11
   

HIGH CLASS POETRY

 
 
oristarA
 
  -3  
Reply Mon 28 Mar, 2016 09:36 am
As I passed Winnie the Pooh Cakes today I suddenly got a love formula in my mind.

Twin Theory

A kiss from rose's
Often coupled with
A pain from thorn
So you'll know
How to sing
A love song
That is an army of love
Goes rolling along

-Oristar
0 Replies
 
Setanta
 
  1  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 05:09 am
My grandfather was in France for the Great War, and when we were children, he taught us this song, popular with the "doughboys" . . . (i only remember two verses)

Mademoiselle from Armentières
Par-lay voo
Mademoiselle from Armentières
Par-lay voo
Mademoiselle from Armentières
She ain't been kissed in forty years
Hinky-dinky Par-lay voo

Mademoiselle from gay Paree
Par-lay voo
Mademoiselle from gay Paree
Par-lay voo
Masdemoiselle from gay Paree
She stole my underwear from me
Hinky-dinky Par-lay voo
Lordyaswas
 
  3  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 07:50 am
@Setanta,
I learnt the same poem at school, and there are quite a few very naughty verses.

The final one is just about printable:

And now she's in fair London town
Parlais-vous
And now she's in fair London town
Parlais-vous
And now she's in fair London town
Touch of her tits for half a crown
Inky pinky parlais-vous.

0 Replies
 
Lordyaswas
 
  2  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 07:54 am
The sad little downthumbers arrived again, I see.

Setanta
 
  2  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 12:55 pm
Screw them--i've voted your posts up.

I suspect that if my grandfather were familiar with such verses, he thought better of teaching them to small children.
0 Replies
 
farmerman
 
  1  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 03:15 pm
@Lordyaswas,
ere ya go . bit a bracing up, never even see them thumb suckers
farmerman
 
  4  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 03:24 pm
@farmerman,
Quote:
I Think That I Shall Never See

I think that I shall never see
a billboard lovely as a tree.
Perhaps, unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all.

-


-Blogden Nash
0 Replies
 
Setanta
 
  2  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 06:23 pm
"Purple Cow"

I never saw a Purple Cow,
I never hope to see one;
But I can tell you, anyhow,
I'd rather see than be one
"

-- Gelett Burgess, 1895.

"Confession: and a Portrait Too, Upon a Background that I Rue"

Ah, yes, I wrote the "Purple Cow"—
I'm Sorry, now, I wrote it;
But I can tell you Anyhow
I'll Kill you if you Quote it!


-- Gelett Burgess, 1897.


TomTomBinks
 
  1  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 07:04 pm
@Setanta,
Perverse and quaint the ways of paint
Afflict me with disquiet
On door and sill no coating will
Adhere when I apply it
From roofs and eaves like falling leaves
It's short lived fragments sever
Yet clear and fresh upon my flesh it's luster clings forever!

Philip A. Nicholson
Bedford, England
0 Replies
 
timur
 
  2  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 08:06 pm
and so we are washed
from our silly sins
by tantalising tales
of water into wine
(into vodka too?)
of loaves, fishes
(and what of crab, of lobster?)

air into ted tongues
of fierce fire licks
by that highpowered
business manager
third passport name Holy Ghost
exposing his packaged deal
Eternity guaranteed
a big economy size
to eleven or twelve
(not forgetting Thomas)

Flaming them
at the Pentecost-Hilton
with the hard sell heat
..the first twelve salesmen

blaze the trail, boys
and here's the key, Pete

and so we are washed

don't you feel pre-shrunk?


- Joanne Burns
farmerman
 
  2  
Reply Sat 2 Apr, 2016 09:34 pm
@timur,
Whatever happened to Lawrence?
with his surname, ferlenghetti,
sounding like a pasta.
Well, hes dead too,
real dead.
0 Replies
 
Lordyaswas
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 01:53 am
My Dad (and many others in the Labour Party at that time) always used to put his own words to the Left Wing song, "The Red Flag".

It always started with:

"The Working Class can kiss my arse,
I've got the Foreman's job at last."
0 Replies
 
oristarA
 
  -3  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 04:36 am
Real gentlemen always have an air of dogged gentility.
Those who go bawdy often belong to working class.
0 Replies
 
Lordyaswas
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 05:04 am
GFY.


