Best Epsom Poems
Inspired by Joseph Mays limerick contest.
(not for contest )
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A mischievous chef known as McMurray
For a joke put Epsom salts in the curry
The toilet door he did lock
The customers were in shock
He left by the back door in a great hurry.
An astronomer by the name of Pete
Was perving at the lady cross the street
Full moon he did spy
But not in the sky
He got caught and went as white as a sheet.
There was a dodgy plumber called John Blake
No plumbing skills was a bit of a fake
The wrong nut he undone
Panicked went on the run
Now downstairs of the house has its own lake.
A randy teacher called Fred O'Hare
With a young girl he had an affair
But she told her dad
Who went hopping mad
Now Fred is getting medical care .
There was a very weird poet from Bude
Loved to sit out writing verse in the nude
A wasp stung his manhood
Screamed out as you would
Doc said that's what you get for being rude .
Oh, you can’t have sex after seventy
Your children just wouldn’t approve
And if your neighbours found out
You’d probably have to move
No, you can’t have sex after seventy
You’ve got to be young and fit
And every succeding generation
All seem think they invented it.
You just can’t have sex after seventy
Though it’s not quite against the law
You should be watching the tele
Or maybe doing the odd jigsaw
No, you can’t have sex after seventy
If you get such an unnatural urge
Drink some hot Epsom Salts
And give your bowels a purge.
You just can’t make love after seventy
Just accept it with good grace
No you can’t have sex after seventy
And wipe that smirk off your face
She's thirty-three, single,
her Mom babysits her
five year old son.
She reassures herself it's
just two more hours,
then it's the blessed weekend.
Which means delicious sleep.
She has no nest egg,
she's just getting by.
There is one kind aging matron
who makes her lunch when she
cleans her large stately home.
Yet, other well-to-do homeowners
cast their false superiority heavy
in the air as she imagines wiping
off their smug faces with Pledge.
She hums to a catchy pop tune
while scrubbing toilets and
spraying down whirlpool bathtubs
as her muscles ache,
wishing she could soak in one.
Maid for the ungrateful,
she smiles remembering her
First Holy Communion,
her snow-white lacy veil,
with her rosary of pearlescent
ivory beads.
Then, a memory of
teenage politics of high school
with random daydreams like
impromptu snapshots.
Her lips and throat dry from
those wretched aerosol sprays,
always forgetting her face mask.
A few sips of tepid Gatorade,
as she softly prays her son will
excel in school.
Her learning disabilities held
her back despite her gift of
intelligence.
This day's cleaning was at the
home of a lawyer's snooty wife,
who was lunching with friends
after klutzy attempts at tennis
at the country club.
Maid for the ungrateful,
can hardly wait to get home
to soak her worn feet with
warm water and Epsom salt
in a porcelain basin. ~
He was out of Woodie Wonder by the stallion Sunset Hue,
A freak thought breeding purists, who would surely end up glue.
For greys were so unfashionable he'd never get a start,
But this colt was a fighter with a truly valiant heart.
His origins were New South Wales, but sold up Queensland way,
'Twas Pippos, Coorey, Bishop and McMicking bought the grey.
A Goondiwindi syndicate, who gave the colt his name;
Gunsynd ... the punter's darling ... who raced his way to fame.
He'd never be a Peter Pan, a Carbine or Phar Lap,
No Tullock or a Galilee, but still a gallant chap.
Bill Whelow was his trainer and John Edmonds rode The Grey,
Till finally at Eagle Farm this colt was on his way.
It was the Hopeful Stakes that day in nineteen sixty-nine,
Young Gunsynd flashed from thirteenth place to cross the winner's line.
His trademark was his courage, his will to want to win
And how he made the crowds all stand to cheer the grey horse in.
They loved The Grey's performances; a showman through and through
And though he never always won they saw him as true blue.
Before and after races, he would play the press and crowd
By standing to attention while they clapped and cheered aloud.
With twelve wins to his credit Tommy Smith was now the chap,
Who trained Gunsynd while Langby won the Epsom Handicap.
He was the punter's darling, for he never squibbed a race,
That's why the folk all loved him, for he never did lose face.
The white and purple colours were well known at ev'ry track,
Australia's best known jockeys sat astride old Gunsynd's back.
The likes of Olsen, Higgins and young Langby rode The Grey
And flashed to blist'ring finishes, he raced no other way.
In over fifty starts Gunsynd had twenty-nine great wins;
Some eight point five times second placed, but took it on the chin.
Six thirds and unplaced in ten starts throughout those grand five years,
His name was up there with the best who'd raced to great careers.
Though sold to stud in New South Wales, Kia Ora down near Scone,
Queenslanders all adopted him and saw him as their own.
He'd put old Gundy on the map and right down to this day
Gunsynd is still remembered as The Goondiwindi Grey.
