Best Chippy Poems
Once more without sleep
all dreams exhausted
Neurotransmitters on high alert
rekindling furious flames
that lap hungrily through mid-back to feet
Like a chippy chiseling wood on the lathe
I splinter and crack - screaming for regression
Just as a computer malfunctioning
I await time for reboot of my system
brief medical intervention -
some respite peace and solace
that in the whole of life
taken as one performance of the arts
it is but a musical interlude
short-lived in high anticipation of entr'acte
Terms used:-
chippy - a carpenter
solace - relief from emotional distress/source of comfort at a time
of sadness, grief or disappointment
interlude - short period of transition/break
entr'acte - between the acts
TWEETED LOVE NOTE:
Sweet
Tweet
COMEDIC SPOUSE:
Funny
Honey
UNRULY PROTESTS:
Rabble
Babble
SMART-ALEC FLOOZY:
Lippy
Chippy
HEMATOLOGY:
Bloody
Study
WATERFALL:
Mountain
Fountain
2/26/13
SING IT TO “Danny Boy”
Verse
Oh what a joke
This beer is full of water
Tastes not like beer
But something very strange
So landlord dear do tell us what you diiid
Make sure you never dooooo it again
Refrain
From pub to pub we taste the watered beer
But no one cares its Friiiday - lets go
Time to relax with all your friends around you
Oh Braiiiins dark* I dooooo love you so
Verse
It’s Friday night and we are feeling hungry
One place to go to ease our appetite
Its Chippy Alley*** in the city centre
Brains dark*, Clarks pies**, will soon put it right
Refrain
From pub to pub we taste the watered beer
But no one cares Its Friiiday lets go
Time to relax with all your friends around you
Oh Braaains Dark I dooooo love you so
• Brains Dark Beer - brewed in Cardiff very strong taste (hops).
** Clarks Pies - Famous meat pies made in Cardiff. If your from Cardiff and not at
home you will yearn for both.
*** Chippy Alley side street in city centre, mostly chip shops, used when
international rugby is in town
Talk is Cheep
They flit about the yard all day
with chippy-chirpy words to say
plucking through the grass and weeds
they seek the sustenance of seeds
scattered on the frozen ground
a gift from creatures still earthbound.
They disappear as sunset fades
into the icy, frosted glades
secreted in dark’s hidden space
awaiting sunrise’ creeping face
cheering on the breaking day
with chippy-chirpy words to say.
4/13/2016
submitted to – Any Couplet You Wish – Poetry Contest
sponsor – Laura Loo
Pirate Joe was drinking rum from a keg
Fell overboard and a shark had his leg
They hauled him back in
And stopped the bleedin
And chippy fitted him with a wood peg.
Of good quality you could see the grain
Joe said " it's great to be walking again
But as time went by
Wood started to dry
And wet rot set in because of the rain.
One day his peg fell off with a loud thump
And now Joe has one good leg and a stump
But the story I'm told
He had one made of gold
Now he drags it with a hop, skip and jump...
Written on 22nd July 2022
A barrel of oink is a snout snaffling. Order of pig sect of oink. In a pink summersaulting cartwheeling ham chunk. Wee wee weeeee. Rolling. Hilltop. Hollybush road. Rhododendron. Raid bit trade. Road not noted. To be seen is to chippy tea and biscuits and caked bacon chop. Large amounts of stew. Hahahaha and now a fish earring. Hahahaha and a wastepaper basket with ten arms and twenty legs. Attempting the javelin. Oh how great. Fantastic. Such array. Magnitude. Fortitude questioned whether it is a village? Hahahaha rapid trend annual annuls **** analogues. No hahahaha to that toothpick asylum. Nor grin. Pitter patter then. Thoroughbreds' leaving now so goodbye. Gooseherds' and gooseheads with lemon sauce drip. Pachydermia. Xzx
Just sat here pondering on yesteryear, of times long gone yet still so clear,
We thought eating out was such a delight,outside the chippy on Saturday night.
We thought restaurants were for the famous and rich, in the City so far away,
We walked everywhere to save the tuppenny fare, to spend another day.
We sat at home and listened to the radio, or played outside 'til bedtime,
We had homework, carried in a satchel, not a rolling suitcase like today.
We all ate at the table, no TV to gawk at, so we would actually talk,
We had no i pads or i phones, not invented then, tablets were swallowed when ill.
We did jobs to EARN pocket money or we went about broke and played in the grime,
We enjoyed that simplicity of life, when it seemed like a trial by ordeal at the time.
We lived and played, got hurt the odd day, we never had to call in the CPA.
We ran errands for the old folk, 'cos that's what Mum told us to do.
We sometimes were rewarded with a fresh baked cake or two.
Well I think I'll stop there afore folk think I'm getting maudlin tonight,
Writing it down keeps my mind both alert and bright. Goodnight!
