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ioan pearce Mar 2010
lil jack horner sat with a *****
in fantasy islands delight
pulled out his ****, wanked in a sock,
then it was time for good night
ioan pearce Mar 2010
i'm in the s.a.s
a voice behind a hill
i'll take ten of you
the taliban stood still

go and sort him out
their leader told his men
none of them came back
he heard the taunt again

bring a hundred next time
seems ten just wer'nt enough
one s.a.s can whoop your ***
we're made of better stuff

angry taliban set off
ferocious in attack
when desert dust had settled down
none of them came back

come on mr taliban
send a thousand more....
commander of the taliban
seething to the core

go and sort that **** out
he's getting on my ****
my wife has got the tea on
bring him back in bits

one survivor made it back
battered, bruised and burned
a martyr's message for his boss
he gave as he returned

go back, retreat, save your lives
it's a trap,  the ******* lied
theres two of them behind the hill
laughing, loudly,  side by side
ioan pearce Mar 2010
lil jack horner sat in a corner
mulling a miserable time
pulled out a pen, that was it then
off-loaded his passion thro rhyme
ioan pearce Mar 2010
when life aint fair and all aboveare heavy clouds that push and shovemoney problems, ****** moodsmother worries, father broods materialism that we causewhile others die on distant shoresblessings, burdens, never countedself indulgence foremost mounted
ioan pearce Mar 2010
don't want your double glazingfree holiday or phonemy electric bill is finei can't afford a loan don't want a stolen carpeta new supply of gasbetterware or catologuesshove em up your *** brainwashing persistanceadvertisers greedpersuading me and you to buythings we never need
ioan pearce Mar 2010
babbling bard's borrowed blabberpolished performers jibber jabberpinching published stolen cultureverse of a cuckoo, parrot, or vulture thespian thrush corally crowspilfered produce of past masters proseperfect posture, prancing croondotty damsels sigh and swoon shakespearian showman strutting stagesobtaining material from dead poets pagesstudious stealer's theatrical thirstrapturous robber, magpie of verse wisely walter mundane mittypoetical poacher prancing prettyempty shallow pretentious crookcrafty criminal compiling book robber of rhyme from archival shelfcopy-cat crooner can't do it himselfrouted teeth spout from mouth like a troutaudience wonder, what is he on  about any question's? the laurete quizzedyes said one,...do you know where the bog is? this is a true story, i was there. and the **** concerned is the editor of poetry wales magazine. who told me that i should study other peoples work for at least five years before i put pen to paper. i promptly answered, .... too late butty, i've already published 3 books, and sold the lot (only locally mind, but did'nt tell him that). he read other peoples poems that night, that were converted from english to welsh, and no one round here speaks or understands welsh.  
ioan pearce Mar 2010
teepee dwellers gather rounddancing flames, natures soundhappy hippies, beads and banglesvegan food but leather sandals save the earth, soap-dodgers pleadflower power, worship weedhate pollution, love the treeslove and peace, pure and free dreadlock strands, ***** handssymbolic signs from aeresol cansacrylic colours produced by manthe hairy eco paints his van van thats spews black filthy smokebalding tyres, handbrake brokesigns of peace and global gleeno wipers, tax, or m.o.t workin hippy knows the scoresummer paid by winters choremother earth their passion causeand some drive home in four by fours
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