Simply absurd
Heard the news
Snotty residents
On pedants pews
Clear precedents
Vice do choose
Drive us potty
In arty farty mews
Latte & biscotti
With dotty views
Party always grotty
Spice will lose
A slutty hotty
Putty in her hand
Seedy queues
For smutty totty
Or bit of botty
Plenty of booze
A nutty hinterland
Hear our boos
Us well manned
Against this ruse
So underhand
With their coups
Good times banned
Westminster eschews
In pubs can't stand
Everyone poo poos
That's what's planned
If papers peruse
Chaos canned
Soho's Blues
Not fretting couldn’t be gladder about getting podgy?
Forgetting about a stodgy bladder that’s definitely dodgy?
Sadder even snotty about needing a potty..regretting being dotty
Betting some grotty grumps about bumps & lumps anything spotty
Sometimes memory stumps.. only remember embers now befuddled
Somehow the huddled cast of the distant past still cuddled
Ashes of once clear flashes of near yesteryear appear muddled
Ribald oracle.. grinning about going bald...hair thinning
Apart from the ears and nose where it shows..grows & flows
Can't pretend follicle foes & woes.. do descend dear friend
Clearer you're now nearer to the rear end than the beginning
Refined increasingly find you do become more kind
Other than the tumour of another baby boomer
Defined needy seedy greedy.. must feed me consumer
Not a rumour..increasingly I pined for candour and humour
Chaps can perhaps blossom as a wined & dined late bloomer
No remorse.. scheming larrikin leaning's still in force
Gleaning the gleaming meaning of life is all about giving
Dreaming.. loving.. smile beaming and "living" of course
There's no need to be alarmed, I'll wake up anyway,
perhaps today they won't hassle me, it will be better day;
ship was sinking, englishman said: 'Women and children first,
american said: '---- the women,' 'frenchman said: 'Is zere time?'
I listen to Chopin who designed his notes so beautifully,
the coordination from war-torn Poland categorically;
I ask myself - what did I achieve? No one had a life like me,
I broke hearts, like a cunning bridge player in spades and hearts.
Now time is running out, you wonder what death is like,
the only certainty, they say don't speak ill, but I'll strike,
at the unbelievable, how grotty some were, cast no doubt,
but then that's what this life was apparently just all about.
It's over, the hands are together, so tissue, tissue, tissue,
it's not just me but I bet you guys also had a few issue.
PRETTY WITTY
Cocktail thirsty : Mocktail, Green tea.
Few Males naughty : Females pretty.
Toe nails: Twenty ; Vessel empty.
Slow snail, safety ; Cat- tail, fatty.
Road- rail dusty ; Snow, hail frosty.
Gravel: Grotty ; Pastel: Arty.
Lintel faulty ; Snacks sale: Salty.
In jail: Guilty ; Egg shell : Poultry.
Chisel : Acuity ; Repel: Pity.
Rebel: Haughty ; Nobel: Petty
Angel - Deity ; Blue bell: Beauty.
Slipped fell Humpty ; Ankle twisty.
Novel Party ; Revel: Sporty
Bread-gel : Tasty ; Ship sails: Hasty
Stay well: Hearty ; Gone Hell: Dirty.
E-MAIL: IT ; Marvels Mighty.
Who is a verse maker
Poetry is an odd art form practised where there are more
poets then writers because everybody, especially when young
has a poem (usually hormonal) that needs expression, some end
up as art teachers and prefer not to speak of their youthful attempts.
Seasoned poets go to poetry meetings, rather like alcoholics go to AA
there is always some new way, to express old truths
some of the old crusty ones run poem magazines and have a firm opinion
on how poetry should be written; the best of them
care more about content than writing rules.
The public, at large, only knows that poetry is romantic something
to do, with flowers and trees and love made on soft, green grass.
The real poetry world is a narrow one, those who are famous in that world
are spoken about with awe.
Old poets are grotty, smelly and eccentric, but are loved anyway.
As tears fall
I open my moldered eyes to see myself
Blurred and grotty
I’m beginning to rot now
My skin melting into my bedsheets
Moldy and itching with pests
Am i one of them?
Am i another eyesore?
Am i as revolting as the blowflies?
I’ll admit that i feel
Repugnant in love
But how can that be so
When i rot for you?
Look at what i’ve done
All for you
I have never hurt so badly
And this time it’s not because
Of the bugs shredding my skin
Burrowing
But because you never left my heart
You were always there
Just another maggot
Burrowed in my flesh
She woke up to the song of the rising sun
Dealt with the domestic chores in one quick run
When it's time to set to the duty outdoors,
she locked those grotty wooden doors.
She joined her friends at the site
And majestically wore a shirt that's half white
She bunned her hair into a striped towel
Set her foot into the soil with a hoe and shovel.
The sweat on her cheeks salted her lower lip
The blisters on her palms gave her little grip
The tired muscles demanded a moment's rest
But no, she cannot afford to take the time's test.
She is the second's hand of a 24hr clock
To soothe her baby's hunger cries, she shouldn't cease to walk.
She knows just three things - work,work and work,
to nurture the baby whose long-gone father is a toxic shark.
