"barmy" poems
They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And round the Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
And down to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s Own County, Yay!
Yull see ‘em rambling at Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.
Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.
Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.
So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes 're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.
Paul Butters
(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
May 2, 2016
May 2, 2016 at 6:21 AM UTC
MIST CREEPING SLOWLY
The morning found
only blood & feathers.
The fox leaving
only Death
& its presence
& the gossip of the frightened chickens.
My uncle swearing
‘til the sky was blue
(early morning clouds that the sun shone through) .
An embarrassed ****
like a mad alarm clock
crying like a cartoon “cock-a-doodle-do! ”
My uncle dispatching him
with a quick kick.
“Oh yeah, and where the hell were you? ”
I take in the scene of the massacre
& whisper:
“I sure wouldn’t like to be a chicken! ”
* * *
All that next week
my uncle stalked the chicken coup
waiting for the fox
who was clever enough
not to turn up
until the eight day
driven by his hunger & his nature
she stared into my uncle’s cold metallic sight
& the evil acrid smell of a cartridge caught in flight
as both it & the fox(shot through the head)
fell dead
at my uncle’s muddied boot.
My gentle uncle delirious with Death
the frosted air
stained with his breath.
His voice almost transformed
into an animalistic hoot:
“Hey boy, betcha didn’t know I
could shoot! ”
The good side of the fox’s face
seemed to still laugh
at the very idea of Death.
I whimpered:
“I sure wouldn’t like to be a fox! ”
The countryside
brutal & Biblical
demanding
a life for a life
Yet all I could see
was Death...Death.
Priest-like...
I knelt & whispered
a quick act of contrition
to the fox’s carcase.
My uncle probably thought
I was barmy.
That night in celebration
my uncle wrung a chicken’s neck
(the chicken’s name was Patricia)
& I declined the clean
white breast
still haunted
by the chicken & the fox’s
death.
Aug 11, 2018
Aug 11, 2018 at 7:14 PM UTC
I love her and she loves me,
We've boon of immortality...
Not going to live forever we,
But to persist in few stories..
Tales be narrated to the kids,
And will be told to everyone.
I am barmy & hyper-excited,
She likes it all & doesn't mind.
Some sure traits of me to hide,
She even likes my worst side..
All I now look forward is her,
Me & her, together forever...
Jun 9, 2014
Jun 9, 2014 at 6:30 AM UTC
Your beauty is so malty,
It drives my love crazy,
Lest I commit a divine sin.
The night is intoxicating,
Cool is this ambience,
The whole world is drunk,
Oh the inebriating air,
It drives me mad for you.
Your beauty is so great,
It makes me go barmy,
I want to commit a divine sin.
Jun 10, 2015
Jun 10, 2015 at 10:01 AM UTC
They’re really rockin’ in Bradford,
Off the Pennine Way.
Deep in the heart of Yorkshire
And all round Robin Hood’s Bay.
All over South Ossett
Down there to New Farnley.
Roast beef and Yorkie Puddings,
God’s County Yay!
Yull see ‘em rambling near Ilkley,
Right to the county line,
Sheffield steel and Wednesday –
A football team so fine.
Better still, Leeds United,
Greatest club of all time.
Yorkshire, Kings of Cricket,
Oh what a boon!
Get down that wicket,
We’ll be champs by June.
Down a ginnel or snicket,
See our Olympic Champs.
Coal Miner Picket,
Relight those lamps.
Racing pigeons and ferrets,
Stereotypes tha knows.
Over t’top in Lancashire,
Them there’s our foes.
We’re the greatest county,
Our pride really glows.
We know you all do hate us,
It keeps us on our toes.
So we’ll be rockin’ in Yorkshire,
What more can I say?
Us Tykes're as barmy as Barnsley,
So I’ll be on my way.
Paul Butters
(With due thanks to Chuck Berry and also The Beach Boys)
© PB 2\5\2016. Slightly Amended 14\4\2023.
