Blighter Poems | Examples

Colonisation

 My Garden Colonised 


 In spring, I worked so very hard
To make a garden of my yard
I planted seedlings, but alas
A hoard of pests arrived en masse

From all the pests a plant can host
I really hate the greenfly most
I wash him off with soapy suds
And still the blighter chews my buds

Then there’s our friend, the sneaky snail
Who leaves behind a silver trail
To show the world where he has been
But leaves no seedling to be seen

Then yesterday as I peruse
Behind the dust bin, out of use,
a nest of ants had made their home
And how those fellows love to roam

While leaning on my spade I thought
How all my work had come to nought
Should I just slab the whole damn thing
But then….
I’d miss the dawn of spring.

Self Publishing

Read I what he published;
The sound ideas relished'
"When one is the vanquished
A thing is relinquished
He's still The Distinguished;
But might feel extinguished"

But why would a writer 
Self publish and lighter
Make what's not for Blighter,
Even if The Brighter...

And he tries too posters,
The printing of Rosters,
From time to time Fliers
For sincere liars...

God saw His Job as good
Not us dust like mere wood.

Mistaken Identity

I went to the DMV office the other day
For, I received an urgent notice of traffic violation
That came promptly to me as a text message 
For me to take immediate resolution action.

I was told there again about repeated offence
And the amount of money I had to pay as fine
Being a very careful driver I expressed wonder
If the vehicle involved was really mine.

I checked the vehicle number once again
Verified from the employee the owner’s name
Told the man the vehicle didn’t belong to me
Unknowingly, I was made a party in a cheating game.

This bloke, a cheat didn’t use his mobile number
Instead he entered mine in his vehicle’s record
I told DMV man I was harassed for mistaken identity 
For, to pay the fine maybe the blighter couldn’t afford.

____________________

February 10, 2022
Contest : DMV Poetry
Sponsored by : Matt Caliri

John Watt Poem Comment

If John (or Jane), a spouse (or bike) can bring butt pain
and some fools in pursuit of mere bliss think both tools.
Most fighters win rounds (one or two). But do they fight to win (for you)?
Some might say I’m a blighter. Still, new bikes are lighter!

There are good wines that age, but the best wine IS vintage.
If courtesy’s a subtle art, integrity’s its dearest part!
Life (flat out) can mean bugs in your eye, though you fly!
Ride uphill grants a clearer view; this world’s not you!


Krakatoa Kritic #007

My poem is more a humorous comment on the human tendency toward
revisionism (I hope) than a criticism of John’s sly original poem with its twist.

This light-hearted free verse rates a ‘10!’ I enjoyed it, John, though I prefer rhymes!

See ‘Together for the Long Ride,’ a poem by John Watt on PoetrySoup.com.

A Buxom Blighter's Broadway Blues

I do not see the poem yet I tried to post last night.
Is it too soon? The why's not clear, I feel emerging fright,
and I'm here blushing in the wings! Will curtain find its part,
an audience know love verse sings, mood synthesized by heart?

Is there some test I need to pass, a path I must repent,
a God to pray to? I'm so crass! I've virtue left not spent
to bridge the gaps in life's extremes? I'll bet I've gone too far;
what creds I had now flushed with dreams! My brain is so bizarre!

November 2020

PS: I believe that a 'blighter' can be either male or female. I've
certainly seen men who look buxom, and both 'Species' can be
cute, funny, shapely, political, and poetic, so my title feels like it
is more or less androgynous.

But if recent politics has taught me anything, it is that the inverse of
the old saw is probably more accurate than the original ever was,
i.e., "Time heals all wounds!"

Irish Ayes

At our pub, a drunken blighter
Claimed to be, "The World's Best Fighter"
His wife was a nurse
And she won the purse
For being the best back-biter!

King Eddie the Viiith and Wallie Simpson

King Edward The VIIIth, pitiable blighter, abdicated the throne.
He had the hots for an American divorcee - this the Brits would not condone!
He was King for a spell and the paramours continued their torrid romance.
They later wed, he was busted to Duke of Windsor and they settled in France.


Wallis Simpson was middle-class but knew how to climb the social rungs.
She was twice divorced which triggered a legion of wagging tongues.
They met at Lady Furness's digs and Wallie thought Eddie not all that sexy,
But they wed incurring upon The Archbishop of Canterbury a case of apoplexy!

Entry for Carolyn Devonshire's "Clerihew Couples For Valentines Day" Contest
(10 January 2019)

Mischief

I think I have a grem/in, lurking in my words 
I'd left a win/ow open and thought it was the birds
But then I heard a thud and a cry for he/p
Saw the little blighter, the elf upon the shelf.

He got very hungry, some letters he did eat
Put slashes where the letters were, do / admit defeat
It was for a contest, no time to put it right 
hope that when its judged ,'twi/l be the dark of night.

