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poems!
- Thread starter Arong692
- Start date
On the Ning Nang Nong
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
The cabin boy went onto the burning deck
Twit!
S Milligan
Where the Cows go Bong!
and the monkeys all say BOO!
There's a Nong Nang Ning
Where the trees go Ping!
And the tea pots jibber jabber joo.
On the Nong Ning Nang
All the mice go Clang
And you just can't catch 'em when they do!
So its Ning Nang Nong
Cows go Bong!
Nong Nang Ning
Trees go ping
Nong Ning Nang
The mice go Clang
What a noisy place to belong
is the Ning Nang Ning Nang Nong!!
The cabin boy went onto the burning deck
Twit!
S Milligan
I'm not sure that I have a "favourite" poem: there are too many.
But NSC might like this Belloc poem, I know Attila does...
When I am living in the Midlands
That are sodden and unkind,
I light my lamp in the evening:
My work is left behind;
And the great hills of the South Country
Come back into my mind.
The great hills of the South Country
They stand along the sea;
And it's there walking in the high woods
That I could wish to be,
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Walking along with me.
The men that live in North England
I saw them for a day:
Their hearts are set upon the waste fells,
Their skies are fast and grey;
From their castle-walls a man may see
The mountains far away.
The men that live in West England
They see the Severn strong,
A-rolling on rough water brown
Light aspen leaves along.
They have the secret of the Rocks,
And the oldest kind of song.
But the men that live in the South Country
Are the kindest and most wise,
They get their laughter from the loud surf,
And the faith in their happy eyes
Comes surely from our Sister the Spring
When over the sea she flies;
The violets suddenly bloom at her feet,
She blesses us with surprise.
I never get between the pines
But I smell the Sussex air;
Nor I never come on a belt of sand
But my home is there.
And along the sky the line of the Downs
So noble and so bare.
A lost thing could I never find,
Nor a broken thing mend:
And I fear I shall be all alone
When I get towards the end.
Who will there be to comfort me
Or who will be my friend?
I will gather and carefully make my friends
Of the men of the Sussex Weald;
They watch the stars from silent folds,
They stiffly plough the field.
By them and the God of the South Country
My poor soul shall be healed.
If I ever become a rich man,
Or if ever I grow to be old,
I will build a house with deep thatch
To shelter me from the cold,
And there shall the Sussex songs be sung
And the story of Sussex told.
I will hold my house in the high wood
Within a walk of the sea,
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Shall sit and drink with me.
But NSC might like this Belloc poem, I know Attila does...
When I am living in the Midlands
That are sodden and unkind,
I light my lamp in the evening:
My work is left behind;
And the great hills of the South Country
Come back into my mind.
The great hills of the South Country
They stand along the sea;
And it's there walking in the high woods
That I could wish to be,
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Walking along with me.
The men that live in North England
I saw them for a day:
Their hearts are set upon the waste fells,
Their skies are fast and grey;
From their castle-walls a man may see
The mountains far away.
The men that live in West England
They see the Severn strong,
A-rolling on rough water brown
Light aspen leaves along.
They have the secret of the Rocks,
And the oldest kind of song.
But the men that live in the South Country
Are the kindest and most wise,
They get their laughter from the loud surf,
And the faith in their happy eyes
Comes surely from our Sister the Spring
When over the sea she flies;
The violets suddenly bloom at her feet,
She blesses us with surprise.
I never get between the pines
But I smell the Sussex air;
Nor I never come on a belt of sand
But my home is there.
And along the sky the line of the Downs
So noble and so bare.
A lost thing could I never find,
Nor a broken thing mend:
And I fear I shall be all alone
When I get towards the end.
Who will there be to comfort me
Or who will be my friend?
I will gather and carefully make my friends
Of the men of the Sussex Weald;
They watch the stars from silent folds,
They stiffly plough the field.
By them and the God of the South Country
My poor soul shall be healed.
If I ever become a rich man,
Or if ever I grow to be old,
I will build a house with deep thatch
To shelter me from the cold,
And there shall the Sussex songs be sung
And the story of Sussex told.
