Long Chippy Poems
Long Chippy Poems. Below are the most popular long Chippy by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Chippy poems by poem length and keyword.
Across the Atlantic ocean
They have a pedantic notion
Quip us Brits have a frantic lisp
Did slip..meant to say chip not crisp
Semantic antics causing a commotion
Misunderstand our land’s devotion
To the sensory explosion that is a crisp
So why the linguistic demotion
Respond to across the pond & beyond
Have donned a wig of blonde
Seem fond of being conned
They need to be told
The reason Brits abscond from the fold
Will break the mould
Skip this blip and let rip
A chip is hot and if not.. is cold
Such umami gold is actually factually
A crisp!
Our gung ho American foe
Will still crow..slimy Limeys
We’re the aficionado…so no bravado
Must surely know a chip is always
Made I’m afraid of purely potato
(unless I guess if its chips at a casino)
Displayed for trips in dips
Not just crud dud spud chips
Bud..could be made of wheat
Sworn am often torn
Could be swayed by corn
Synthetic aesthetic can’t beat
Heart attack in a pack food p*rn
If Polenta is the mentor.. its a chip
But if some parsnip you did flip
In oil then it is definitely…definitively a crisp
Got a hunch that if for
Lunch.. earlier at brunch
Or just for a munch
Thick or thin as a wisp
If it does go crunch
Then it’s crisp
Not being trippy.. dippy or too lippy
Don’t be hasty and haughty
Nothing beats..tasty treats
Seriously salty.. deliriously naughty eats
That's why we say crispy.. not chippy
P.S ..The only crispy beast feast
Where’s there is no hackling
Tackling or shackling
A snack as a chip or a crisp
No cackling…is when it’s crackling
Oops somehow a new row hatching..isn't
Fried pig skin..a pork scratching
But Colombian cronies are dispatching
Such phony baloney..there's no matching
The show ponies that are chicharrones
Their ma & pa were Eastenders
Blah blah..don’t remember the Blitz
Lit the bonfire..won't call it quits
Make even their kids crazy..like nits
Hazy troll scroll hits
Society in bits due to fascist fits
Dimwits just going on benders
To the nutter gutter they descend
Quixotic pretend patriotic defenders
Horrific hateful slurry..getting lippy
Like their tan..the glory of a tandoori
Sh** hypocrite story…more in a hurry
For a plateful of curry.. than a Mr Whippy
Or a trip to the chippy
Oblivion.. foster an imposter roster
But brag..as minions from the
Dominions opinions they gag
No refrain from disdain campaign
Vain..inane..insane Reform reign pain
Yet bet still the norm to holiday in Spain
It’s a farce..you are working class
Toffs scoff..no VIP pass
Stop.. just being an ar*se
Fooled..fueled and ridiculed
By public schooled top brass
Belligerent…militant instruments
But insolent..indolent & ignorant
These refugees are innocent
No different…like you a descendant of an immigrant
Tomfoolery cash for a stash
Of bold gold jewellery
Sold their souls at the polls
For whom “the Bell” (hotel) tolls
Farage barrage racist goals pepping
News airs..or views flares
Dares from their speakers
Roles of shoals of brash proles prepping
Mass of thrill seekers going for the
Kill in crass flash sneakers in Epping
Due to the "colour of your skin"
"No room at the inn".. spin
"Don't let them in" chagrin din
Charlie snorted...no parley
Reported we have resorted
To getting it sorted by them being deported
Cardinal sin..won't let them win
Cos Asylum Seekers they are schlepping
Just sat here pondering on yesteryear, of times long gone yet still so clear,
We thought eating out was such a delight,outside the chippy on Saturday night.
We thought restaurants were for the famous and rich, in the City so far away,
We walked everywhere to save the tuppenny fare, to spend another day.
We sat at home and listened to the radio, or played outside 'til bedtime,
We had homework, carried in a satchel, not a rolling suitcase like today.
We all ate at the table, no TV to gawk at, so we would actually talk,
We had no i pads or i phones, not invented then, tablets were swallowed when ill.
We did jobs to EARN pocket money or we went about broke and played in the grime,
We enjoyed that simplicity of life, when it seemed like a trial by ordeal at the time.
We lived and played, got hurt the odd day, we never had to call in the CPA.
We ran errands for the old folk, 'cos that's what Mum told us to do.
We sometimes were rewarded with a fresh baked cake or two.
Well I think I'll stop there afore folk think I'm getting maudlin tonight,
Writing it down keeps my mind both alert and bright. Goodnight!
© Dave Timperley February 2015
Outside a butcher shop in London Town
I met an old girlfriend and she made me frown
‘I remember boyfriends,’ she liked to acknowledge
‘By naming them all after all kinds of sausage.’
The first time she made a man out of a boy
Was a lad who she now calls young Savaloy Roy
Her next feller’s member was beyond belief
She now refers to him as Pork and Beef Keith
She told me her next bloke she called B.P. Lee
B.P. is black pudding… interestingly
So I asked if she had a nickname for me
‘You betcha,’ she said, your name is Chippy.’
I said, ‘Is that down to me being a carpenter?’
She said, ‘Don’t be daft, it’s short for chipolata.’
