Yes, oh yes, this is the next avalanche of,er. all the bits of poetry/verse or whatever over the last 100 posts ... this first one is from post 716 ,written on the day after David Bellamy died. As always with things like that, I do them in the hallowed style of E.J.Thribb .... Here's my shovel-full of John Innes no. 3 for the Nation's Nature Nut .... in the timeless style of E.J.Thribb, age 17¾ ..... So ... farewell then David Bellamy. Flowers and trees were your thing but you branched out . Was it wise to turn to the skies ? Probably ill-advised. You were a man of the soil. And now you will have plenty of it. Keith's mum says he's going back to his r o o t s..... Here's the link to the whole post about him ... 716-david-bellamy-the-bouncing-botanist.html ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This next jolly poem is from post 777 in the depths of Storm Ciara + Storm Dennis ... The Treecreeper was featured on the radio this morning but I was of course unable to hear a bloody thing it was sprung on me without a word of warning I was devastated not to hear it sing ! So I'm going to write a letter to the BBC and it's going to be a bloody stiff one too Someone has been offended ... and this time it is ME My self-esteem has sunk to minus 22. Let's just suppose that Radio 3 had played a bit of Liszt But upped it a few octaves, so all of it was missed by us despairing oldies, who couldn't hear one crochet would miss the blasted lot ..... and "off" they would be "pissed." So ..if they're going to taunt us all with the Swift and Goldcrest There ought to be a warning , so we could hobble across the room and switch the bloody radio OFF, and lie down for a rest in the all-pervading silence, and our inevitable doom. And if next week the Swift is going to be Tweet of the Day I'll be up in the bedroom, rotting happily away ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This dinky verse was from post 786 .... I was thinking about how many people have looked through my binoculars... an unknowable number, especially as they were pre-owned, as they describe them these days .... My optics, they are just for me They cost a fortune, yes they did So why should I lend them to thee when they cost me 800 quid ? Maybe I should charge them 50p per minute it's a brilliant stratagem and it's sensible, innit ? I get a bit of dough They get a bit nearer To a Waxwing or a Chough so they see it much clearer. If you fancy reading the whole thing...... 785-an-unknowable-number.html ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I wrote these two "songs" many many years ago in the first of two home-made magazines called Brattish Birds ... they're both set to Beatles' songs ... .here's the "other" one" ... this was written way back when Little Egrets were rare..... ... here's the front cover of said top home-made mag, but judge it kindly, for it was done with Letraset and a typewriter/tripetapper ..... and my very own self-portrait .... none of this computery stuff. And here's a free extra one .....well, two actually ...... So it's no go the Blackstart, and it's no go the Prat, All we've seen is a Cirl Bunting, and what's the use of that ? Our trousers are covered in mud, and our coats are soaking wet And we're moving on to Titchwell, to see what we can get.... And when we got there , old Millington had found the corpse of a Tern But we couldn't decide what sort it was, so we packed up and headed for Spurn The weather was foul, we saw some sort of Owl and we argued about the ID But we couldn't agree as to what it was, so .. we got out of the car for a pee.... So it's all go for Porthgwarra, and we're going at a hell of a lick Old Evans is doing the driving, in the back we are all feeling sick And now we are there, the cupboard is bare, no Bonxies and nary a Cory So we're in the jalopy , and off somewhere else ... but that's another story ! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ As you will all realise, that's a parody of a famous poem " Bagpipe Music" written by Louis Macniece ( 1907-1963) ... well, one section of it ... It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw, All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow. Their knickers are made of crêpe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python, Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with heads of bison. John MacDonald found a corpse, put it under the sofa, Waited till it came to life and hit it with a poker, Sold its eyes for souvenirs, sold its blood for whisky, Kept its bones for dumb-bells to use when he was fifty. It's no go the Yogi-Man, it's no go the Blavatsky, All we want is a bank balance and a bit of skirt in a taxi. It's no go my honey love, it's no go my poppet ; Work your hands from day to day, the winds will blow the profit. The glass is falling hour by hour, the glass will fall for ever, But if you break the bloody glass you won't hold up the weather. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Having read all those, I'm sure you'll want to have a look at my previous ragbags of rhyming rubbish .... so here's the whizzo supersonic links to posts 200, 300, 400, 500 ,600, and, er, 700 ...... 200-all-my-stupid-bird-poems-in-one-place.html 300-another-collection-of-my-ridiculous-poems.html 400-the-latest-round-up-of-my-crap-verses.html 500-yet-another-rotten-ragbag-of-rancid-rhymes.html 600-lots-of-my-poems-from-posts-501-to-600.html 700-more-rollicking-rhymes-about-dicky-birds.html Hey ... I really must get round to reading them all myself. Have I improved over time ? If I keep going, will I start touting them round the country .... ... like that spiky-haired very thin person does .... John Cooper Clarke .... only I haven't got much hair left. ..... anyway, here he is, with a limerick that doesn't rhyme.... Oh ... here's the link to this one ... Just in case you've forgotten it ..... 800-the-latest-tranch-of-rubbish-poetry-verse-and-worse.html
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorThat's the author up there ... I was young and sprightly then. Archives
October 2022
|