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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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Under the Old Red Duster

The Flag of the British Merchant Navy 

The Battle of the Atlantic

We’ve heard of the famous Mighty Hood that was sunk by a Bismarck shell
We know how many men were lost and the Skippers name as well
We’ve seen the Battleship Barham rolling on her side 
before the huge explosion in which so many died

The Repulse and Prince of Wales on rout to the Singapore post
Both lost to the Jap torpedo planes off the Malaya coast
There’s a film about the Kelly sunk in the battle of Crete
And of the famous River Plate where we inflicted defeat

Yet who knows the names of the merchant ships sunk almost every day
Who knew that as these ships went down seamen were put off pay
Shipping Companies all did this to cut down on the cost
They lost one of their freighters, but how many lives were lost

What of the men on the Arctic run ferrying Russian supplies 
The ocean full of U-boats and Bombers filling the skies
Sailing a gas filled Tanker some only in their teens
Wondering if they’ll freeze to death or be blown to smithereens

Wallowing along in a rusting tramp to save the Russian Nation
Struggling to make eight knots whilst trying to keep station
Should a seaman stay topside or should he seek his bunk
Knowing if you fall astern your certain to be sunk

Many a merchant ship now lies under the Barents Sea
Lost in a desperate struggle to set the Russians free
The ocean bed is littered with merchant seaman’s bones
Now to lay forever at peace with Davie Jones

As a Nation we are rightly proud of our Navy in World War Two
Likewise of the R.A.F and what we owe to the few
To the men who fought at Arhnem and Monty’s Desert Rats
To those who fought the Japanese to all we raise our hats

From the Home Guard to the S.O.E in it from the start
All of our Armed Services were keen to play their part
Each had lost so many when they counted the final muster
But the greatest loss was those who sailed under the Old Red Duster

Details | Roy May Poem

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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Eu Voting Song

Jolly voting weather 
We are all europhiles
We’re very clever 
And lie to you all the while
You fell for our promise especially the CAST IRON trick
We’re all from Eton, and you lot are all too thick.

If you think I’ll claim back powers, 
You haven’t got a clue
We’ll hand the UK to Merkle, 
There is nothing that you can do 
No referendums Changes through on the nod 
I am the PM and I’m a duplicitous sod

As for immigration
I know it gets on your tits
I will flood the nation 
And pay their benefits
I am from Eton; I am one of the ruling class
If you don’t like it, you can just kiss my ****

If I agreed the Treaty
Things that it would amend
Required referendums
And that would be the end
We’d be out of Europe and that’s what the public crave
But I’m undemocratic, just call me dictator Dave

Clegg is making noises
Pretending he did not know
If he really meant it
Lib-Dems would pack up and go
There all in it together, and David is now all smiles
He has silenced the sceptics, with the aid of the Europhiles

This has been a carve up
Helped by Merkosy
They need our money
That is quite plane to see
They played out the charade so it looks as if Dave’s alone
But were still in the EU and we’ll pay for the Euro zone

Jolly voting weather
We are all Europhiles
We’ve silenced the sceptics
Look at their beaming smiles
There’s no referendum, the sceptics are really thick.
I am from Eton and those idiots missed the trick

Details | Roy May Poem

The Global Warming Blues

Well I’ve got the blues
I’ve just heard the news 
That the earth is getting warmer by the day
Yet I just get a chill
From the girl that makes me thrill
For when it comes to loving she won’t play

I’ve got the global blues
the global warming blues
Just when I’m in the grove,
When I try to make a move
Well my baby leaves me shivering in my shoes

When my passion starts to rise
It comes as no surprise,
that I can’t find a way to melt her heart
Though she’s pretty and she’s neat,
Just to hold her is a treat
Somehow when it comes to loving she wont start

I’ve got the global blues
the global warming blues
Yes my babies really nice
 but she has a heart of ice
So I just can’t believe the global news

Yet she really is a star,
The very best I’ve seen by far
I always thought for me that she is just right
Whenever I get bold,
She instantly turns cold
I just can’t seem to raise her Fahrenheit

Yes Man

I’ve got the global blues 
the global warming blues
For though I am forever soaked with sweat,
I’ve got the global blues 
the global warming blues
There simply is no loving I can get
 
I don’t get no thrill, 
Just an ice cold chill
When I think things might get up beat
My baby plays it cool
I’m left to feel a fool
So someone tell me how to raise the heat

I’ve got the global blues
The global warming blues
Science simply can’t have got it right,
I’ve got the global warming blues
The global warming blues
My baby makes me shiver every night