Apr 14, 2023
Apr 14, 2023 at 3:09 PM UTC
wee ribbit, hoppin, daftie beastie
a rebber baind is in tha breastie
thou needs but waindie baindie up
and off tha hop
i *** be laith to rin an chase thee
tha niver stop
wee hoppin freggie tha smal laigs
is baitter spring than sailver stail
but i wud giv ye this advaice:
dinna tak a chance
some think tha laigs a taestie meal
dinna *** ta france
nu laieth flattie en the wa'
laik paice o' paeper gon astra'
nae mair tha hoppin in the aer
sae daft an barmy
the ainly fewture fair thee now
is origami
Dec 30, 2011
Dec 30, 2011 at 1:21 AM UTC
Terracotta heart baked to finesse
Terracotta heart made of all things fresh,
Terracotta heart a juvenile delinquent,
Terracotta heart born a ****** quaint,
Braised in warmth, seared in passion,
Sautéed in a cruel satiric humour,
Garnished red, to a near perfection,
Served scorching hot or a blue surrender,
Terracotta heart an agile quill,
Terracotta heart as strong as the will,
Achille's heel ageing to extinction,
Alas! Never mend this fatal habitation,
How often a day by vows endowed,
How loftily by lust ensnared,
Barmy Merchants’ failed affair,
Quit here or quietly endure,
Terracotta heart chasing fleeting dews,
Terracotta heart braving the brutal rues,
Terracotta heart, a broken souvenir,
Dare gently cater or beware,
Terracotta heart a nomad of time,
Terracotta heart an unholy shrine,
Terracotta heart baked to imperfection,
Terracotta heart never braised in affection,
Terracotta heart scattered never dead..
Terracotta heart never learned to love…
Oct 18, 2015
Oct 18, 2015 at 3:16 PM UTC
Bravely Burn Barbaric Books of Belief Belonging to Bad Bigots to Become the Bearer of the Bright-less Broken Banners of Both and Between Bruised and Betrayed Beleaguered Borders to Begin Benevolence Before the Beings Below Be Benumbed and go Berserk for Bloodshed .
Boldly Bestow the Blessing of Brotherhood to the Blind and Brutal Blood Beasts and the Bound Brethren of Brazen Ballads.
For a Bare Bundle of Burnt Books can Barricade a Braced Battalion of Bayonets, Block Beyond Billions of Battle Blades, Buffer a Bunch of Big Booming Bullets, Backfire Boorish Ballistae of Bribery and Bury the Barmy Bastard's Baleful Brusque Breathes that Brings Back the Bedeviled Beacon of Blame.
Feb 24, 2011
Feb 24, 2011 at 8:11 AM UTC
Pasties and poo,what a mix.
Taste much better than weetabix.
Trouble is, it sort of sticks.
To my teeth and my plate.
But it still tastes great!
Mum says the poo is a kind of salami,
I think my Mum is completely barmy!
Jan 2, 2011
Jan 2, 2011 at 3:18 PM UTC
I've gone barmy !!
My mind's gone down the drain
I've gone barmy !!
I'm really quite insane
I've gone barmy !!
Bonkers, bloomin' jolly
I've gone barmy!!
It's true .. i'm off my trolley
You've gone barmy !!
That's what my shrink he said
I'm afraid that i must tell you
You've lost it in the head !!
So i thanked him with a raspberry
And then ran up the road
And shouted " i've gone barmy !"
Two bricks short of a load !
I've gone barmy !!
There are no if's or buts
I've gone barmy !!
Now i know i'm nuts
I've gone barmy !!
I'll tell you something pally
I've gone barmy !!
I'm bleedin' well doolalee !!
So if you think you're barmy !!
Sing this song with me
Shower with your clothes on
And barmy you will be !!
Dance around the living room
Hopping on one foot
Blowing lots of raspberries !!
If you want to be a nut !.
Sep 7, 2010
Sep 7, 2010 at 12:34 PM UTC
Find me the conditions conducive to life,
and I will be unable to find any fulfilled.
It is in our nature always
to want, mass, more, supplementary.
Without quench will be need.
Possibly more?
Will one brave; lonely and just, be enough?
Life only prolonging a barmy parody
until confronted with one of seven?
Found guilty on all accounts,
failing even, to screen their future.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 4:43 PM UTC
of course the sun peeled another layer of my onion skin
barbecued and burnt to a crisp finish
like lettuce in a deep dish of saucy
spices and herbs, coriander and cumin parsley and pain
thyme and rhyme, sage and age
beer and blue bottle flies
all in the name of nature.
soon the dialogues became dialects and grandpa
guzzled too much ale so he went off to nourish
a rose bush discreetly behind the party pack
of people, swirling about in champagne glasses
and tight skirts tempting us slowly getting drunk voyeurs
with glimpses of heaven and tight buns
packed with ham and cheese and spikes of hot
chilli *******
all in the name of the great outdoors.
as the son set in the evening sky old dad
was eyeing up a guest on her third bubbly
her thinking swerved quickly to burnt sausages.