I will hold my house in the high wood
Within a walk of the sea,
And the men that were boys when I was a boy
Shall sit and drink with me.
Juan Albion
Chicken Sniffer 3rd Class
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
A stately pleasure-dome decree:
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round:
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!
A savage place! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover!
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced:
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war!
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice!
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw:
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me
That with music loud and long
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome! those caves of ice!
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware! Beware!
His flashing eyes, his floating hair!
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Deportivo Seagull
I should coco
OZYMANDIAS
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.[1]
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.[1]
I love that poem. It keeps coming to mind every time I see a dictatorship toppled and the statues are pulled down.
And while we're on the subject of Shelley, there's also ...
Men of England, wherefore plough
For the lords who lay ye low?
Wherefore weave with toil and care
The rich robes your tyrants wear?
Wherefore feed, and clothe, and save,
From the cradle to the grave,
Those ungrateful drones who would
Drain your sweat—nay, drink your blood?
Wherefore, Bees of England, forge
Many a weapon, chain, and scourge
That these stingless drones may spoil
The forced produce of your toil?
Have ye leisure, comfort, calm,
Shelter, food, love's gentle balm?
Or what is it ye buy so dear
With your pain and with your fear?
The seed ye sow, another reaps;
The wealth ye find, another keeps;
The robes ye weave, another wears;
The arms ye forge, another bears.
Sow seed,—but let no tyrant reap;
Find wealth,—let no impostor heap;
Weave robes,—let not the idle wear;
Forge arms,—in your defence to bear.
Shrink to your cellars, holes, and cells;
In halls ye deck another dwells.
Why shake the chains ye wrought? Ye see
The steel ye tempered glance on ye.
With plough and spade, and hoe and loom,
Trace your grave, and build your tomb,
And weave your winding-sheet, till fair
England be your sepulchre.
I remember seeing the dub poet Michael Smith recite that on a TV programme in the 70s. It was a fantastic performance, one of my favourite bits of telly of all time.
Warning
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn´t go, and doesn´t suit me,
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we´ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I´m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people´s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes to keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
Jenny Joseph
When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn´t go, and doesn´t suit me,
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we´ve no money for butter.
I shall sit down on the pavement when I´m tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick the flowers in other people´s gardens
And learn to spit.
You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.
But now we must have clothes to keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We will have friends to dinner and read the papers.
But maybe I ought to practise a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old and start to wear purple.
Jenny Joseph
Bevendean Hillbilly
New member
Kipling...
God gives all men all earth to love,
But since man’s heart is small,
Ordains for each one spot shall prove
Beloved over all.
Each to his choice, and I rejoice
The lot has fallen to me
In a fair ground—in a fair ground—
Yea, Sussex by the sea!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
God gives all men all earth to love,
But since man’s heart is small,
Ordains for each one spot shall prove
Beloved over all.
Each to his choice, and I rejoice
The lot has fallen to me
In a fair ground—in a fair ground—
Yea, Sussex by the sea!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twinkle Toes
Growing old disgracefully
String, string is a wonderful thing.
Rope is thicker but string is quicker.
Spike Milligan
Rope is thicker but string is quicker.
Spike Milligan
String, string is a wonderful thing.
Rope is thicker but string is quicker.
Spike Milligan
I eat my peas with honey,
I`ve done it all my life,
It makes my peas taste funny,
But it keeps them on my knife.
Terence Milligan.
BeardyChops
Active member
- Jan 24, 2009
- 461
Two of my favourites... Masefield, and a variant by Mike Spilligan, the well know typing mistake:
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
--
I must go down to the sea again,
the lonely sea and the sky,
I left my vest and socks there,
I wonder if they're dry
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.
I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.
I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.
--
I must go down to the sea again,
the lonely sea and the sky,
I left my vest and socks there,
I wonder if they're dry
withdeanwombat
Well-known member
O wad some power the giftie gie us
To see oursels as ithers see us.
Rabbi Burns. To a Louse.
Though I agree with the poster who said there are just too many to choose from.Later,I might choose something else !
To see oursels as ithers see us.
Rabbi Burns. To a Louse.