Mama said Vitamin D was a cure-all
Basking in sunshine in the coldest winter
With sneezes, chest congestion and much coughing
I wrestled in red wood chairs getting splinters
Mama said prayer was the best road to good health
Pews in our church were infested by termites
Incense gave me headaches and caused me to tear
The old chapel was an entryway to last rights
Mama said to soak bee stings in Epsom salts
But that never stopped the pain or the swelling
Her next best solution was pure iodine
When poured on a wound, neighbors heard me yelling
Mama said many things that now seem senseless
Doctors propose treatments even more bizarre
So now I sit confined to my room each day
Afraid of what I'll catch if I stray too far
Ned was grandma's billy goat,
The meanest goat in town;
Every time you crossed his path,
He'd try to butt you down!
Buddy was our neighbor,
A twisted lil' teen;
He always nagged that billy goat,
For that's what made him mean!
Fate caught up to Buddy,
We had an awful scare;
He slipped on muddy soil,
With his butt in open air!
Ned saw his target,
"KA-THUD!!"...was all we heard;
Buddy flew across the way,
I could swear he passed a turd!
Buddy tried to squeeze himself,
Between a wooden gate;
Mercy failed to comprehend,
By then, it was all too late!
Trapped like a weary mouse,
Bud's rump in open view;
Ned landed fifty thumps,
His butt turned black n' blue!
It took us all to save him,
Talk about a battered fig;
All the while he was screamin',
Like a frightened little pig!
Hot baths and epsom salts,
A lesson Buddy gained;
He slept beneath a ceiling fan,
To ease his throbbing pain!
Oh, what a laughing stock,
We teased him constantly;
"BILLY GOAT!!", we'd often cry,
Just to watch him flee!
My brother was first at the table
to pile six pancakes on his plate.
I don’t know how he stayed so skinny
given the enormous amount that he ate.
My daddy had made the hot syrup
from white sugar or so he had thought.
After one bite my brother was choking,
hair rising as though he’s besot.
Then Dad yelled ,”Don’t pour the syrup.
Instead of sugar, I grabbed Epsom Salt. "
Won No. 5
Clippity Cloppity
Emily Davison
confronted race horses
losing her life
dissident suffragette
indiscriminately
committed sabotage
chaos and strife
Hickory Dickory
Leonora Cohen
hunger strike ends with the
cat and mouse ploy
campaigning for justice
legitimisation
Scapegrace to magistrate
ending in joy
1 / 28 / 2021.
During the 1913 Epsom Derby, Emily Davison threw herself under King George V horse
Anmer. Dying from her injuries 4 days later.
Leonora Cohen in 1913 vandalised a display case containing the Crown Jewels in the
Tower of London. Defending herself, she was released on a technicality. After another act
of vandalism, she went on hunger strike while in prison, but was released early. This was
due to Lord Asquith's cat and mouse act. Giving prisoners time to recover, preventing
needless deaths while incarcerated. Leonora was trampled on by a mounted police horse,
during one protest march. She died aged 105 , serving as magistrate for 25
years and receiving the O.B.E. incidently she was born in the city of Leeds, where I too was
born and bred.
I stand erect with outstretched hand
Representing liberty, for many, a foreign land
My fire dances an incessant jubilant glow
Pungent salts mixed with glassy sand
Linger on my tasting lips whilst serenading patina ed Ears
I Separate tyranny from average men's fears
Some may say I am mute, But I spoke in 1944,
Did you hear my visceral ROAR?
Blink, blink, blink "VICTORY"
I delivered a delightful message highlight
Dripped across the star spangled banner ed twilight
Before you come to visit me, not shoes but
eyes you should polish quite Diligently
"Do you see the iron ore disjointed?"
My right foot is LIFTED and FREE
With 35 expansive eyes inserted upon 7 spiked tiers
I've winked and blinked countless times over the many years
I monitor 7 continents and mighty oceans vast
Proclaiming Enlightened Liberty shall Last for all the bold who pass
Vessel sails chatter resoundingly as they advance in the glorious wind
Crescent waves rock me a lullaby but pierce my eyes, producing cataracts
Stars sprinkle their luminous dust like Epsom salt enveloping weary bones
Mighty storms frigidly wash a dusty old body as lightening shocks my heart
I accept their infinite, whispered gratitude
For I am graciously placed in this longitude and latitude
word count 209
We're all ingredients in the humanity stew
The sad clowns
The prescription abusers
The chickens running around without their heads
This dish can never be out done
It's killing me
Ashes from Pompeii
The braces of teenage heart throbs
Bloody black and blues from abusive relationships
Fill the pots and pans
A homemade meal per say
Chain linked sausage fences
Add some Epsom salt
Some beef chuck
Giblets
And Simonides of Ceos
Daphoenus bones
A dentist and a retainer
Cornets, pirouettes and percocets
Awkward magazine subscriptions
You can buy the cookbook in all its opacity
See it in the Intrepid Museum
There is work to be done on Mount Olympus
Therefore we should go see a movie at the drive in
BUDGERY JIM
About the 1880s Joe came to the Hebel area...