I was still enjoying the barbecued chick
with the two toned honeysuckle skin
and 34DD sized mushroom concockion
and that, my friends, was purely my nature.
when night came around in a flimsy dress
which showed figures of mountains and sparkles
the ideas in my head bruised by too much *****
buns, bottles and bronze conquests
had to answer the call of nature.
I returned to a field of many victories
grandpa was tending roses head down in the dirt
dad had disappeared with his 34DD mushroom delicacy
Mom was busy discussing politics with a horn-rimmed
gentleman, who this minute would take off
his spectacles and put on his testicles
and I went to bed with hot buns waiting.
all in natural instinct!
Author Notes
An evening party on a nice barmy day with guests gathered to enjoy nature and all its offerings. Nature is to blame if things went a little astray. Nature does that!
© Marshall Gass. All rights reserved.
Apr 21, 2014
Apr 21, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC
The last breath
The last death
The last phone call
The last fall
The last funeral
The last burial
The last roll
The last poll
The last smile
The last style
The last flight
The last rite
The last crap
The last stop
Alas! Somewhere
There is a last
That we can bear
We need the past
To move on in life
After a barmy gaffe
We weep and we laugh
As we sail solo on the life raft.
Copyright © July 2022, Hébert Logerie, All rights reserved
Hébert Logerie is the author of several collections of poetry.
Dec 21, 2024
Dec 21, 2024 at 1:22 AM UTC
With much Delight your Frequent Friender stays
Only by Her shows un-equalled Relief
With her Barmy Flag fixed your Sight in-place
Which rooted your Foundation beyond belief
Past Merrimost Fraggles keep to your own
To Prime Achievement your Focus succeed
As Time-Soaked Techniques caused Foxers to Blow
And nailed the Arian from shredding your Creed
So did your Jockish Coach in Spice and Pride
Lift his earned Tassels with a Glass of Wine
His Fancy - as his Postdecessor cried -
Knowing his Strategy paid-off in Kind.
Then to Her - a Thankful Bouquet you Show
Then to HER - a Pucker soon most will Know.
Apr 25, 2013
Apr 25, 2013 at 8:45 PM UTC
But me no buts it's blood and guts, there's
a war going on,it's
cuts,cuts,cuts.
The Conservative army,all
****** barmy
and we're being shot down
in flames.
Feb 20, 2014
Feb 20, 2014 at 7:03 AM UTC
And now at 12.45 more dead than alive,
I offer you this.
If I could make in origami, a ten foot stick
of fresh salami
I would be happy,
although I may be considered
slightly barmy,because
I don't even like fresh origami salami.
Feb 25, 2014
Feb 25, 2014 at 8:12 PM UTC
Two of a kind we are,
It is not admitted tho, again,
As if we tumbled backwards,
Back to where we were,
In a complexity of character,
As if it never fitted,
Angels support us as we drift down life's balmy river,
Not balmy, barmy more like,
A pair of lost souls,
Floating on our life support,
Saved by poetry, in whose net we're caught,
A dream became a nightmare....unable to escape,
Only way out poetry, for she saved us both,
The only thing worth having,
The only thing that's left,
She is awesome she is the main event,
Keeps us safe from being wrapped up in a spider's web,
Of gossamer, constructed of red tape,
Finances **** and pillage us.......
With all these financial burdens we're bereft!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 21, 2013
Aug 21, 2013 at 3:41 PM UTC
I lost my heart to beguile words,
My mind to the gentle strokes of my quill,
I am not poisoned by sleep, I am cradled by love tonight,
What if I am not sleepy tonight?
What if I am a little insomniac?
What if I wish for sadness tonight?
And exist as an intricate dome of gloom?
What if I am euphoric at midnight?
A little high on childish rhymes?
What if I am a creature of the night?
Seduced by the dark, shunned by light,
What if I caress withered parchment tonight?
What if I choose the wrinkles of papyrus tonight?
Over the sculpted contours of a Greek god,
What if I am a little barmy tonight?
Drenching in a sea of lost words,
What if I wish to be a nomad tonight?