Though I agree with the poster who said there are just too many to choose from.Later,I might choose something else !
Man of Harveys
Well-known member
Best. Poem. Ever.
I'm also very partial to a bit of Gray's Elegy and - I don't care if he's lowbrow - Betjemen.
Easy 10
Brain dead MUG SHEEP
The season started brightly, with a victory at Turf Moor
Burnley 1 the Albion 3 was the final score
Away wins on the opening day were rare delights indeed
The heady heights of 2nd place, my nose began to bleed
A 0-0 draw with Coventry was Withdeans opening game
A point against the Sky Blues, in this there was no shame
But after this it all went wrong, our train crashed off the track
Another point we would not see until the clocks went back
Norwich plundered all the points, they showed us how to pass
We ran around all afternoon, but did not have their class
But worse there was to follow, when Bobby clutched his knee
He’d gone down from a challenge and sustained an injury
Selhurst was the next stop, rows of empty seats in sight
The Dons fans stayed away in droves in protest at their plight
Once again we failed to score, defeat was duley dealt
All down to one late penalty, how gutted we all felt
Walsall came and went one-up, so what were we to do ?
We kicked off, passed and lost the ball, they promptly made it two
The fans voiced their displeasure, in fact they went bezerk
Whatever Hinsh did with the team, it clearly didn’t work
Defeats continued to pile up and downwards we did fall,
As zero points were gained from trips to Portsmouth and Millwall
Then finally a win was ours, the feeling was sublime
But it was only Exeter, and that took extra time
Back to the League and Gillingham, and two we were to score
The one slight problem with that, was that Gillingham got four
Their last goal was embarrassing, as we misplaced a pass
They rolled the ball past Petterson when he fell down on his ar$e
Next came Stoke, an evening game, our pain did not abate
As our defence collided, gifting victory on a plate
Another blank at Rotherham, and yet more misery
The linesmans flag said “offside”, but the ref did not agree
A visit now from Grimsby Town, bottom of the table
A football team that’s worse than us, to beat them were we able ?
Within two minutes Grimsby scored to answer us that question
And dumped us to rock bottom, adding to our deep depression
Another loss at Watford, Kuipers couldn’t hold the ball
Dick Knight by now had had enough, Hinsh on his sword must fall
So who could end our misery, as down the league we topple ?
Our old friend once of Crystal P, Dick turned to Stevie Coppell
So Coppells debut match did come, improvements must be made
We’d dug ourselves into a hole, Steve take away our spade !
We went two-up against the Blades, now could we win by more ?
Alas not, come the second half the Blades they banged in four
The derby match at Selhurst brought us nothing but more pain
Five goals they scored without reply, a nightmare of a game
The cops did not enhance our mood, for what were we to do
They blocked off every street and road, and treated us like poo
Then finally a blinding light pierced through our deepest dark
Three points against a Bradford side, we played them off the park
Through pouring rain we howled and cheered, a victory to savour
But could we take this form to Wolves ? Come on, do me a favour
At Molineux we did arrive as lambs into the slaughter
Despite the Bradford win we knew the Wolves would give no quarter
A great game ended in a draw, we even went in front
Wolves’ goal deflected off Rae’s ar$e and in, the jammy….begger.
But what a joyous day that was when Derby came to town
Not overawed by their star names, our team did not lie down
Mayo scored in added time, we beat the Rams one-nil
As Gregory sulked and stomped his feet, my God if looks could kill.
