In the folly of the posh
They would say golly gosh
Or probably just josh
About the white wash
Come out with some tosh
An off their trolley volley
As on the poor they nosh
Already under their cloche
But still they just kibosh
Plunder as migrants squash
Cast asunder by their cosh
AI blunder we cannot quash
Thunder of the slop & slosh
It's sh*t in the pit of mosh
But it is all about the dosh
So bish bash bosh
Mr Randolph Pomfrey Brown
Was the mayor of his town
He thought he was posh
Until a man with a cosh
Knocked off Mayor Pomrey Brown's crown
Kidnapped. - for Peeking Through The Keyhole Contest
The hole where the key’s meant to go
Was vacant so I had to know
What was outside to be seen
But my captors weren’t all that keen
It seems I succumbed to a cosh
Cos someone was after some dosh
Nobody heard when I cried
Nobody knew I was tied
But I had a knife in my shoe
So I knew what I had to do
I managed to sever my ropes
That were tied by some Bond villain blokes
So what lay beyond yonder door
I silently traversed the floor
I peeked where the key had gone clunk
But all I could see was... erm... ‘junk’
And then what passed by was some fellow
I swear that that geezer was yellow
What was it I’d seen through that peep hole
When I saw Peking through the keyhole
31 December 2018
For John Lawless’ Slap The Muse Contest
hey buddy, I have to tell you,
you stink just like rat pooh!
raw effluent smells so much better!
I wear a gas mask so I can breathe around you,
to say your dirty would be complementary,
I hear you work in a mortuary,
ain't that where all the dead heads hang out?
you, your head, you nutter!
get back to where you belong, back in de gutter!
did I use to call you bro?
a mistake, now I know!
I need fresh air gotta go!
before I do I bought you a bar of soap,
no, not to eat man, you on dope?
a word you do not know, 'wash'
now, now don't get violent put away that cosh!
go have a bath, with the soap use wire wool,
might stop you looking dull.
if you struggle, go get your brother,
no, not me, I'm no your bro,
a few lines back, I told you so.
right now I have to git,
when I get back I'll probably find that you have shrunk.
that's if you managed to shift ten years of gunk!
In case you do, I'll bring a shovel, cos ain't that wot you do best?
shovelling pooh, ten years of mess,
and the rest!
catch yuh later,
got to go going to meet your sister!
05/17/18
8 Mile Style Poetry Contest sponsored by Nick Trim
Hark! That rustling of the leaves
makes me wobbly at the knees,
or did I dream of Thatcher’s ghost
chasing "wets" from post to post?
·
When Tony Blair bashed up Hussein,
no Robin Hood at home bought gain.
Who then yet may save the day?
Who remains to show the way?
Bill Dozer is this man, I say!
Trouser? Loser? Boozer? Hey!
Who the heck's Bill Dozer?
Like Superman he flits about.
cosh in hand, with mighty clout.
He is a man of iron fist,
the last remaining socialist.
He hears each worker's woeful cry:
like Joe Hill he'll never die.
When Marx shall rise from Highgate's tomb,
capitalists will meet their doom.
Horn-rimmed his specs, his suit dull-brown,
he swoops like an eagle down.
He'll give each grabbing boss the boot
and share with us the ill-gotten loot.
Bill Dozer is this man, I say!
Trouzer? Loser? Boozer? Hey!
Who the heck's Bill Dozer?
But if still the point you missed:
He's the last remaining socialist.
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