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Poem

This is a short poem about splitting up, it's called:

Ax

As good things go,
She went.
 
Shopper from the Blue Lagoon

Every gimicks been exploited,
Free teeshirts, free balloons,
Soap opera celebreties,
1/2 Price Macaroons,

Now Traders in their waders,
Guide you gently to theif craft,
You glide around the Market,
In your personal shopping raft,

Blocks of corned-beef,Coral reef,
Sheltered from the climate nasty,
Try a free-range seafood pizza,
Or a green algae pasty,

At the worlds first dive-in restraunt,
Sales are bouyant, fill your boots,
Everyone is off their trolly,
Keepers in their civic suits,

Pile them high, sell them cheap,
Everything must go,
Dress John Noakes up as a frogman,
Phil Cool as Jack Cousteau,

Sorry about the Arndale Centre,
Everybody makes mistakes,
This will catch the floating voter,
Kids cloths and stiletto mosaics,

Wallow in this Mermaid heaven,
Modern leisures brave new face,
Shop & swim 'till half past seven,
At the water market place
 
BL Poetry

In this place,
Bad poetry abounds,
It all seems deep and meaningless,
But we all use clever sounds

Bad poetry is easy,
It's simple but it's poor
This poor bard has read a lot,
but cannot take no more.

To make a rhyme is easy,
To make it scan not hard,
To read the angst on BL,
Has left me on my guard
 
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A Fist Full of Rennies

A struggling contortionist couldn't make ends meet,
Decided to call it a day,
Got the sack from the massage parlour,
Rubbed people up the wrong way,

'You don't have to be mad to work here,'But I am',
He'd yell to anyone who give a monkeys,
He's a workoholic, hasn't touched workohol for donkeys,

Capsized he clapped eyes on a novel franchise,
Spent all his money on a fast food resteraunt for the sarcastic,
Called 'The Spud You Resent',

The pies you despise,
The fudge you begrudge,
The salads you couldn't give a toss about,

A a triumph of mind over matter,
It's a concept whose times overripe,
Let the air ring with disconsolate chatter,
Let the tills sing with each cynical gripe,
'Would you like to order a non-starter?'

Envious the local baker/confectioner,
Turns trouble-maker,
Tired of rivals, wealth amazing,
Smashed in to the joint,
With all buns glazing,

'Do-nuts forsake me,
Oh my darlin...',

'Come on, we'll head them off at the pastie shop',
'Your drinking at the last-chance tea-room, potato head',

The cream on the sign,
Of the scene of the crime,
Was forensics vital clue,

'I'm not so musili amazed',
Said PC E472

'Care for a drink?'
'No, but I looked after some broccoli once...'
 
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Can I have egg, sausage, chips, fried bread, beans, mushrooms, tomatos and a cup of tea?

It's a meal in itself, really...
 
It's right what they say about women though...
It's an irregular plural.

Cigarettes, Whiskey, Chocolate, Petrol, ladies Nylons, Dirty Postcards,
I've got a memory like a spiv
 
A friend of mine was told he was too young to join the army so he lied about his species and joined a horse regiment...

As if by Magic a Shopkeeper Appeared

Dear diary, dull day,
Nothing seems to happen anyway,
Painted go-faster stripes on my cagool,
Watched pro-celebrity knock-a-door-run,
Made and old cat flap into a flat cap,
Tried to drink a pot-noodle,
Down in one,

Recently I had a date,
And as we got quite intimate,
My wandering hands gripped her,
As she studied the Aniglypta,
I fumbled up her back,
In a subtle love attack,
She asked me 'could we watch the crack',
I answered to her hurried gasps,
As I attempted to undo her clasps,

She sighed, replied a muffled 'no',
They are on the front of a dufle-coat,

I've got a friend who is a bit of a fashion victim,
he's got 'glove' and 'hat' tattooed on his knuckles,
I've got a friend who is a bit dim,
he's got 'knuckles' tattooed on his knuckles,

I've stopped going to the reminiscence group,
It's not as good as it used to be
 
Last week I got a really bad review in 'Drainage and Soak Away Gazette'....

Bloody gutter press

Never mind, all part of the business, I've always got my settee to fall back on.

All three pubs near me are named after dental work. We have 'The Bridge', 'The Crown' and the one with the plaque outside.

You have made me feel like a king... A French king on Bastille day.
 
The Yellow Rose of Tesco

For all my life i've scoured the world for a lover of football,
Who loves Uncle Joe's Mint Balls and is 5 foot 7 tall,
More lively than a buzzard itching on a windy twitching tree,
Not surprisingly I'm met no one who fits these categories,

I'd love a girl with Irish eyes who ones picked grapes in France,
A girl who beats you to the dance floor when she asks to dance,
Who rolls around in giggling fits when Grouchos on TV,
But I don't think such women drink in the same pubs as me,

Would love to meet a women whose adept at crown green bowls,
Whose never fancied David Soul or fainted watching Tony Knowles,
These pigeon-holes have always proved to small for tenancy,
I'm uninspired, I'm getting tired of my own company
 
Say not that you are bad at writing good poetry,
Say instead that you are good at writing bad poetry.
 