Deepdale was next on the list, they took a two-nil lead
The odds of picking up a point looked very bleak indeed
But check the record books, we pulled it back, the teams they drew
Cos Rodger and then Sidwell scored to make the game two-two
Next at home were Reading, D2 bridesmaids of last season
They say THEY were the best, but only Pardew knows the reason
A smash and grab they stole the points, and adding to our woe
Their goal was scored by Palace scum, that reject Salako
Then three nil down at Forest, and the goals flew in with ease
They battered us right from the start, blind to the woods for trees
We scored a couple later on to make the score three-two
The last one though I bloody missed, cos I was on the loo
A six-pointer at Wednesday next, a good chance of a win
The owls were utter garbage, dropping points would be a sin
We went one-up when Gary scored, that vital win in sight
But Kuqi scored in added time, despite them being shite
Our luck was out at Derby, the ref made one bad call
When Hinsh was shoved hard from behind, and fell onto the ball
A clear free kick to us we thought, cheers ref and thanks a lot
Not on your nelly said the ref, and pointed to the spot
A heros welcome hailed the comeback of our dear old Micky
As he breezed back to Withdean with his new team, Leicester City
But platitudes and thanks did not extend onto the pitch
As Micky made off with the points, short-arsed son-of-a-bitch
Boxing Day, and we were stuffed with Bernard Matthews turkey
A one-nil win at Norwich though sure left us feeling perky
Steve Sidwell volleyed from a corner, giving us the lead
Three points that day was “Bootiful”, of that we all agreed
Burnley thought they had the points, they led us by two-nil
But they reckoned without Siddy, who dealt them a bitter pill
The clock ticked down to injury time and still we couldn’t score
Then out of nothing came 2 goals and Sidwell to the fore
The game with Wimbledon fell foul, the weather rained it off
I wasn’t too dispondent as I had a nasty cough
A nice day in, the radio, with some beer and hops ?
Fat chance, the missus dragged me out and round the bleeding shops
The FA Cup has come and gone, beaten in Round Three
As Norwich gained their sweet revenge, Round Four we would not see
Oh well the Leagues the main thing, the cup doesn’t matter, does it ?
We’d never swap the three points gained there from our previous visit
A rare trip up to Highfield Road, a valuable point earned
We hit the woodwork twice as well, as chances they went spurned
My friend and I watched from a box and drank loads of free beer
By the end we couldn’t walk, but went home in good cheer
Bobby scored v Pompey, and the feeling was devine
Even though ‘Zamora’ sounds like some cheap spanish wine
The match it ended in a draw, not good for Pompeys stats
So suck on that Meridian, you biased Hampshire twats
And so we battle onwards as Steve Coppell works his magic
We cannot think of losing, relegation would be tragic
The season is not over, there is hope, I see a glint
For these wise words I cling to – tis’ a marathon, not a sprint.
Burnley 1 the Albion 3 was the final score
Away wins on the opening day were rare delights indeed
The heady heights of 2nd place, my nose began to bleed
A 0-0 draw with Coventry was Withdeans opening game
A point against the Sky Blues, in this there was no shame
But after this it all went wrong, our train crashed off the track
Another point we would not see until the clocks went back
Norwich plundered all the points, they showed us how to pass
We ran around all afternoon, but did not have their class
But worse there was to follow, when Bobby clutched his knee
He’d gone down from a challenge and sustained an injury
Selhurst was the next stop, rows of empty seats in sight
The Dons fans stayed away in droves in protest at their plight
Once again we failed to score, defeat was duley dealt
All down to one late penalty, how gutted we all felt
Walsall came and went one-up, so what were we to do ?
We kicked off, passed and lost the ball, they promptly made it two
The fans voiced their displeasure, in fact they went bezerk
Whatever Hinsh did with the team, it clearly didn’t work
Defeats continued to pile up and downwards we did fall,
As zero points were gained from trips to Portsmouth and Millwall
Then finally a win was ours, the feeling was sublime
But it was only Exeter, and that took extra time
Back to the League and Gillingham, and two we were to score
The one slight problem with that, was that Gillingham got four
Their last goal was embarrassing, as we misplaced a pass
They rolled the ball past Petterson when he fell down on his ar$e
Next came Stoke, an evening game, our pain did not abate
As our defence collided, gifting victory on a plate
Another blank at Rotherham, and yet more misery
The linesmans flag said “offside”, but the ref did not agree
A visit now from Grimsby Town, bottom of the table
A football team that’s worse than us, to beat them were we able ?
Within two minutes Grimsby scored to answer us that question
And dumped us to rock bottom, adding to our deep depression
Another loss at Watford, Kuipers couldn’t hold the ball
Dick Knight by now had had enough, Hinsh on his sword must fall
So who could end our misery, as down the league we topple ?
