There once was a certain floozie
Who sang just like a chantoozie
Not in smoky night clubs
But in outback pubs
It happened when she got quite boozy.
Hard not to love Dylan Thomas’s tall tales
Each gloomy day may just tip those scales
Sends you off the rails when all else fails
Dilly dally schoolboys get cat of nine tails
Go doolally rally in the valley hard as nails
Don't cuss no faff or fuss for us Taff males
Knew along with a fair few Cymru crew's hue
Shared view that no where else has in spades
Cascades of so many gloriously grey shades
Dylan boozy villain mutters hip hop hooray
Gusts bluster beneath his sails on his travails
Trooping way this colour can't be kept at bay
Muster bulbous tinted voluptuous glinted bales
Proudly ride loudly in the night on his coattails
Very fond of merry vagabond's beyond the pales
Hail the true Withnail's escapades made in Wales
Don't harangue pang for meringue gang at play
Not a gimmick pray clouds don't go away hold sway
Rollick then frolic & fossick.. a limerick for any day
Outdoor foray adore bucolic score kaleidoscopic GREY
Remember when the west was blessed safe from harms
Knew new secular psalms disarms with vernacular charms
Or calms any qualms or alarms with those boozy balms
Now USA commands AI lie farms and Mar a Lago palms
Blight of trite so called Christian right their call to arms
Islam’s Zakat demands that poor get alms in their palms
Forget regret silhouette Vietnam's reprimands napalms
Hubristic jives…hollistic skives….the series of our lives?
BazBull dives & deprives and Stokesy only just survives
Worst ever Ashes was a kids bid just playing with knives
Connives but no revives must be banished to the archives
Sate our thirst or egos burst just boozy hives & golf drives
awful
offal
cricket
brisket
forage
porridge
gobbler
cobbler
boozy
smoothie
‘You’ve had one too many’
Declared old Paddy’s wife
She always spoiled his evenings
With her ‘trouble’ and her ‘strife’
‘I’m absolutely sober’
He replied with much aplomb
‘I’ve only had a couple
And I’m drinking beer, not rum’
‘I don’t care what you’re drinking,
You don’t know when to stop
I rue the day I married you
You useless, boozy sop’
‘Oh, hold your blather, Missus
Give that whinging voice a rest
The day you married me
I’ll have you know you got the best’
‘Got the best? Well I’ll be buggered
You really are a pain
I wish that you’d get off yer ass
And fix that broken windowpane’
Now at this Paddy got real pissed
And sat up in his chair
‘Don’t you talk to me of work!’
He said with wild-eyed glare
‘I’ve worked myself to death for you
But you only whinge and moan
I swear I’ll clobber you real good
If you keep on with that tone’
But she was unrepentant
And continued with her rant
On and on she chided him
With never ending cant
The last was one too many
For this much maligned hubby
So he lurched across the kitchen
And he hit her with his stubby!
In this boozy woozy world we spin,
Where cares are shed and laughter's win.
Let's do the boozy woozy dance,
A carefree sway, a happy trance.
The rhythm calls, the music plays,
Forget the woes of yesterday.
Let bodies bump and spirits soar,
In this boozy woozy world we adore.
Tipsiness takes hold, a gentle sway,
With every beat, we're lost in play.
Woozy minds, a joyful blur,
At this moment, we're pure.
So walk like drunk, with silly grace,
A smile upon each happy face.
With you, my friend, in this delight,
We'll boozy woozy through the night.
Release the tension, let it go,
In this bubbly, boozy flow.
The boozy woozy life's the best,
A moment shared, a joyful test.
So join the dance, let worries fade,
In this boozy woozy charade.
Embrace the fun, the silly grin,
And do the boozy woozy within.
Brainstorm
faith’s open palms
vigilant in drought
sunburns brighter, moonshines boozy
grinning
Rainstorm
rustling the leaves
slurry stirred by lightning
overindulging town prayers
applause
It was the last order rush
All full of fun and chat.
As the door swung wide
All turned to look at what.
He wore his hat pulled low
He wore his dark hair long
And his spurs jingle jangled
Like the rhythm to a song.
His leather chaps dragged
And scraped along the floor
And you could cut the tension
As he stood there in the door.
Someone started laughing,
Then another one or two,
Great guffaws and giggles
You know the way you do.
He glared at us with slitted eyes
One hand hovered as if to draw
And as the laughter increased
Glared at us all once more.
The last Gunfighter?
Survivor of the few?
But rather out of place
In a Saturday chippy queue
He walked out defiantly.