Man that’s mighty cold 

This needs a tune

Details | Roy May Poem

This Slimming Lark

I am wanting to look good.
It is high time that I should
The mirror in the wardrobe told me so
I am now no longer fit
Just an old decrepit git
Who lost his youthful figure long ago

My hair is going grey
Doesn’t look like it will stay 
My teeth are on the sideboard in a glass
I’ve somehow lost my zip
and put inches on my hip
I spend too much time sitting on my arse

If I’m not consuming grub
I’ll be boozing down the pub
At keeping fit I am an abject failure
And when I’m in the nude
My belly does protrude
So much so that I cant see my genitalia 

I must go on a diet 
I know that I should try it
No more Pork Pies, Sausage Rolls or Steak and Chips
No more will I take on
A sandwich of bacon
For I wish to reclaim those snake like hips

I think I’ll make a pledge 
To eat only fruit and veg
I will cut out beer and wine and stuff like that
If I tell the truth
My cholesterol’s through the roof
Yet I’ve never been unhappy being fat

I was reared on bread and lard 
So I sometimes find it hard
To take on board the things my Doctor said
I tell you I’m not joking
I enjoy food, beer and smoking 
And as for my old Doctor, well he’s dead.

So should I reduce my food?
I’m not really in the mood
As I sit here watching Masters Chefs on telly
And when I’m no longer here
There’s no need to shed a tear
Just be happy that I went with a full belly.

Bugger the diet!!!!!!!

Details | Roy May Poem

The Voice of Silent Majority

Tell me why is it opinions
Differ Throughout all mankind?
Why is a general consensus
Never quite clearly defined?

Why do we need to put borders
To mark nationalities land?
If such a thing is important
Why is immigration not banned?

Why is it our politicians
Waffle each night on the news
That Britain is most democratic
Whilst simply ignoring our views?

Why does our Great British nation
Known as a sovereign state
Have it’s laws overruled by Strasbourg
Without any public debate?

Why is it that all our judges
Have opinions that to us seem lax?
Giving less of a sentence to villains
Than for failing to pay the poll tax

Why should we really consider 
The ethnic minority view?
In the land they originally come from
I doubt they’d take notice of you

Why do we put up with do-gooders
Preaching to us of PC?
English is our national language
And England is supposed to be free

Why should we bother with travellers
Camping wherever they like?
If they camped in Buckingham Palace
They’d soon be told "Get on your bike"

What is all this human rights nonsense?
It’s a load of old self righteous crap
Law breakers locked in the slammer
And naughty kids given a slap

What’s so good about toleration?
Why are we so prissy and trite?
We should ignore other’s lands indignation
And "Pull the ladder up Jack I’m all right".

Details | Roy May Poem

The Pheasant

The weather was just how I liked it
Looking like it would stay dry
The breeze had the sharp tinge of winter
Beneath a low overcast sky

The thick blackthorn hedgerow behind me
Bordered the tangled beech wood
In front was a sowing of Rape seed
The shooting from here should be good

The ditch in which I was standing
Was shallow and recently dried
I put up my camouflage netting
As kind of a temporary hide

I looked across my field of fire
It spread further than buckshot would reach
So I opened my trusty old twelve bore 
And slipped two Eley five’s in the breach

I saw something off in the distance
Out on the old bridal trail
I knew straight away it was Reynard
I could see the white tip on his tail

This dog fox was working the hedgerow
Looking for something to eat
In a week or two he won’t be hunting
For vixens will soon be on heat

Then came a sound to my left side
I heard the dry rustle of leaves
I eased off the safety catch gently
And stood still not daring to breathe

Nearby from a patch of dead Teasel
A Pheasant was poking its head
It’s wattles were white as a snowflake
Round it’s eye was a dash of bright red

It’s head and neck seemed to change colour 
With a green and blue oil like sheen
It sported a thin clear white collar
The clearest one I’d ever seen

Cautiously into the open
It was only three meters away
I was stunned by it’ breathtaking beauty
This vision is with me today

It looked like a fowl made of copper
Each breast feather tinged with a Pink
And edged with the finest black outline
As if they’d been sketched in with ink

It’s wings were a blend of dark ochre
Mingled with olive brown hue
It’s tail was two thirds of a meter
What was this hunter to do

Quite unaware of it’s danger
It slowly strolled on to the crop
Carefully I raised my shotgun
But something inside me said STOP

No way could I fire at this vision
This beauty by me won’t be shot
I came to an instant decision
Find something else for the pot

