Poems and Verses

Recession

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 16:11:08 +0000

There was a young man in the bank,
Who thought it a wonderful prank,
To purchase sub-prime,
He thought it sublime,
That stupid young man in the bank.

There was an old man in the city,
For brains he had none, what a pitty.
To buy his estate,
His bonus did take,
That stupid old man in the city.

The public had little to spend,
Recession it wouldn't soon end.
So they saved what they had,
And thought it was bad,
The public with nothing to spend.

There was a small business so broke,
Of profits it had little hope,
The victory was hollow,
When told it could borrow,
The poor little business so broke.

The government man was still rich,
And the bankers in their little niche,
The poor are still broke,
They have little hope,
With bankers they'd gladly all switch.

No matter the promises wrote,
Or how often the public all vote,
Life's still a bind,
And I think you will find,
The lottery's our only hope.

The Machine

admin — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 16:07:07 +0000

WINNER OF POETRY COMPETITION ENDING JAN 2012

I went to the doctors the other day
Told him me boobs were sore
I'm sure there's nothing wrong he said
Have a mammogram just to be sure.

So off I trot to the clinic
When I saw this big machine
The nurse said strip to the waist
Try not to worry it's just routine.

She plonked me boob on a cold slab
And said hold it like that
A heavy plate descended
And squashed me boob flat.

Pain and embarrassment
Was more than I could bear
I didn't feel at all well
But she didn't seem to care.

I felt like a prisoner
Trapped in a device
Me boob like a piece of wood
Squeezed in a vice.

I felt bruised and battered
I wanted it over and done
She said that's all for this side
Now we'll do the other one.

At last she released me
And then to my dismay
I'd gone in there a 38c
And come out a 34a.

Now if I ever meet the man
Who invented this contraption
I'll squash his private parts in it
And put him out of action...

So all you ladies that hasn't had one
Please do not have any fear
For this big ugly machine
Saves thousands of lives each year...

Piddling Pete

Sun, 05 Feb 2012 11:01:56 +0000

A famous dog once came to town
Known to his friends as Pete
His pedigree was ten yards long
His looks were hard to beat

And as he trotted down the road
'twas beautiful to see
His work at every corner
Every post and every tree

He never missed a land mark
He never missed a post
For piddling was his masterpiece
And piddling pleased him most

The city dogs stood looking on
In deep and jealous rage
To see this little country dog
The piddler of his age

They smelt his efforts one by one
They smelt him two by two
But noble Pete in high disdain
Stood still 'til they were through

Then when they'd smelt him everywhere
The praise for him ran high
But when one smelt him underneath
Pete piddled in his eye

Just then to show these city dogs
He didn't care a damn
He strolled into the grocers shop
And piddled on the ham

He piddled on the cornflakes
He piddled on the floor
And when the grocer threw him out
He piddled up the door

Behind him all the city dogs
Debated what to do
They'd hold a piddling carnival
The hoop they'd put him through

They showed him all the piddling posts
They knew about the town
And off they set with many a wink
To wear the stranger down

But Pete was with them all the way
With vigour and with vim
A thousand piddles more or less
Were all the same to him

And on and on went noble Pete
As tireless as a windmill
And very soon those city dogs
Were piddled to a standstill

Then Pete an exhibition gave
Of all the ways to piddle
With double drips and fancy flips
And now and then a dribble

The city dogs said farewell Pete
Your piddling did defeat us
But no one ever put them wise
That Pete... had diabetes.

Poems:

Funny Poems

With Her Head Tucked Underneath Her Arm

Sun, 29 Jan 2012 10:59:57 +0000

In the Tower of London large as life,
The Ghost of Anne Boleyn walks they declare.
For Anne Boleyn was once King Henry's wife,
Until he made the headsman bob her hair!
Ah, yes, he did her wrong, long years ago
And, she comes up at night to tell him soooo!

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the midnight hour.

She comes to haunt King Henry,
She means to give him 'what for',
Gadzook! She's going to tell him off
For having split her gore,
And, just in case the headsman
Wants to give her an encore,
She has her head tucked underneath her arm.

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower
With her had tucked underneath her arm
At the midnight hour.

Along the draughty corridors,
For miles and miles she goes.
She often catches cold, poor thing,
It's cold there when it blows.
And it's awfully awkward for the Queen,
To have to blow her nose,
With her head tucked underneath her arm.

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the midnight hour!

Sometimes gay King Henry gives a spread,
For all his pals and gals and ghostly crew.
The headsman carves the joint and cuts the bread
Then in comes Anne Boleyn to 'queer the do!'
She holds her head up with a wild war whoop!
And Henry cries, "Don't drop it in the soup!"

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the midnight hour.