Such an amazing sight,
Ok I suppose in Tombstone,
But on a Barnsley boozy night?
Nights of passion with no strings attached
Ignited by booze and a lusty zest,
Bodies gyrating, so tightly pressed,
Wanton desire, emotions detached
Regrets come with hangovers that can't be patched
The night was a blur, yet he felt stressed,
Nights of passion with no strings attached
Ignited by booze and a lusty zest
A dangerous dalliance with decisions poorly hatched
But he would party again on his boozy quest
Addiction beckoned, you know the rest
On dangerous dalliances he became latched,
Nights of passion, with no strings attached
I went for a walk with an Aardvark
In a forest of beer bottle trees,
Entranced by their gentle swaying,
Hanging and clinking in the breeze;
And I found a top spanner bush
Growing at a convenient height
And me and my friend the Aardvark
Settled down for our boozy night.
We sampled the pale ale and bitter
Then the stout the mild and the pils
Organically brewed with such care
To avoid any hangover ills.
And my Aardvark danced a jig,
Accompanying himself on a lute
The wind blowing through the bottles
Providing a raw wild sort of flute.
We discussed the ways of the world
Each providing our original views
On such as the Albigensian heresies
And the standard of reporting the news.
Then a bell rang through that forest
And a voice rolled in my head
Its closing time for the winter
And I woke up alone in my bed.
I sprang from my sheets with a zest
Had a quick burst on my tambourine
Before cleaning my teeth with such energy
On my oral hygiene machine.
I ate toast and two eggs for my brekkers
With a selection of blended fruit teas
Hungry from my walk with that Aardvark
In that forest of beer bottle trees.
I am the pirate bear! I am the pirate bear!
I am without a care, with plenty of curly hair!
I travel the seven seas, I travel the seven seas.
I do what I please all the time, I even eat my fleas!
If he thinks he is enticing me, he has another think coming.
This was said by the focus of his affection, bear named Humming.
Her sidekick grizzly Gladys was not half as choosy.
Possibly due to her drinks of choice, she was rather boozy.
She and the pirate bear went off the the cave.
Slept through the winter. She was his moll. He was her knave.
In the spring there were twin baby bears singing too.
Four all together, singing jazz, folk, rock and the blues.
Taking Stock of Your Best Part
Measure
Treasure
A Drunkard’s Nap
Boozy
snoozy
Gun Enthusiast with Energy
Trigger
Vigor
Bum after a Bubble Bath
Fragrant
Vagrant
Feb. 8, 2023
She had a face like a fish fryer's basket,
All stressed and creased and lined
His like a bag of old spanners
Abused, misused, misaligned.
She jumped his place in the bar queue
One Boozy Saturday Night
Instead of taking the Hump
He loved her at first sight.
Two aging hippies
Who’d never ever bricked it
And when they met each other
Felt they’d really clicked it
They consummated their relationship
In the yard outside the bar
And once or twice more
On the back seat of his car.
They came down to earth together
Laughing at life’s little joke
Then he pulled out his baccy pouch
And rolled them both a toke.
Two ageing hippies who
Quickly grabbed the chance
To waltz their way together
Through life’s oncertain dance
They became a couple
Saw each other more and more
And when they looked at each other
It was only beauty that each saw,
With her face like a fish fryer’s basket
All stressed and creased and lined,
His like a bag of old spanners
Abused, misused, misaligned
Recollections were a little hazy,
His leaving party last night,
Undying friendships sworn,
That last friendly little fight.
Goodbye, Scotland the Brave,
Home of the warrior Clan,
The Batter Fried Mars Bar,
The Rangers footie fan,
Cool pints of Heavy
Plates of ‘taties and neaps,
Lining for the stomach
After boozy long sleeps.
He wore a Black Watch Kilt
Hung modestly to his knees
With a hem of fishing weights
To stop it lifting in the breeze.
A sheathed Skean Dhu projected
From the top of one long sock
As he stood there, a solitary figure,
On the banks of his local loch.
A supply of Haggis sandwiches
Were wrapped in a large pack
Carefully stored for his rations
In the Bergen on his back.
Goodbye porridge mines of Pentland,
Casual beating for the Haggis hunt,
Time to think of his own future,
Best foot forward, Eyes to the Front.
One last wistful look around him
Then, carefully adjusting his load
He took that first step from Scotland
Along that long High Road,
To the Land of the Sassenach.
He was a Scot through and through
But in such troubled times as these
A man’s got to do what he has to do.
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