He passed by an Aboriginal camp...
Saw one sick man a lying there..
Bad food gave him the cramp..
Poisoned Joe thought, so they purged him..
castor oil in, to make him well...
With a touch of Epsom salts, so grim...
But sickness grip still held its spell...
The Witch Doctor came to the rescue...
Said "too much white man's tucker you eat"...
Sucked the badness out from his navel....
Spat blood and froth, not so sweet...
Witch doctor had been spitting blood...
a bite made in his own mouth...
He then spat out the bottle cap...
sauce bottles were lying about...
greedy fella too much tomato sauce...
spoke the Doctor with a sly grin...
you swallowed the bottle cap, like a horse...
cured you are now Budgery Jim....
Budgery rose and stepped, oh so lightly...
As only the Aussie native can....
Just like a young emu just might be ...
No death song for Budgery man....
Don Johnson
Budgerigar ...good bird ...
Budgery fella good fella...
Men dressed in top hats and tails
Ladies in designer dresses and fascinators,
Bookmakers standing by the rails
Taking bets singles or accumulators,
Epsom downs, Derby day classic
The best of three year old equines,
Tensions heightened becoming dramatic,
Punters drinking champagne and wines,
Beautiful majestic Arabian athletes
Parade in front of the stand, so elegant,
Coats shining, muscular, nothing competes
Showing their professional temperament,
Jockeys in pristine silks so colourful,
Trainers and owners in the paddock,
Stall handlers loading horses so skilful,
Under starters orders ready to gallop,
Stalls open, up goes a roar from the crowd
One and half mile to the finish and victory,
Last furlong favourite in the lead, cries so loud,
Another exquisite young Colt makes history.
On June 3rd 2017
BUDGERY JIM
About the 1880s Joe came to the Hebel area...
He passed by an Aboriginal camp...
Saw one sick man a lying there..
Bad food gave him the cramp..
Poisoned Joe thought, so they purged him..
castor oil in, to make him well...
With a touch of Epsom salts, so grim...
But sickness grip still held its spell...
The Witch Doctor came to the rescue...
Said "too much white man's tucker you eat"...
Sucked the badness out from his navel....
Spat blood and froth, not so sweet...
Witch doctor had been spitting blood...
a bite made in his own mouth...
He then spat out the bottle cap...
sauce bottles were lying about...
greedy fella too much tomato sauce...
spoke the Doctor with a sly grin...
you swallowed the bottle cap, like a horse...
cured you are now Budgery Jim....
Budgery rose and stepped, oh so lightly...
As only the Aussie native can....
Just like a young emu just might be ...
No death song for Budgery man....
Don Johnson
Budgerigar ...good bird ...
Budgery fella good fella...
In the virgin pool waters of Point Erin
stood a siren in her fairest beauty all -
my heart dared to want and its flesh of sin
did upon her beguiling favours call.
Remembered are the concubines of court -
a fire in my codpiece and in my jocks,
jousting grey knights whom over you fought
and a Celtic Queen in long flaxen locks.
Over the toll bridge a young lord and prince
from the realm of Epsom landed Birkdale,
to seek sweet raptures in my limerence
by she possessed of its Unholy Grail.
O’ what forbidden enchantment was she
when the spinning bottle of fortune spun,
and what soft lingering kiss given me
when the party kissing contest we won.
Every once in a while the stars and fates
shine upon the archer and his longbow,
and the wondered youthful heart elates
at its piercing tip and flight of arrow.
Over the toll bridge a young lord and prince
from the realm of Epsom landed Birkdale,
to seek sweet raptures in my limerence
by she possessed of its Unholy Grail.
Written: April 1994
Pansies and Deer
No matter what I planted and suppose
There will be a place where a weed grows
And then all of my lawn as I look over
All I seem to be seeing is a bunch of clover.
In my poems, I really hate to sound mean
Clover can be dark or maybe bright green
And of course also yet it is so very true
Weeds end up with ends yellow or bright blue.
Now by bugs and moles lawn is being infested
And almost whole lawn has become digested
When I look again some patches I saw
That are brown looking like some straw.
Had a great idea which was olden and golden
Several pansy plants from out front have stolen
They would eventually throw away and discard
So I planted them all around my whole yard.
Threw Epsom salts down when I did groom
And all of my fine flowers beautifully bloom
And am sure you know I can hardly wait
To see what each deer, doe and mate just ate.