Oh well I'll send it off, I've got nowt to lose
Meanwhile I'll write another if / can find my muse
That elf upon the she/f has caused me some grief
Never would I have had him down as a letter thief.

(a rhyme but some of the letters have been eaten away and replaced with forward slashes by a wicked elf)


Written 3rd  October 
For  muschi/f  contes/ sponsored by N/na Parment/r.

Grubby Puppy

Nighty night-night
	my sorry little blighter
It'll be all right
	if you can be a fighter
The devil is a-comin'
	he'll slug you with his fist
You'll see him swift a-runnin'
	to give your neck a twist.

Oh my grubby puppy
	you are bright, bright, bright
Take a nippy nappy
	or you'll bite, bite, bite
The devil's in the details
	The devil wears a hat
He'll sell it to you retail
	He'll feed you to the cat.

Grouchman

Thumping away at his typewriter
With the speed of a kung fu fighter
He writes letters, I guess
To complain to the press
He is a most annoying blighter.


-----------------------------
Contest: Funny Limericks
Sponsor: Line Gauthier

Pub's Life

Me thinks drinking may well be the prime sin.
Givest me that evil every time, lad.
You can boast of other ways now akin,
true, but they don’t makest me half so glad.
I’m glad finding new friends sharing my fault,
they don’t leave this blighter feeling so sad,
rather they bring cheer to a bad old salt,
Know this, Mate, it’s a good time now I’ve had.

Makest thyself useful, maid, bring a cup
placing same on table, ale’s not so bad.
My friends show their great thirst after fine sup,
pray, don’t keep them waiting, they will be mad.
Leave the cold out, we’ll drink talking night long
life without drink seems to me is most sad.
A man hating ale has something most wrong.
I think he is a fat wretched staid cad.

The Pen

"The pen is mightier than the sword"
- In general, I guess that's true
But mine's a lazy blighter;
It treats sloth as a bloody virtue

It's not the liveliest of beasts
It's always at a halt
It likes staring at blank paper
As though that's the thing at fault
 
It lives a charmed sedentary life
Full speed is torpidly inert
It charges around at the pace of a slug
When flat out and alert

My pen possesses zero 'nift' -
I can't fault it for being too nifty
Its' sweet repose is a full-on doze
It thinks saving ink is thrifty

It's scintillatingly steady
So passively at peace
Unchanging in its' inactivity
Like a grazing wildebeest

So languid and so supine
As it munches on my thought
Remaining ever restful
Seeing hibernation as a sport

It's frustratingly calm and fixed
To the point of being plain dull
And that's when it's being lively
It's worse still, when in a lull

But now and then I drag it
Out of its' latent, dormant air
Force it to get some exercise
And treat my thoughts with care

Often it’s quite useless
It's rare for the spark to light -
But when thought and pen work as one
Well, that's the time I write

Catharsis, Baptised Or Not

Ask not the place.
 Electric guitars in time.
 Inherit not rights.
 Greasing heavens door.
 Furthermore my love.
 Set your hair not in a hurry.
 John the Baptists neck,
 Dawns break in a worry. 
 Such as,
 That ungodly radio.
 Hammers west coast waves.
 A blighter parataxis.
 Furthermore my love.
 As Jesus Christ abounds equals equal being worth.
 Catharses catharsis beauty bastions new ground work.
 Something for everybody.
 A join in synergy.
 Inherit rights.
 Purging King Saul's neurosis.

The Sands of Time

THE SANDS OF TIME





Silent, creepy, mysterious as its tick,


The worthiest choice, if offered a pick,


 


‘Tis often mentioned of many a tricky blighter,


But there’s this one, that we should take none the lighter,


 


No matter how low our lives are or how high,


This one, it deceives us within a blink of an eye,


 


Generations of attempts, seeking to unravel,


From its study, to its hopeful travel,


 


Enriching us with glory and joy unbound,


But always engulfing with vigil surround,


 


Obviously not easy to bring to heel,


Like Sand, as slippery as an eel,


 


These, Chronicles of Time,


In Life, undoubtedly the Prime,


 


Too valuable, too worthy to waste,


Lest, we regret later, the need for haste,


 


Cherish, save, optimize this gift,


It’s the last thing that should be allowed to drift,


 


Yesterday is History,


 Tomorrow is a Mystery,


But today is a Gift, that is why it is called the Present. :)

And I'M Still Waiting

It was on a Monday morning that the gasman said he’d call
I waited in all day – he didn’t come at all

Irate I phoned the company and they said they’d guarantee
He would arrive on Wednesday he’d be there by half past three

But Wednesday came and went and still he didn’t come
I phone up again – oh he has an abscess on his bum

Could I be at home on Friday – this time he won't be late
I guarantee he’ll be at your door prompt at half past eight

On Friday I sat and waited and the blighter didn’t arrive
I’ve sent them a bill for my time – I want it paid by half past five!

Jan Allison
8th August 2014

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