Two hours of extra labour, would do the two a great favour.
Few extra drops of sweat,
Confer four extra drops of milk to her baby's gut.
When at the day's end, her stir-fried flesh returned home,
the smile on her baby's lips wiped the sweat on her cheekbone.
Battles of today gift blossoms in the long run.
After all, her baby's filled tummy was like a good shade under the hot sun.
I haven't had a quiet life
In-fact it's been quite busy
When I think back to how it was
It sends me kinda dizzy
I have had a lot of men
Of which I can recall
I could name most of them
But could not name them all
Alan, Steve, Wayne and Mark
Jimmy, John, and Jack
Edward,Tony,Geoff and Lee
Have had me on my back
Colin, Gary, Paul and Neil
Ian, Chris and Scotty
I have had each one of them
Some ugly and quite grotty
Some were big, some were small
Some were long and fatter
But I didn't mind the shape or size
In-fact that didn't matter
Short or tall, young or old
Ginger, bald or hairy
I just want all the world to know
I ain't no Virgin Mary. X
Spring begins as a spring, the roads shining wet, the earth desultory floats the water as
the lawns are pricking green welcoming the Spring. At dawn the birds chatter with delight
at the worms' awful plight while commuters mutter imprecations to one and all as if
weather lore will do for us all, until they remember the Easter holiday that still seems so
far off as the weather seems to be spoiling our lot.
Snow shovels the warm dry sunny weather we had for over a week far away as it reminds
us of its power to be bloody awkward of its own accord.
In Spring we all fancy a smile that is not wry and weather to warm our bodies and souls
after a grotty winter. Let us Hope!
Miss Garner, Miss Garner. I HATE your Gymkhana,
I loathe every second it's run.
I dread all those horses and obstacle courses,
and everyone else having fun.
Now Mummy is frantic, the panic gigantic;
my pony won't go in the box.
She's shouting and screaming (and often blaspheming),
when Dobbin sits down on his hocks.
We stop in a field, by others well heeled,
their lorries all parked in neat rows.
My Dobbin looks grotty, all rumpled and spotty;
their ponies are plaited in bows.
I get in Show Jumping my usual dumping,
when Dobbin refuses the last.
I'm beat in the Bending (and cry without ending);
my pony is not very fast.
You're calling my name? Is this all a game?
And now you are pointing at me?
What me in the line, at Prize Giving time?
Oh, my? Have you answered my plea?
Miss Garner, Miss Garner. I LOVE your Gymkhana!
It's been such a jolly good thrash.
The Rosette I won has made it such fun;
my Dobbin has got a bran mash!
~
For Francine Roberts' "Children in Rhyme" Contest by Charles Clive.
Earth resides beneath my feet.
I feel the earth like a breeze in my hair,
For one moment my feet stay there.
I remove my shoes grotty and old,
So the soil and my feet can mould.
Walking bare footed as I was born
Too feel the air caress my skin.
Hours seemed to past so fast,
On form I am docile a child of the wind.
Treading on earth compelled I must walk,
Sources of living are now in clear view.
Dipping my feet the water is cold,
Within the earth, water and air I am free.
With no consequence of where I must be.
We are one the elements and me.
The snot monster’s got me
He’s inside my head
I shouldn’t be working
But home in my bed
I’m sniffing and snuffling
And blowing my nose
I’m trying to hang on
Till the snot monster goes
The snot monster’s got me
I’m feeling so grotty
It’s hard doing work
When you’re bunged up and snotty
As I sit here and cough
And I shiver and shake
I am wondering just
How much more I can take
The aches are subsiding
The coughing has eased
I was getting quite miffed
About being teased
Remarks about man flu
Drove me round the bend
So I’m pleased to announce
I’ve infected my friend
This is poetry for us all when you can’t find the words.
Acerbic, angry, awful is this poems dream.
Bad, boring, balderdash are its major themes.
Childish, contemptuous, cynical to the last;
Daft, dizzy, desultory meanings that are vast.
Egregious, extemporaneous and extra bad,
Foolish, futile, fantasy, that's pretty sad.
Garish, grotty, ghastly that’s the score,
Hogwash, horrible, haunted what a bore.
Idiotic innuendos of the lowest kind,
Jumping jeering, jesters come to mind.
Kinky, kooky killjoys everywhere,
Lamentable lamebrains, all without a care.
Muddled, mindless mutterings in the night,
Nutty, neurotic nuances come to light.
Obtruding oafs with highly opaque lenses,
Permeate our all pervading senses.
The day that you won me,
I recall how you spoke of lotteries and luck,
And sang in blue and white,
From virtual rooftops with borrowed words,
About fields and fish and feeling good,
I still cherish that grotty piece of paper,
Alive like the tree it was sliced from,
With secrets spelt out with my name,
Copied them with a crumbling pencil scrawl,
Onto the secret space beneath my window,
Bathed in sulphur light,
Between dreams I would read them,
Filled with frustration that you couldn’t seem to see,
Chance was never the game,
Harbinger broke into delicate run,
And delivered the inevitable,
Led down the only path left to follow,
I could only ever fall for you.
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