The sentries think that it's a football,
That she carries in.
And when they've had a few they shout,
'Is Ars'nal going to win?'
They think it's Alec James,
Instead of poor old Ann Boleyn,
With her head tucked underneath her arm.

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the midnight hour.

One night she caught King Henry
He was in the canteen bar
Said he, "Are you Jane Seymore,
Anne Boleyn or Catherine Parr?"
"How the sweet san fairy ann,
Do I know who you are?"
With your head tucked underneath your arm!

With her head tucked underneath her arm
She walks the Bloody Tower
With her head tucked underneath her arm
At the midnight hour.

R P Weston and Bert Lee

Poems:

Funny Poems

My Word You Do Look Queer

Sun, 22 Jan 2012 10:56:45 +0000

I've been very poorly but now I feel prime,
I've been out today for the very first time.
I felt like a lad as I walked down the road,
Then I met Old Jones and he said, 'Well I'm blowed!'
My word you do look queer!

My word you do look queer!
Oh, dear! You look dreadful: you've had a near shave,
You look like a man with one foot in the grave.'
I said, 'Bosh! l'm better; it's true I've been ill.'
He said, 'I'm delighted you're better, but still,
I wish you'd a thousand for me in your will.
My word, you do look queer!'

That didn't improve me, it quite put me back,
Still, I walked farther on, and I met Cousin jack.
He looked at me hard and he murmured,'Gee whiz!
It's like him! It can't be! It isn't! It is!
By gosh! Who'd have thought it? Well, well, I declare!
I'd never have known you except for your hair.
My word you do look queer!

My word you do look queer!
Your cheeks are all sunk and your colour's all gone,
Your neck's very scraggy, still you're getting on.
How old are you now? About fifty, that's true.
Your father died that age, your mother did too.
Well, the black clothes I wore then'll come in for you.
My word! You do look queer!'

That really upset me; I felt quite cast down,
But I tried to buck up, and then up came old Brown.
He stared at me hard, then he solemnly said,
'You shouldn't be out, you should be home in bed.
I heard you were bad, well I heard you were gone.
You look like a corpse with an overcoat on.
'My word you do look queer!

My word you do look queer!
You'd best have a brandy before you drop dead.'
So, pale as a sheet, I crawled in the'King's Head',
The barmaid sobbed,'Oh you poor fellow,' and then
She said, 'On the slate you owe just one pound ten,
You'd better pay up, we shan't see you again.
My word you do look queer!'

My knees started knocking, I did feel so sad.
Then Brown said, 'Don't die in a pub, it looks bad,'
He said, 'Come with me, I'll show you what to do.
Now I've got a friend who'll be useful to you.'
He led me to Black's Undertaking Depot,
And Black, with some crepe round his hat said, 'Hello,
'My word you do look queer!

My word you do look queer!
Now we'll fix you up for a trifling amount.
Now what do you say to a bit on account?'
I said,'I'm not dying.'He said,'Don't say that!
My business of late has been terribly flat,
But I'm telling my wife she can have that new hat!
My word, you do look queer!'

I crawled in the street and I murmured,'I'm done.'
Then up came Old Jenkins and shouted,'By gum!'
'My word you do look well!

My word you do look well!
You're looking fine and in the pink!'
I shouted, 'Am I?... Come and have a drink!
You've put new life in me, I'm sounder than a bell.
By gad! There's life in the old dog yet.
My word I do feel well!'

by Bob Weston & Bert Lee

Poems:

Funny Poems

When You Are Old

Thu, 19 Jan 2012 17:00:24 +0000

When You Are Old

WHEN you are old and gray and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face among a crowd of stars.

When You Are Old by W. B. Yeats (1865-1939)

Poems:

Love Poems

Coat

Sun, 15 Jan 2012 16:59:14 +0000

Coat

Sometimes I have wanted
to throw you off
like a heavy coat.

Sometimes I have said
you would not let me
breathe or move.

But now that I am free
to choose light clothes
or none at all

I feel the cold
and all the time I think
how warm it used to be.

Coat by Vicki Feaver

Poems:

Love Poems

The First Day

Wed, 11 Jan 2012 16:58:00 +0000

The First Day

I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me;
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or winter for aught I can say.
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it! Such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow.
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much!
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand! - Did one but know!

The First Day by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Poems:

Love Poems

Lullaby

Sat, 07 Jan 2012 16:56:48 +0000

Lullaby

Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit's sensual ecstasy.

Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find our mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.

Lullaby By W.H Auden (1907-1973)

Poems:

Love Poems

A Birthday

Tue, 03 Jan 2012 16:55:13 +0000

A Birthday

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water'd shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

A Birthday by Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Poems:

Love Poems