There was a young lady from Hitchin
Who was scratching her crotch in the kitchen.
Her mother said, "Rose,
It's the crabs, I suppose."
She said, "Yes, and the buggers are itchin'."
0 Replies
 
Tes yeux noirs
 
  2  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 05:07 am
There was a young lady from Leicester
Who said to the man who undressed her
"If you want a good grind,
Best go from behind,
Because the front's beginning to fester"
0 Replies
 
Tes yeux noirs
 
  1  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 05:10 am
Isn't it about time someone quoted from The Great McGonagall?

The Great Tay Whale

’TWAS in the month of December, and in the year 1883,
That a monster whale came to Dundee,
Resolved for a few days to sport and play,
And devour the small fishes in the silvery Tay.

So the monster whale did sport and play
Among the innocent little fishes in the beautiful Tay,
Until he was seen by some men one day,
And they resolved to catch him without delay.

When it came to be known a whale was seen in the Tay,
Some men began to talk and to say,
We must try and catch this monster of a whale,
So come on, brave boys, and never say fail.

Then the people together in crowds did run,
Resolved to capture the whale and to have some fun!
So small boats were launched on the silvery Tay,
While the monster of the deep did sport and play.

Oh! it was a most fearful and beautiful sight,
To see it lashing the water with its tail all its might,
And making the water ascend like a shower of hail,
With one lash of its ugly and mighty tail.

Then the water did descend on the men in the boats,
Which wet their trousers and also their coats;
But it only made them the more determined to catch the whale,
But the whale shook at them his tail.

Then the whale began to puff and to blow,
While the men and the boats after him did go,
Armed well with harpoons for the fray,
Which they fired at him without dismay.

And they laughed and grinned just like wild baboons,
While they fired at him their sharp harpoons:
But when struck with,the harpoons he dived below,
Which filled his pursuers’ hearts with woe.

Because they guessed they had lost a prize,
Which caused the tears to well up in their eyes;
And in that their anticipations were only right,
Because he sped on to Stonehaven with all his might:

And was first seen by the crew of a Gourdon fishing boat
Which they thought was a big coble upturned afloat;
But when they drew near they saw it was a whale,
So they resolved to tow it ashore without fail.

So they got a rope from each boat tied round his tail,
And landed their burden at Stonehaven without fail;
And when the people saw it their voices they did raise,
Declaring that the brave fishermen deserved great praise.

And my opinion is that God sent the whale in time of need,
No matter what other people may think or what is their creed;
I know fishermen in general are often very poor,
And God in His goodness sent it drive poverty from their door.

So Mr John Wood has bought it for two hundred and twenty-six pound,
And has brought it to Dundee all safe and all sound;
Which measures 40 feet in length from the snout to the tail,
So I advise the people far and near to see it without fail.

Then hurrah! for the mighty monster whale,
Which has got 17 feet 4 inches from tip to tip of a tail!
Which can be seen for a sixpence or a shilling,
That is to say, if the people all are willing.
0 Replies
 
Setanta
 
  2  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 05:27 am
An unexpectedly chase limerick, written by me:

There was a young man from Nantucket
Who loved his duty and didn't duck it
He worked for a maid
Who lived in a glade
And he carried his lunch in a bucket


I'm assuming we all know the original version.
0 Replies
 
Setanta
 
  2  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 05:33 am
There was a young man from Dundee
Who reaped an ape in a tree
The result was most horrid
All ass and no forehead
Three balls and a purple goatee
0 Replies
 
oristarA
 
  -4  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 05:40 am
Break, break, break,
On thy cold gray stones, O Sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy,
That he shouts with his sister at play!
O well for the sailor lad,
That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on
To their haven under the hill;
But O for the touch of a vanish'd hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,
At the foot of thy crags, O Sea!
But the tender grace of a day that is dead,
Will never come back to me.

-Alfred, Lord Tennyson
0 Replies
 
Setanta
 
  2  
Reply Sun 3 Apr, 2016 05:45 am
Thumb thumbofabitch has been thumbing again.
0 Replies
 
 

 
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