curled up on Rita's lap
Both seemed to enjoy each others friendship
Laying in the sun
Now both new friends sharing fun
Two weeks flew by lazy by the pool
But it was now over and time to go
We love you Boris and see you again in two years
You never know
Boris is my cat and he’s so very soppy
He likes his tummy tickled and is never stroppy
He’s friendly and gentle and follows me around
Always by my side is where he will be found
With his long white whiskers he’s a handsome chap
I wonder what he’s thinking as he lies in my lap
He’s so very clever, he’s always been that way
I really think he understands every word I say
Sometimes late at night he goes completely daft
Watching him chase his toys, you really have to laugh
Boris is not just my cat, he's a family member too
So Boris, for completing my happy home – thank you!
I wielded my sword
And slayed the foul dragon,
Then crammed the vile beast
Right back in his flagon.
Pickled and sodden
There will he lie
Few to remember
Fewer to cry.
Obnoxious his deeds,
Destructive his breath,
His venom pervasive,
So glad for his death.
Now we can harness
Our thoughts and our prayers,
Be kind and productive
Not just dragon slayers.
This noble island
This hallowed soil,
So very much more
Than one man’s spoil.
Let the healing commence,
Work as one to achieve,
A country in which
We all so believe.
A land of invention,
Of Shakespeare and Keats,
Of boundless endeavor,
Whose heart strongly beats.
Boris Johnson, what a jerk
That irritating secret smirk
That says he thinks it's all a joke
I reckon he's the sort of bloke
Who always gets away with it
Whatever, knowing Nanny's tit
Will ever fill his silver spoon
However bad he's been, the goon
And he, like other spoilt boys
I reckon probably enjoys
A spanking over Nanny's knee
Bad Boy Boris! Jam for tea?
© Gail Foster 19th September 2017
Boris Becker
misused his pecker
He had sex in a closet
leaving a baby deposit!
Inspired by Brian Strands' poem Becker which was about an artist and my poem is posted with his kind permission
Tennis player Boris Becker had sex in a restaurant closet with a model he'd just met. Becker acknowledged paternity of a daughter, Anna, with Russian waitress Angela Ermakova, not surprisingly his marriage ended!
09/28/21