Ageing tirelessly in the Victorian era,
What if I am not sleepy tonight?
Would you change this usual trend?
Or let me be lost in sleeplessness?..
May 14, 2016
May 14, 2016 at 1:07 PM UTC
the wood concrete and all the building
materials iron cast iron ropes -
the lifting block and tackle cranes
sweat and thought put into planning-
endeavour re-building of Man
Shining from the depth of Creation-
creating banging putting together
mould and firing liquid making
nailing ******** men sweat and backs breaking
Women sewing breaking into the world of men
barmy social disinfectant thrown down
into the throats of Revolution.
Oct 25, 2014
Oct 25, 2014 at 7:20 PM UTC
Former CIA Director
John Brennan scathing headlines
Washington Post op-ed sharply
published critical accusations
muted excoriation slams
Commander in Chief
volcanic blatant pathological lying
spews like lava his American
foreign policy boilerplate brazenly
bastardizes by banditry blueprint,
balefully balkanizing beautiful bracketed
booming brady bunch brand,
bests best-buy buffer braking balanced
bastion, bolstered beloved benighted
bequeathed bicameral bipartisan bliss,
Baptizing bacchanalian buffoonish bombast,
betokening bobble-headed Bumstead,
barmy bartered bride bravado, bizarrely
brash brassiness, blindsiding behavior,
beetlebrowed bonehead, bafflingly baldfaced,
bankrupting, blithely bollixing,
bombastically belittling, badmouthing,
banally blasting, banana-boat baseless,
bearish blandishments, beastly boastful
boosterism, bellicosely boorish, bug-eyed,
bighearted, bigoted blathering breeding
blunderbuss bloopers, bewildering
bloodletting bellyache blight,
brazenly being bandying bellwether,
blitzing bourgeoisie balderdash,
balking but beaming barbaric
berserk ballyhoo backbiting,
backslapping backstabbing
blacklisting bromides,
besetting basic bestowed blooming,
Bobbitizing bedeviling beneficial
bulwark bereft badinage, ballistically ballooning
betrayal birthing bedlam.
Jun 2, 2018
Jun 2, 2018 at 6:06 PM UTC
We all need a touchstone, an amulet, a lucky charm and there's no harm in any of this, if you kiss the witches hand and she grants you just one wish
what would your wish be?
To see for one more time and take another breath before that time is due?
Would you light the candles at a mass believing that will is what will come to pass or kiss a frog and make believe a fairy tale came true?
I have seen beyond the pyramids before the pharaoh,
did that one die?
It maybe that he did, but each dynasty will rise and cry, be wary for the wary try to garner courage from the death and in this death another cry,
I saw then blood bleed from the sky.
I am boxed in, mummified, I cried my woe and know that vices turned on me.
Chinny chin chin may fit the rhyme but ancient as I am I do not have the time for this.
I kiss the Blarney, Stone me I must be barnyard barmy and they're farming me out to 'Soylent Green'
Sep 1, 2015
Sep 1, 2015 at 8:07 PM UTC
1971, they lost East Pakistan,
And Bangladesh was carved.
1972, they conspired terror,
By promising 72 in Jannat.
2024, the fools still believe,
Not just in violence but also in the 72.
****** Nymphs wreak havoc in their minds.
Spreading his Chiropteran wings,
It's actually Satan laughing.
The fools want the world to convert,
Convert to the religion peace at what cost?
They wield their swords and Kalashnikovs,
****** killing, converting, decapitating at will.
They think that they will get virgins in afterlife.
What's described in their scriptures?
72 bathykolpian blue-eyed virgins.
Infinite stamina and limitless wine,
With those 72 eternally ****** Nymphs.
This crude carnal desire motivating,
The ******** to commit more bloodshed.
They rally our daughters, sisters, and mothers.
Like what — they rally them as trophy wives,
Or better if stripped **** and humbled.
They **** our brothers in an exemplary manner,
Decapitating, dismembering, and insulting.
What sort of faith do they follow?
They follow the words of a mad man,
A mad man who claimed to know God.
But actually they follow a barmy man,
A man who lost his mind to the heat,
The Arabic heat with nothing to eat.
No water to drink and it caused him to break,
He was not a sensible man,
About the 2 billion followers?
They're victims of sunstroke too.
We need to strip **** their carnal faith,
Strip them of their human rights,
As they are no humans.