© Dave Timperley February 2015
FOUR LOVE AFFAIRS
The French health food shop
Near Vasilyastrovskaya metro,
With a tiny patio garden bench -
Fell in love there with the language of the French.
Closed now for property development.
Ironbridge Folk Club,
In the shadow of enormous cooling towers
Of the power station majestic -
Fell in love there with folk music.
Demolished now for road widening.
Under-a-Fiver second-hand bookshop
In Henry Street, Dublin,
Found many bargains, many gems of writing -
Fell in love there with literature so exciting.
Redeveloped now as a mall.
The Chippy take-out, Bensham Road, Gateshead,
Fragrant in smells of vinegar, and delightful
On cold nights with its steamy swirl -
Fell in love there with my first girl.
Slum clearance has now razed it.
From a ship’s logbook
Sat on deck another long day I smelled of chippy fat
and the sweat of honest labour
The stove in the galley was oil fired but I wanted to
read a few poems before I had a shower.
The light wasn’t any good so I read a western book,
as I always had wanted to be a sheriff in Texas.
The book was good I knew the words before I read
them, fell asleep when I awoke it was midnight
I knocked on my cabin door, give roaches a change
escape; impossible long days and blithe was the sea
In the morning I was still reeking of chippy fat and it
was too late to have a shower.
A road draws through
Straggly lines of black ragged trees
In a landscape under bleak eastern light
Past The Village Chippy
Colliers Row and the Working Men’s Club
Towards a hill up north
Where in the bitter biting cold
Once great blocks were hewn
In a greater industrial age
The scattered remnants remain
As dust in the memory
Here the refuse is laid to rest
The fluff of our lives
Is crawled upon by machines
As mist curls into the wind like smoke
And men pluck rags from the branches of trees
I will very very probably do it again
Anyone who knows me and has a brain
Can see that Biden's old and lame
Now's the time to reignite my reign.
MAGA folks love me and want me back
They need our country set on track
For what I have all others lack
Of running stuff they know sweet jack.
As to DeSantimonius, Short Pants Pence and Chippy Cheney
That they'll burn out I'll wage you money
I'm the one that's smart and funny
My golden touch makes all things sunny.
So once these midterms are sown up
I'll squeeze lame Joe just like a bug
Show the world that he's a dud
For I’m the man, I know it in my gut.
Sit around and do nothing all day
Alternatively watch the rugby played
Take the wife shopping and pay
Up to the chippy no cooking today
Ring the lads for a pint, wey hey
Drink, drink all your troubles away
Abuse the dart team in their game
Yep thats the way to spend a Saturday
Being a non meat eater
I'll never eat a spam fritter again,
So why is the special offer on the counter so inviting?
Am I back at school again?
Queuing up for dinner
And hoping for something nice.
No menus then,
Probably just as well,
And the fritters are there
With baked beans and chips,
Treacle tart and custard for afters.
So I'm in the queue
Feeling dippy in the chippy,
Longing for something
I can't really have.
Veggie Spam anyone?
Didn't think so.
The windows pane upon my face,
The door unlocks, I fall from grace.
My friend he screams, a crunch of steel,
Stabs of pain, then the blood I feel.
The car we stole, a ride of joy,
Treating it like a tonka toy.
Speeding 'round the Mumbles mile,
Off our heads for a little while.
Pass the chippy, towards the pier,
We hear the sirens, "The cops are near".
Faster, faster, we approach the bend,
This so called "joy" is about to end.
Headlights shine from the road ahead,
Then when I wake, my mates are dead.
Broken limbs, a mangled wreck,
The sense of warmth from my swollen neck.
I try to move off the cold damp floor,
My legs and arms I feel no more.
The scents of fuel, blood and smoke,
I try to breathe, but can only choke.
I hear a voice coming close to me,
I tried to look, but could not see.
These words I tell about this night,
From a darkened world, now I have no sight.....
I was asked to write a piece about the crime of so called "joy riding"
There was a man,
Who lived in wales,
Lived a boring life,
And worked in sales.
He went to the pub,
Almost every day,
At night he came home,
On the sofa, he’d lay.
Chippy every Friday,
He’d have for his teas
Chips and gravy,
And a tub full of peas
He had an umbrella,
To battle the gails,
After all he lived,
In the hills of Wales.
A quiet little village,
The community so sweet,
Surrounded by fields,
Of barley and wheat.
A picturesque place,
A postcard place,
A place to put,
A smile on your face.
His name was terry,
Lived to a ripe old age,
Of ninety four,
Like his wife, Sage.
A boring old life,
But the best that they had,
Enjoyed every minute,
Not a moment being sad.
Terry and sage,
Grew up together,
Shared the umbrella,
And battled the weather.
The nice old lady,
Terry working on sales,
Had the best life,
At a village in wales