I have enjoyed many a pheasant
Washed down with a bottle of red
The countryside here would be poorer
If this lovely creature was dead

The bird by now had become bolder 
and had wandered some distance away
With an unloaded gun on my shoulder
I went home having had a good day


I will have bread and cheese for my supper

Details | Roy May Poem

Down With the Nanny State

( The views of a grumpy old man )

I have now for certain concluded that the nanny state thinks we are fools
I have seen our society changing I am staggered at some of the rules
No longer do we have the freedom to take risk after weighing the odds
When having considered the chances put our fate in the lap of the gods

Banned are the daredevil heroes of which our great nation was proud
Adventure, thrill, exhilaration are simply no longer allowed
Today it’s all stresses and traumas caused by the slightest mishap
Not by bombs, poverty or starvation but by insignificant crap

We must not get upset or worried or ever receive reprimand
Our lives must be like Mary Poppins or we will be mentally harmed
Before councillors were invented and you were confronted by strife
You didn’t start whinging and whining you simply got on with your life

Nobody made a commotion if a schoolteacher gave you the cane
For it was considered unmanly if you couldn’t cope with the pain
Villains broke rocks up on Dartmoor and murderers paid with their lives
Fisticuffs settled a dispute for only a coward used knives

Hooligans given a birching, till their backsides were blooded and sore
It’s hard to look tough when your crying so very few went back for more
Now it seems kids can’t play conkers at playtime unless wearing specs
And fireman’s poles are a hazard, I wonder what they’ll think of next

Workmen all need to have footwear with steel that’s built into the toes
Plus high visibility jackets worn over their normal work cloths
What with P.C. and human rights rubbish and constant advice on our food
We should tell all do-gooders to "Stuff-it" up somewhere decidedly rude

How do they think we all managed before all this twaddle arrived
Through wars, poverty, depravation a hell of a lot still survived
Don’t patronise us with this drivel, my generations not dense
We have learned to roll with life’s punches by just using sound common sense

If we could just gaze in a crystal and the next fifty years we could glimpse
Then I for one feel pretty certain we will then have a nation of wimps
None of us need to be coddled, we don’t need it all on a plate
Let’s stand up to all these busybodies and jettison the nanny state

The result of this do-gooded nonsense is easy for us to detect
By the loss of respect for each other and virtually no self respect
Gone are the days of the nit-nurse gone is the headmasters cane
Is society better off for it? Perhaps we should all think again

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

Details | Roy May Poem

The Menu That Built the Empire

Don’t worry about being thinner
Get yourself off down the pub
Then go home to a good British dinner,
Of British traditional grub

Delicious roast beef of old England
Served up with a thick Yorkshire pud
With roast spuds and cabbage and carrots
Plus gravy in which the spoon stood

What’s wrong with a good stew and dumplings?
Made with some prime neck of lamb
Or a thick slice of home boiled bacon
Instead of that wafer thin ham

Fried eggs and bacon for breakfast
A steak that’s surrounded with chips
Some mushrooms and beans or tomatoes
Can I hear you smacking your lips?

Give me pork chops with a kidney
A helping of wild rabbit pie
With carrots and peas and thick pastry
For which old Auntie Bessie would die

Kippers, smoked haddock or winkles
Mussels or soft herring roe
Jellied eels, tripe or pigs liver
I think I might give it a go

A thick slice of cheddar is pleasant
Coated with pickle of course
Or maybe a plump well hung Pheasant
Plastered with cranberry sauce

Blackberry and apple crumble
A dollop of cream on the plate
This is making my tummy rumble
Give me some quick I can't wait

A big lump of home made bread pudding
Or maybe a nice spotted dick
Served up with syrup or custard
Providing the custard is thick

A stuffed Sheep’s heart makes a good dinner
Or a nice deep-fried black pudding ring
On a slice of fried bread, did you hear what I said? 
This is food that is fit for a king

When you’ve feasted on cabbage or brussels
Don’t ever consider you’ve sinned
Just be certain your close friends and family
Are seated some distance up wind

A plateful of boiled new potatoes
Dashed with salt taste exceedingly nice
If you give them a try will you no longer buy
Bean shoots or Chinese fried rice

Avoid all these kebabs and curries
They look like they’ve been eaten before
You’ll be finding them most Sunday mornings
On the pavement outside your front door

Don’t listen to these dieticians
Between themselves they can’t agree
Nobody mentioned cholesterol
Until nineteen seventy three

Make sure all your dinners are British
Now you know the foods that I mean
We never defeated old Hitler
Eating Pasta or Nuevo Cuisine