Our old friend once of Crystal P, Dick turned to Stevie Coppell
So Coppells debut match did come, improvements must be made
We’d dug ourselves into a hole, Steve take away our spade !
We went two-up against the Blades, now could we win by more ?
Alas not, come the second half the Blades they banged in four
The derby match at Selhurst brought us nothing but more pain
Five goals they scored without reply, a nightmare of a game
The cops did not enhance our mood, for what were we to do
They blocked off every street and road, and treated us like poo
Then finally a blinding light pierced through our deepest dark
Three points against a Bradford side, we played them off the park
Through pouring rain we howled and cheered, a victory to savour
But could we take this form to Wolves ? Come on, do me a favour
At Molineux we did arrive as lambs into the slaughter
Despite the Bradford win we knew the Wolves would give no quarter
A great game ended in a draw, we even went in front
Wolves’ goal deflected off Rae’s ar$e and in, the jammy….begger.
But what a joyous day that was when Derby came to town
Not overawed by their star names, our team did not lie down
Mayo scored in added time, we beat the Rams one-nil
As Gregory sulked and stomped his feet, my God if looks could kill.
Deepdale was next on the list, they took a two-nil lead
The odds of picking up a point looked very bleak indeed
But check the record books, we pulled it back, the teams they drew
Cos Rodger and then Sidwell scored to make the game two-two
Next at home were Reading, D2 bridesmaids of last season
They say THEY were the best, but only Pardew knows the reason
A smash and grab they stole the points, and adding to our woe
Their goal was scored by Palace scum, that reject Salako
Then three nil down at Forest, and the goals flew in with ease
They battered us right from the start, blind to the woods for trees
We scored a couple later on to make the score three-two
The last one though I bloody missed, cos I was on the loo
A six-pointer at Wednesday next, a good chance of a win
The owls were utter garbage, dropping points would be a sin
We went one-up when Gary scored, that vital win in sight
But Kuqi scored in added time, despite them being shite
Our luck was out at Derby, the ref made one bad call
When Hinsh was shoved hard from behind, and fell onto the ball
A clear free kick to us we thought, cheers ref and thanks a lot
Not on your nelly said the ref, and pointed to the spot
A heros welcome hailed the comeback of our dear old Micky
As he breezed back to Withdean with his new team, Leicester City
But platitudes and thanks did not extend onto the pitch
As Micky made off with the points, short-arsed son-of-a-bitch
Boxing Day, and we were stuffed with Bernard Matthews turkey
A one-nil win at Norwich though sure left us feeling perky
Steve Sidwell volleyed from a corner, giving us the lead
Three points that day was “Bootiful”, of that we all agreed
Burnley thought they had the points, they led us by two-nil
But they reckoned without Siddy, who dealt them a bitter pill
The clock ticked down to injury time and still we couldn’t score
Then out of nothing came 2 goals and Sidwell to the fore
The game with Wimbledon fell foul, the weather rained it off
I wasn’t too dispondent as I had a nasty cough
A nice day in, the radio, with some beer and hops ?
Fat chance, the missus dragged me out and round the bleeding shops
The FA Cup has come and gone, beaten in Round Three
As Norwich gained their sweet revenge, Round Four we would not see
Oh well the Leagues the main thing, the cup doesn’t matter, does it ?
We’d never swap the three points gained there from our previous visit
A rare trip up to Highfield Road, a valuable point earned
We hit the woodwork twice as well, as chances they went spurned
My friend and I watched from a box and drank loads of free beer
By the end we couldn’t walk, but went home in good cheer
Bobby scored v Pompey, and the feeling was devine
Even though ‘Zamora’ sounds like some cheap spanish wine
The match it ended in a draw, not good for Pompeys stats
So suck on that Meridian, you biased Hampshire twats
And so we battle onwards as Steve Coppell works his magic
We cannot think of losing, relegation would be tragic
The season is not over, there is hope, I see a glint
For these wise words I cling to – tis’ a marathon, not a sprint.
happypig
Staring at the rude boys
There was a boy called Freddie
bur Freddie is no more
'cos what he thought was H2O
was H2SO4
bur Freddie is no more
'cos what he thought was H2O
was H2SO4
The Road not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Robert Frost
Cadiz Seagull
Grey bearded old man
One night, while mixing rose madder
Titian's model ascended a ladder.
