Poetry corner

[Diego Napier]

 

[withdeanwombat]

Here's my Mum,cooks good grub.
Rinses my undies in a tub
Works like stink in our slum
Nobody can beat my Mum.

 

[Shy Talk]

I think that I would rather like
To be a saddle on a bike.
(Don't recall who)

 

[The Antikythera Mechanism]

Poem by Joseph Merrick (The Elephant Man)

'Tis true my form is something odd,
But blaming me is blaming God;
Could I create myself anew
I would not fail in pleasing you.

If I could reach from pole to pole
Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by the soul;
The mind's the standard of the man.

—poem used by Joseph Merrick to end his letters, adapted from "False Greatness" by Isaac Watts

 

[34064 Fighter Command]

Yes, another opportunity to post my toilet limerick...........

 

[The Antikythera Mechanism]

Yes, another opportunity to post my toilet limerick...........

I remember this one from the wall of a newly decorated site toilet cubicle;

"The painters work was all in vain
The shithouse poet strikes again"

 

[Crispy Ambulance]

PROTEIN

Their only happiness comes in cans
Charlies' left with swollen glands
Acrobats dangling in mid-air
The Viet Cong lies in despair

The beauty queen is full of scabs
She walks around with slimy crabs
Clinging to her legs, and finds
Justice exists not in mankind.

If you had the button, would it help
To increase your personal wealth
Or would it inflict anger and pain
In the shower of atomic rain

Umbrellas proved to be no match
The chickens can no longer hatch
Their eggs, and so we lose another source
Of protein in this holocaust


Me about 25 years ago.

 

[Dave the OAP]

Oh Dear Little Flo
We Love you so
Especially in your nighty
When the moonlight flits
Across your Tits
Oh Jesus Christ Almighty

C/O Derek and Clive Live

 

[drew]

To many of spike's to quote but might as well go for the shortest:

String.
String is a very important thing.
Rope is thicker but string is quicker.

 

[Taybha]

we're gonna need a bigger boat

 

[pasty]

Yes, another opportunity to post my toilet limerick...........

Ah, if we're talking toilet poetry, here's another couple...

Some come here to read a book
some come here to sit and look
Some come here to sit and think
But I come here to shit and stink


Here I sit
Broken hearted
Paid my penny
And only farted

 

[Frutos]

There once was a man from Nantucket...

 

[pasty]

There once was a man from Nantucket...

Can't believe it took 31 replies for that to appear

 

[Cadiz Seagull]

One night, whilst mixing rose madder
Titian's model ascended a ladder.
Her position, to Titian,
Suggested coition;
So he nipped up the ladder and 'ad 'er

 

[HAILSHAM SEAGULL]

Favorite building site toilet poem...

Its no use standing on the seat
The crabs in here jump fifteen feet
If you thank that thats a lie
Go next door, the bastards fly

 

[Don Quixote]

IF has to be my number one even if it is a bit obvious.

This one by Wilfred Owen gets me every time. The words are beautifully harsh and sickening. ''froth-corrupted lungs'' strikes a chord for some reason and I think it's a wonderful message to deliver to anyone who thinks war is anything other than sickeningly evil.


Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares(2) we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest(3) began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots(4)
Of tired, outstripped(5) Five-Nines(6) that dropped behind.
Gas!(7) Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets(8) just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime(9) . . .
Dim, through the misty panes(10) and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering,(11) choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud(12)
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest(13)
To children ardent(14) for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.(15)

Probably one of the greatest poets this country has produced. Strange meeting is his best one I think.

 

[KZNSeagull]

Not forgetting the fabulous ode to Mr C. Richard


Oh, Cliff
It must be sometimes difficult,
Not to feel as if
You really are a cliff
When fascists keep trying to push you over it
Are they the lemmings?
Or are you Cliff?
Or are you Cliff?

Pollution, all around
Sometimes up, sometimes down
but always.....around

Pollution, are you coming to my town?
Or am I coming to yours?

We're on different buses, pollution
But we are both using...petrol.

Also

 

[Buzzer]

A bit of Linton Kwesi Johnson with a soundtrack that is an absolute killer. I love this video.

[yt]EFMjbGzP9cw[/yt]

 

[withdeanwombat]

Nobody is like my Mum
Always happy,never glum
She even combs away my nits
Those irritating little gits.

 

[Frutos]

Can't believe it took 31 replies for that to appear

I don't like to disappoint.