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 !.

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)

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 “****-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.

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.

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

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…

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 *******'s Baleful Brusque Breathes that Brings Back the Bedeviled Beacon of Blame.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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)

if I were born a different species I would wish to be hatched a bird from an egg in a nest devouring vomitus looking over the branches at the fall watching my mother leave watching her come back seeing my brother leave and not return watching my mother leave with my siblings watching my mother return with my siblings the big day the big leap of faith the rite of passage or descension a terrible pressure much gravitas the jump!     born into a new life once passive now released a terror upon the skies or at least the rodents of the field which briefly leave their burrows to bask in the sun of the dawn but also a member of a lethal hierarchy always watching for bigger predators with beaks the size of my neck and shadows to encompass me and blot out the sun above me and swooping down upon me and me wheeling and barreling and careening and them tightening and circling and diving in a battle of athleticism for which the trophy is life or death then more vacating of the space between I and them and endlessly the pulse-driving innervating rush of imminent death surges

but I am descendant of apes, cultured to sit in desks and combine numeric symbols for collectives concerned primarily with the collection of monetary symbols and should I want any of my own significant symbols which indeed I likely should I must push harder the boundaries of my capability to mix accurately these and other symbols past that of my fellows and restrict my wonderment to evenings in which I either live through the fantasies of the television program or novella or expressive form or imbibe the socially acceptable intoxicants in socially acceptable groupings of my peers which within are also imbibers of aforementioned substances in non-lethal but rather questionable binges on and evermore and on some more until I have children and I too teach them the ways of our rigorously well co-ordinated society which is very proper very proper indeed with its unspoken rules profiting you greatly to follow oh profit so greatly oh great profit jolly good great investments great show wonderfully valuable just barmy the bees knees the cats pyjamas the dogs bone oh dear merciful god does samantha really love me is my marriage based purely and hollowly on some ingrained self-deprecating pragmatist ritualism

I will die someday and I both fear for it and desire it with exactly half each of my whole being

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.

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?..

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'

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 “****-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.

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!"

Monday
Quick! Arm the army
Lucifer has gone barmy
Where’s the witch when we need her?
Having a strop, the silly mare
Stoke the anger of battle
This is more than tittle tattle
Rumours be ******
Satan’s got this thing planned
She primed up her flying disc
A big win came with equal risk
With luck her enemy would be drunk
His power, ***** and ego may have shrunk
Like the niceness he once had
Before he went all black and bad
Getting the boot from God upon high
So much became nigh!
It was up to the witch now
To turn the Devil into a cow!
With cunning and luck
She’ll hit him like a **** truck
And end this thing
Like a failed ****** fling
But that was impossible
Like a flying pig was possible

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.

Back then - as a lad he picked up his millions from his dad. He’s Trump.
Yeh - Dad made millions… passed one on… he picked it up and started the run -
Need to make a zillion? Just watch this - be rude about people take the ****.
Buy a bit of land - build a casino - use slave labour - treat em like dirt - we know,  in Atlantic City, It’s a dump…

Moves On. Stamps on the meek makes ‘em squirm - He’s Trump.
Do something naughty - Oi - we saw yer - I’ll cover it up - get a good lawyer.
Loves the limelight can’t get enough… **** Star? Can’t tell the truth...makes up stuff
One rule for me - one for you… Fancy a slinky bird will she *****? Fancy a ****?

Say you didn’t do it - who’s to know… He’d refuse a pardon to an innocent on death row. "I’m Trump".
I’m a bit special and Life’s a doddle… Havin’ it off with a Slovenian model (or two)…
Yeh…fancy a broad grab her *****… I’m up for President and obviously I’m not fussy.
And, behaving like a total ***** house doesn’t stop you from reaching the white house… He’s Trump.

He won the nomination and the election - power makes him nuts, gives him a cerebral *******. He’s Trump!
Smarmy? Yes…but in charge. Yes! Barmy! So I won’t let gay people join the army.
Immigration control Law and order?… won’t let Mexicans cross the border.
Heavy malice aforethought and negative intent. ******* I’m the President. "I’m Trump!"

Thinning hair - Tonsorial arts…let it grow… swirl it - coiffe it - spray it gold, spray again with ‘hard to hold’ - "I’m Trump!
In the wind it unfurls and makes him look like a ****…but he has the answer - the baseball hat…
And the cap allows him to carry the message… Making America Great Again!…impressive!
The permatan the orange strangulated hues… completes the picture, ties the noose…  Internationally - Bit of a chump.

Sociopathic with a personality disorder. Narcisist!…Doesn’t drink so he can’t be ****** - But He’s Trump.
Tell a lie, a big one - deny it. Most sensible people wouldn’t even try it - but he does.
Whatever you think… and it’s been said, he eats big Macs whilst he’s in bed - Tweeting!
How does he do it? What a nerve - a shining example to the people he should serve… They could be going to do ‘the dump’

Foreign policy? …ask the Pope… He summed it up in a glance…NOPE! Putin ‘NYET!” Macron ‘NON’. No go for Trump.
He insults the press corps at home and abroad…It’s fake news this - fake news that - read the message on the hat!
“Impeach… Impeach” some folks cry… “**** the lot of you it’s do or die! I ain’t going down without a fight” -
So, after all the brickbats, guffaws, jeers and jokes… He loses it… lights the fuse… That’s all folks! That was Trump!

Trouble is he could take a lot of people with him! And he will... He's Trump!