Her position to Titian
Suggested coition
So he nipped up the ladder and adder
Titian's model ascended a ladder.
Her position to Titian
Suggested coition
So he nipped up the ladder and adder
Cadiz Seagull
Grey bearded old man
The Tay Bridge Disaster by William McGonagall
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
Beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
'Twas about seven o'clock at night,
And the wind it blew with all its might,
And the rain came pouring down,
And the dark clouds seem'd to frown,
And the Demon of the air seem'd to say-
"I'll blow down the Bridge of Tay."
When the train left Edinburgh
The passengers' hearts were light and felt no sorrow,
But Boreas blew a terrific gale,
Which made their hearts for to quail,
And many of the passengers with fear did say-
"I hope God will send us safe across the Bridge of Tay."
But when the train came near to Wormit Bay,
Boreas he did loud and angry bray,
And shook the central girders of the Bridge of Tay
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
So the train sped on with all its might,
And Bonnie Dundee soon hove in sight,
And the passengers' hearts felt light,
Thinking they would enjoy themselves on the New Year,
With their friends at home they lov'd most dear,
And wish them all a happy New Year.
So the train mov'd slowly along the Bridge of Tay,
Until it was about midway,
Then the central girders with a crash gave way,
And down went the train and passengers into the Tay!
The Storm Fiend did loudly bray,
Because ninety lives had been taken away,
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
As soon as the catastrophe came to be known
The alarm from mouth to mouth was blown,
And the cry rang out all o'er the town,
Good Heavens! the Tay Bridge is blown down,
And a passenger train from Edinburgh,
Which fill'd all the peoples hearts with sorrow,
And made them for to turn pale,
Because none of the passengers were sav'd to tell the tale
How the disaster happen'd on the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.
It must have been an awful sight,
To witness in the dusky moonlight,
While the Storm Fiend did laugh, and angry did bray,
Along the Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
Oh! ill-fated Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay,
I must now conclude my lay
By telling the world fearlessly without the least dismay,
That your central girders would not have given way,
At least many sensible men do say,
Had they been supported on each side with buttresses,
At least many sensible men confesses,
For the stronger we our houses do build,
The less chance we have of being killed.
Box of Frogs
Zamoras Left Boot
An Old Lady's Poem
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.....
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill....
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten ...with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty-my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman ...and nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years ....all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
..Not a crabby old woman; look closer ...see ME!!
What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
What are you thinking when you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food and makes no reply
When you say in a loud voice, "I do wish you'd try!"
Who seems not to notice the things that you do,
And forever is losing a stocking or shoe.....
Who, resisting or not, lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding, the long day to fill....
Is that what you're thinking? Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse; you're not looking at me.
I'll tell you who I am as I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, as I eat at your will.
I'm a small child of ten ...with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters, who love one another.
A young girl of sixteen, with wings on her feet,
Dreaming that soon now a lover she'll meet.
A bride soon at twenty-my heart gives a leap,
Remembering the vows that I promised to keep.
At twenty-five now, I have young of my own,
Who need me to guide and a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.
At fifty once more, babies play round my knee,
Again we know children, my loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me, my husband is dead;
I look at the future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing young of their own,
And I think of the years and the love that I've known.
I'm now an old woman ...and nature is cruel;
'Tis jest to make old age look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart,
There is now a stone where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass a young girl still dwells,
And now and again my battered heart swells.
I remember the joys, I remember the pain,
And I'm loving and living life over again.
I think of the years ....all too few, gone too fast,
And accept the stark fact that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, nurses, open and see,
..Not a crabby old woman; look closer ...see ME!!
Deportivo Seagull
I should coco
An admission on my part ... when it comes to poetry I am a complete Philistine, however Ozymandius facinates me, as for other works of Shelly .. I wouldn't know them if they were nailed to my forehead
However, like many a poster on here ... I love Spike milligan, I don't care if it's not real poetry. On the subject of Spike my signature is curtsey of Spike ...