*
[in the UK a savaloy is a red skinned sausage, about 8 inches by 1.25 inches, usually accompanied by chips (thick French fries); Black Pudding is a whopping great thing that, on a man, would be inhuman; pork and beef are usually stumpy but with a good girth, and chipolatas are slender, scrawny efforts that only become interesting if you wrap them in bacon at christmas]
SING IT TO “Danny Boy”
Verse
Oh what a joke
This beer is full of water
Tastes not like beer
But something very strange
So landlord dear do tell us what you diiid
Make sure you never dooooo it again
Refrain
From pub to pub we taste the watered beer
But no one cares its Friiiday - lets go
Time to relax with all your friends around you
Oh Braiiiins dark* I dooooo love you so
Verse
It’s Friday night and we are feeling hungry
One place to go to ease our appetite
Its Chippy Alley*** in the city centre
Brains dark*, Clarks pies**, will soon put it right
Refrain
From pub to pub we taste the watered beer
But no one cares Its Friiiday lets go
Time to relax with all your friends around you
Oh Braaains Dark I dooooo love you so
• Brains Dark Beer - brewed in Cardiff very strong taste (hops).
** Clarks Pies - Famous meat pies made in Cardiff. If your from Cardiff and not at
home you will yearn for both.
*** Chippy Alley side street in city centre, mostly chip shops, used when
international rugby is in town
The windows pane upon my face,
The door unlocks, I fall from grace.
My friend he screams, a crunch of steel,
Stabs of pain, then the blood I feel.
The car we stole, a ride of joy,
Treating it like a tonka toy.
Speeding 'round the Mumbles mile,
Off our heads for a little while.
Pass the chippy, towards the pier,
We hear the sirens, "The cops are near".
Faster, faster, we approach the bend,
This so called "joy" is about to end.
Headlights shine from the road ahead,
Then when I wake, my mates are dead.
Broken limbs, a mangled wreck,
The sense of warmth from my swollen neck.
I try to move off the cold damp floor,
My legs and arms I feel no more.
The scents of fuel, blood and smoke,
I try to breathe, but can only choke.
I hear a voice coming close to me,
I tried to look, but could not see.
These words I tell about this night,
From a darkened world, now I have no sight.....
I was asked to write a piece about the crime of so called "joy riding"
PSYCH UP
Hours of wasted yesterdays
Haphazardly hops in my head
In a ugly pretty fashion
As though it were some minutes past
All my fore-time murderers
In my inner eyes appear
Like it does on chippy screen
Loneliness pulls the trigger
Of the lurking memories
Tick-tacky natural eraser becomes helpless
Dawn frowns and twilight mourns
The demise of their elder brother
Long sitting on the fence
Drenched my solo silk in conical aqua
Inside too warm, outside too cold
I had to call the skull into play
The chest couldn’t get along easily
Because of its familiarity with the deceptive lens
The trio combo seems impossible
Until the latter plays second fiddle
Then the weighty body sets off
Slowly it paced
Amidst myriad of lieing lizards
All waiting to swallow my innocent ant
Wisely did it fly with its peers
And put my progress hunters in turbulent sea
They aimlessly ran helter skelter
Then I chuckled, smiled and laughed.
YEMI AFO
There was a man,
Who lived in wales,
Lived a boring life,
And worked in sales.
He went to the pub,
Almost every day,
At night he came home,
On the sofa, he’d lay.
Chippy every Friday,
He’d have for his teas
Chips and gravy,
And a tub full of peas
He had an umbrella,
To battle the gails,
After all he lived,
In the hills of Wales.
A quiet little village,
The community so sweet,
Surrounded by fields,
Of barley and wheat.
A picturesque place,
A postcard place,
A place to put,
A smile on your face.
His name was terry,
Lived to a ripe old age,
Of ninety four,
Like his wife, Sage.
A boring old life,
But the best that they had,
Enjoyed every minute,
Not a moment being sad.
Terry and sage,
Grew up together,
Shared the umbrella,
And battled the weather.
The nice old lady,
Terry working on sales,
Had the best life,
At a village in wales
I have loved this dish all my life
my mum made it so ever new
but always best at chippy shop
wrapped in newspaper after a queue
Always loved splashing my chips
with vinegar, pepper and salt
haddock or cod my favourite fish
cover with tartar sauce without fault
Loved to have after the match
soccer my fab game, go every week
get my fish supper before go home
real tangy taste so to speak
Remember holidays in my twenties
Blackpool on the west coast yearly
last thing at night fish supper a must
diet forgotten weight high I did fear!
In Scotland, we called it a fish supper
if in England fish and chips was its name
over the years price has changed too high
but even so, its never lost its fishy fame
(I am writing a poem about the classic British dish... fish and chips!)
FOUR LOVE AFFAIRS
The French health food shop
Near Vasilyastrovskaya metro,
With a tiny patio garden bench -
Fell in love there with the language of the French.
Closed now for property development.
Ironbridge Folk Club,
In the shadow of enormous cooling towers
Of the power station majestic -
Fell in love there with folk music.
Demolished now for road widening.
Under-a-Fiver second-hand bookshop
In Henry Street, Dublin,
Found many bargains, many gems of writing -
Fell in love there with literature so exciting.
Redeveloped now as a mall.
The Chippy take-out, Bensham Road, Gateshead,
Fragrant in smells of vinegar, and delightful
On cold nights with its steamy swirl -
Fell in love there with my first girl.
Slum clearance has now razed it.