what do you think
the west will do
one will likely stay
to die of old age
one probably go
to satisfy outrage
can you guess
is likely to be
Mary, Mary so contrary
Wrote her books without a dictionary
She painted scenes with vocabulary
Mary, Mary, literary
Mary, Mary so contrary
Researched facts for fictionary
Her writing was exemplarary
Poetry - Unwanted Gold (the subtext) By Jim Higo
You're like an advert for a funeral;
you're like junk mail to the dead.
You're a lottery win to a condemned man,
a begging letter to a hospital bed.
You're a conman befriending a gullible pensioner
until she re-writes her will.
You're a doctor promising cures
to the terminally ill.
Poetry - The Bluebottles Reply and Put Off Poetry By John Killingbeck
To you, who so blithely would slaughter a fly,
Look close, on a sapphire to mirror the sky.
Over my wings lie the sun's scattered shards,
While crouched by your plate, I rub with my arms.
So, would you as wantonly snuff out each star?
Yet a rarer gem I, than are they, - and by far!
In this Universe aching and yawning with miles,
Poetry - Looking Sideways Forward By Terry Ireland
Nobody had the time it seemed
as they strode purposefully by,
usually with averted gaze
so as not to meet my eye.
I could smell the booze on his breath,
On his body, his clothes, his hair.
He seemed to ooze a boozy sweat
but he didn't seem to care
Poetry - Bum Wrap By Bryan Berue
Soft, strong and very, very long,
Now on offer, going for a song.
One-fifty-nine for my Andrex paper,
Trial price value for a toilet caper.
Can't wait to get it home and dream of pups,
Akimbo on the thrown whilst my arse erupts.
But I've no reading for my rest room wrestle,
Poetry Afterwards By Pamela Scobie
After this, I shall be old.
But not now, not yet.
I am not ready yet.
I have walked into an unexpected room,
In a part of the house I had thought closed up,
Dust-sheeted and done with.
A room without finite dimensions,
Poetry - This Is 'Ull By Laurenceaux.
The firm leatherette feel of well rolled tarmac
and its once warmed smell,
and the blackened knees and hands
are familiar prints in my galleried mind.
A grey playmate;
a giver of second-hand chewy
and ciggie ends,
Poetry Larkin 25 - Stayin' Alive By Kerry-Joe Pulford
Well you'd think by the way we whinge and moan,
We'd been rheumatoid since we were born.
Our bodies rocked but now they've locked,
Stiffs on the town with a botox frown.
But it's alright, it's ok,
A hip replacement's on the way,
Suck the fat - a brand new smile,
We've got our surgeon on speed dial.
Poetry - Convenience By Terry Ireland
That old Amsterdam Pissoir.
Not exactly a thing of beauty,
Standing whatever the day,
Bravely carrying out its duty,
To help relieve a burden,
Urgent wherever you are,
Nothing quite like that old
Amsterdam street Pissoir
Poetry Larkin 25 - Pole Position By John Fewings
Anya lives in Krakow:
Stanislav - Milton Keynes.
Anya, she has simple tastes:
He's 'a man of dreams'.
She says, 'You live in tiny flat!
Is nothing but a ghetto!'
Anya shops in Market Square:
Stanislav in Netto.
She braids her hair:
Poetry - Larkin 25 - England 2009 By Robert Swan
In a country stable,
Crumbling, but locked down.
Those that make-up the beast,
Benefit from its apparent confinement.
Well-groomed and watching all.
As those that serve the beast,
Take shelter below the jagged
Poetry - Toad on a Grecian Urn By Ashley Fisher
Why should I let the toad Larkin
squat on my verse? Like a cut-price Lourdes,
there is his image for sale, on a fridge
magnet or a disposable cigarette lighter or
perhaps some beer mats or
postcards or his unmistakable
amphibian visage. Read more...
Poetry Michaelmas Term By Pamela Scobie
Some bugger's been sick outside the front gate,
Prawn Tikka Masala's my guess,
(Well, it's pimply and pink) and I'm already late
And it's stuck to my shoe, so, yes -
The students are back. Queues of clueless cloned blondes
Clog up all the cashpoints, their hobbled young Johns
In perilous trousers, more saggy and creased
Than the bums of starved African tots. Three abreast, Read more...
Poetry - A Modern Christmas Carol By Terry Ireland
No Christmas at our house this year
Cos Santa's in the jug.
He got careless with his shopping
And they videoed his mug.
He explained it was just an impulse
And he was in a state of shock
He really had no idea of the time.
Early morning, really, four o'clock!
Poetry Juicier Than a Piece of Fruit By Adriana Fanigliulo
Juicer than a piece of fruit,
the plum-b-er comes to the flat
With copper pipes and cutters,
And thermostatic valves
He makes hot water run,
Changing the direction of buildings' circulatory systems Read more...
Poetry - Gospel Truths By Terry Ireland
I find no problem really
in the belief in a supreme god,
it's only the forms of its worship
that seem so rather odd.
Some preach love and understanding
and an adherence to its will,
but if others worship differently
there's such a readiness to kill.
Poetry Larkin25 - Plastic Bits (with Video) By Catherine Scott
I was walking down the street just the other day
When I met this woman who had something to say
She said, 'Look at me girl don't I look fantastic
I got high heeled shoes and they're made outta plastic'
I got a plastic bag and a plastic purse
I got my husband this plastic nurse
I got my son this plastic tank