I used to be an Atheist until my dad said 'son, you don't believe in all that Ath rubbish, do you?'

Politically Incorrect By Roy Harper

I'm sick to the teeth of the news on the screen
of hisbullah scum and jihad the obscene
whose men plant the bombs and then live feeling free
to watch women and children be killed on T.V.

which satan delivers a child a death curse
in the name of a worn out collection of verse
I've not read the book so I cannot recite
but I'd bet Salman Rushdie is just about right

underneath the black cloud of islam

What kind of publicity needs so much blood
that's not for some sad diabolical god
selling himself as a two-bit Macbeth
as the expert in sentencing cousins to death

and what kind of god can this be anyway
that you gotta prostrate to him five times a day
with hate in your heart and a gun in your hand
is force the only thing to understand

underneath the black cloud of islam?

and the butchers who've got all this blood on their hands
are the ones who need god to be stood where he stands
blessing this kidnapping, murder and war
with books written hundreds of ages before

and women in veils walking paces behind
doesn't sit easy in my kind of mind
it speaks of oppression and no other choice
that rigid compliance with the loudest voice

underneath the black cloud of islam

You can put a lead bullet clean through this guitar
'cos I'm not overjoyed with the story so far
sharing a world with the nutters of god
is as good as being six feet under the sod
words that are written are all here to stay
and these are the latest there are anyway
and I am the prophet so don't believe me
I'm the same as the old ones except that I'm free
to give you a piece of my mind which is this
you're the worst of jehovas blind witlessnesses
with your feet in the door of the deepest abyss
which is underneath, which is underneath, which is underneath

the black cloud of islam
 
As friends have pointed out about religion 'why would they lie to us? What would they have to gain?'
 
The purple prose of nexus,
Beats the yellow rose of Texas,

Give them an inch,
They will take a foot,
Much more than that, you havn't got a leg to stand on
 
Luton

(a poem about the town of my upbringing and the conflict between my working
class origins and the middle class status conferred upon me by a university
education)

I remember Luton
as I'm swallowing my crout'n
 
The Manchester Olympic Bid

Trumpets sound, Doves take flight, Lisa Stansfield sings,
And Bobby Charlton's haircut forms the five Olympic rings
 
The Fall

everything that doesn’t kill me,
will only make me stronger,
I fell off my bike by the dog chew factory,
now I can hold my breath longer.
 
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Alcoholic

I met a girl who changed my life.
I asked her if she'd be my wife.
She said, 'I already am
Will you stop drinking!'
 
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Are You The Business

does Superman wear blue tights
and keep away from kryptonite
do old ladies get mugged at night
are you the business

Do workers want a living wage
do rock stars lie about their age
would a tiger run from an open cage
are you the business

are you the fuck off business
is my first name John
is strangeways full of prisoners
am I over twenty-one

are the royal family really rich
is scooby-do one son-of-a bitch
is wembley stadium a football pitch
are you the business

did Noriega knock out coke
did Bob Marley like the odd smoke
was Jesus Christ a decent bloke
are you the business

does Oliver Reed ever get pissed
can Chubby Checker do the twist
was Karl Marx a communist
are you the business

was James Dean a cool cat
was Kennedy a democrat
do Hacedic men wear hats
are you the business

will narcotics get you hooked
did Dostoyevsky write the odd book
was Al Capone a bit of a crook
are you the business

did Buddy Holly wear horn-rimmed specs
is czechoslovakia full of czechs
did Sigmund Freud consider sex
are you the business

did Elvis ever rock 'n roll
did James Brown have any soul
will I touch you with a ten-foot barge pole
are you the business

On Sushi Restaurants

Property prices are so high in Japan , if you open a restaurant you've got to make a choice; Do you want a kitchen or do you want customers?

Tom Jones

Back in town in a black Rolls Royce,
The Chunky, Hunky housewives choice,
In one fact we can rejoice,
His trousers don't affect his voice
 
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Sheep

Sometimes I get so angry with the simple life they lead
The shepherds smile seems to confirm my fears
They've never questioned anything, They've never disagreed
Sometimes I think they must have wool in their ears
And when you see a cane I see a crock
And when you see a crowd I see a flock

When I was young they used to get me counting sheep
But the counting I did was all in vain
No when I'm tired and I'm trying to get to sleep
I count humans jumping onto trains

They're sheep, they're all the same....
 
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