Humans don't behave like jackals,
They follow the religion of the Devil,
But they have the support of bigots,
Bigots who ignore our fallen angels.
Our girls and young women they don't spare,
Why then about theirs should we even care?
Use pliers and plass, pull their nails out,
Send them to their perverted Jannat.
Let the terrorists die of pain,
What will we gain?
Some centuries of actual peace.
Jun 13, 2024
Jun 13, 2024 at 2:19 AM UTC
MIST CREEPING SLOWLY
The morning found
only blood & feathers.
The fox leaving
only Death
& its presence
& the gossip of the frightened chickens.
My uncle swearing
‘til the sky was blue
(early morning clouds that the sun shone through) .
An embarrassed ****
like a mad alarm clock
crying like a cartoon “cock-a-doodle-do! ”
My uncle dispatching him
with a quick kick.
“Oh yeah, and where the hell were you? ”
I take in the scene of the massacre
& whisper:
“I sure wouldn’t like to be a chicken! ”
* * *
All that next week
my uncle stalked the chicken coup
waiting for the fox
who was clever enough
not to turn up
until the eight day
driven by his hunger & his nature
she stared into my uncle’s cold metallic sight
& the evil acrid smell of a cartridge caught in flight
as both it & the fox(shot through the head)
fell dead
at my uncle’s muddied boot.
My gentle uncle delirious with Death
the frosted air
stained with his breath.
His voice almost transformed
into an animalistic hoot:
“Hey boy, betcha didn’t know I
could shoot! ”
The good side of the fox’s face
seemed to still laugh
at the very idea of Death.
I whimpered:
“I sure wouldn’t like to be a fox! ”
The countryside
brutal & Biblical
demanding
a life for a life
Yet all I could see
was Death...Death.
Priest-like...
I knelt & whispered
a quick act of contrition
to the fox’s carcass.
My uncle probably thought
I was barmy.
That night in celebration
my uncle wrung a chicken’s neck
(the chicken’s name was Patricia)
& I declined the clean
white breast
still haunted
by the chicken & the fox’s
death.
Aug 11, 2017
Aug 11, 2017 at 6:14 AM UTC
HOW TO MAKE A BREXIT-EXIT PIE
( for David Olaf Carney )
Put in as much
Gove as one can take.
"Not a lot...not a lot noooo
no **** it....that's too much!"
One can make it too toxic!
Sprinkle in enough barmy bumbly
Borisisms
to make one gasplaughchoke
in total disbelief.
Then, come what May...
round up the usual suspected
lies lies and damed lies
enough to fill a "Blunderbus!"
Leave out the petty Pretti one this time out.
Cook on a slow Conservative heat.
Ooops you upped the Auntie
way to high!
Even the lies are becoming
transparent.'
Ouick...more lies more lies more lies!
Oh my good Conservative God they are
becoming see through....what will we do!
Looks a bit burnt about the edges!
Looks decidedly
un-tasty and incredibly inedible.
And when the Pie was open
the liars began to sing!
Oh wasn't that a truly terrible dish
to sit before
the dissed United Kingdom.
Face it - things is looking Grimm!
"The United Kingdom - Le Royaume-Uni
NUL POINTS.....NUL POINTS!"
Nov 12, 2017
Nov 12, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
I can't seem to find a job,
Which really isn't rare,
But all I want is some stable income,
Enough so I can prepare,
Prepare for when I feel like treating my friends,
Or enough to pay off debts,
I don't want to get stuck in a vicious circle,
Of loan and repay and repent.
It seems that now living costs money,
A smiles a pound a minute
Using those pounds to pay for lottery tickets,
Though we know we'll never win it.
A world of money grabbing scoundrels,
That's how this economy works,
They'll swipe your wallet out your pocket,
And leave you in the dirt.
It's absolutely ridiculous,
It's barmy, it's mad,
Everyone's obsessed with ten pound notes,
Designer clothes and fads.
No one thinks to change the way they're living,
No one wants to be free,
From the people with small minds,
And the rules of a society.
No one thinks about a friendly face,
That is worth more than credit cards,
Cause money won't pick you up,
When your life is in shards.
I can't seem to find a job,
But I don't think I care,
Cause I'm rich in family, Friends and laughter,
And for that there is no fare.
Mar 6, 2018
Mar 6, 2018 at 5:34 PM UTC