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Best Poems Written by Roy May

Below are the all-time best Roy May poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Industrial Relations In the 1960s

The shop floor view of the newly promoted

Oh to be the factory foreman and to wear a posh white coat
Just the thought of all that power brings a lump right to your throat
No more dirty hands or hob nail boots or boiler suits for you
No more rushing through your break time just relax and drink your brew

Carrying your briefcase, there’s no need for you to hide it
We all know that like your head there’s not a lot inside it
With your clipboard and your pencil you can wander round the site
Whilst assuming great authority you put us workers right

You believe we are in awe of you and hold you in esteem
If that is what you really think your living in a dream
We have seen all your back stabbing and we don’t know how you sleep
Everybody knows you as a sycophantic creep

We heard you telling everyone in the works canteen
That you now had access to the managers latrine
It’s true that for promotion you were first past the post
Yet the workers here all see you as a bigger pratt than most

We have read all your new rules and how we face the sack
We are all in the union and we’ll be fighting back
Don’t go thinking as a foreman that your future is secured
Your about to be upended by a young smart-arsed shop steward

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"Stand up straight" yelled the judge "Tell the court how
you plead" he enquired of the young man accused
"You are here to be tried of a heinous crime so why are you looking amused".
"Not Guilty! M’laud" Replied the accused "And I’ll tell you what’s making me smile
I was looking at that thing you’ve got on your head, I’ve seen nothing like that for a
while"

"Now listen young man" Roared the judge in a rage, "Those remarks do not make
you look big
You are here on trial, you are not here to smile, or to try to make fun of my wig."
"That can’t be a wig replied the accused you wouldn’t wear that when you go out.
It’s not even a hat it’s like a dead cat on which hungry moths had a blow out.

It’s all over the place, it’s a downright disgrace, I very much doubt if its legal,
Those long floppy bits hanging down on each side remind me of my aunts pet
beagle.
Honest M’laud I’m not winding you up I am trying to help you see sense
If you think I’m kidding just to get laughs, why don’t you ask the Defence"?

The Defence Council rose blowing his nose and hiding his smile with a hankey
"From the view over here it’s perfectly clear that it makes you look like Widow
Twanky.
However M’laud might I suggest a method to placate your fury.
A definitive verdict on your iffy wig may be had by consulting the jury"

"Well" said the judge to the head juryman "Don’t you think that this new wig looks
dapper"?
"For the jury I speak, we think you’ve got a cheek, to come here with that on your
napper.
Your robes it would seem are a stranger to Surf and what about those baggy tights.
Your an utter disgrace, you can’t try this case, your infringing the man’s Human
Rights".

In anger the judge banged down on his desk and knocked the head clean off his
gavel
All of the courtroom looked on in awe and wondered how far it would travel
The whole prosecution bench ducked down as one as the gavel shot over their head
With a sickening thud and a large spurt of blood it killed the court Bailiff stone dead.

Grabbing the judge the constable cried "M’laud all this is your fault
Don’t you know that your wig is on upside down". Now I’m charging you with
assault".
They carted the Judge off and locked him in clink in his robe and his wig and his
tights.
The prisoner was free but between you and me the judge had a few restless nights.

If sartorial elegance can be achieved with a wig that looks dapper and slick.
Be sure that your wig is not upside down or you may finish up in the nick.

Details | Roy May Poem

Diddled

George is in his eighties and he’s seen it all before
He was born in the depression and was wounded in the war
He hadn’t been a hero, but George had done his bit
His legs had both been broken when a piece of shrapnel hit

George with his new ungainly gait really didn’t care
He had served his King and Country and was proud that he’d been there
Once the war was over and he got a steady job
George worked hard and did overtime to earn an extra bob

He was careful with his money but you couldn’t call him mean
He had known the pangs of hunger as a child when times were lean
He never wasted money in the bookies or on ale
He wanted some security in case his health should fail

Came the National Insurance Scheme in 1948
George gave the scheme his full support thinking it was great
If we all join in together and we pay our weekly dues
We should all get good pensions that can only be good news 

What with all our contributions and the taxes that we pay
Well never in the future should we see a rainy day
No humiliating means tests, no more workhouse for the poor
The old can hold their heads up like they never could before

Now George is getting frail and weak and needs a little care
The pension that George thought he’d get simply isn’t there
The savings that old George accrued long ago had dwindled
The Council now want George’s house, no wonder George feels swindled 

Every evening in the news on all the TV stations
The Government hand out our cash to lots of foreign nations
What’s more it is a well known fact that cannot be disputed
Folk come here and claim benefits who’ve never contributed

Our leaders throw our cash around with philanthropic zeal
Massaging their ego’s, Not caring how we feel
To men like George an honest man the real reward is owed
We should be taking care of him, not stealing his abode

Best Poems Written by Roy May

Under the Old Red Duster

Industrial Relations In the 1960s

Eu Voting Song

The Global Warming Blues

This Slimming Lark

The Pheasant

The Voice of Silent Majority

Down With the Nanny State

Judgement

Diddled