"blimey" poems
(Co-written with my awesome friend)
The thought is savory
But I know it won't put you in dismay
Triangular in shape, but it needs not to be a worry
As I can just imagine eating it all day
I am gobsmacked by this medley of tomato sauce and stringy cheese
Blimey! How dare you gobble this thing up and not share
Oh, for a slice I'd get down on my knees
A world without pizza wouldn't be so fair
May 9, 2014
May 9, 2014 at 7:45 AM UTC
With heavy hearts the lightened feet march up on Whitehall
take a peek,
then down below the trenches go
light up a woodbine,
'dontya know this is the show that we'll be late for', Says Scouse.
'Gor blimey mate' says cockney Joe, 'let's have a look at all them toffs'
and ups the periscope as scouse scoffs bully beef.
Thiefs of body, thiefs of friends,thiefs of time and there is a belief in some older men,
that this is a time when we remember 'them'
No words need be conveyed
no tears for what they gave
just a sober, sombre silence
like when the guns fell silent
one hundred years ago.
Nov 9, 2014
Nov 9, 2014 at 5:39 AM UTC
The dreamy sea washed ashore bringing
little bubbles of life to its end
Children splashed and jumped as wave after wave fell in
Bucket and ***** at the ready as castles from the sky
formed from minds in youth and fairy tales
Cream at the ready as grandads cap retreats
crisped from the comfort of his strippy deckchair he waits
Mothers blankets blown from the wind held down by
a shoe to be lost and a stone found yet not cast
These were the days we remember
These are the days we forget
These are the days to be treasured
A fine sad old memory from a past we most had
Ice cream sounds calling at fathers request
Is grandma still yawning from bingo's night fest
a donut for mother all sugared and warm
don't forget Charlie as woof is all heard
A match game of cricket from children about
or footy at lunchtime sweet sand in your mouth
These were the days we remember
These are the days we forget
These are the days to be treasured
A fine sad old memory from a past we most had
Asleep from the sun and a sneaky quick pint
as dad tries to doze be free to unwind
A call for 3 strikes as rounders is found
hear grandad all snoring more cream to be crowned
Tis time for a dip to twinkle your toes
to jump back a mile oh blimey its cold
These are the memories all children should have
a time when no phones when a time wasn't planned
No little computers to spoil the day
just fun and great memories of children at play
A time when your family all joined in the fun
a shame we have lost this to greed and the sun
Jun 16, 2012
Jun 16, 2012 at 1:33 AM UTC
-10-
Regular Albert Whisker,
FE Squadron,
born 1939,
joined up at 18.
First time away from home and loving it, sir!
-9-
One day,
I’m just minding my own
at the airbase in Stranraer
when two officers appear
out of nowhere
and they ask
they ask if I’d fancy a long weekend?
Why not? I say.
Why not?
-8-
We’re staying at the Governor Clinton Hotel,
It's in New York.
Everything laid on.
Trip to Broadway and all.
Three whole days of paradise
All on the MOD.
-7-
Oh Gor Blimey!
What a sight when we stepped off the flight
onto Christmas Island for the first time.
Crushed white coral dust.
Like nothing I’d ever seen.
-6-
Our job is mainly to just do our job
which is mainly just military driving.
Land-rovers, lorries, tankers and that.
And avoiding the island ***** -
three times a day, they'd all crawl up the beach -
but they didn’t pay us for that.
-5-
Someone showed me their diary today
and it had a letter ‘H’ under today’s date.
So I’m working on the beach
when the tannoi sounds:
“Sit down and cover your eyes.
Testing will begin in five, four…”
-4-
And there was light.
A flash right through your skin and hands.
The biggest bang I’ve ever heard.
A flash.
Through your skin and bones and hands.
The biggest bang I’ve ever heard in all my life.
-3-
Then it was over.
Nothing much changed.
-2-
Except the mushroom cloud was there for quite a time.
And the Canberra bombers, the white ones, they flew through the cloud like little spores.
-1-
Then one day they just said “You’re done”
and we queued up to fly home to England.
Saw the new ones, the ‘moonies’, getting off the plane.
Sad to leave I was, yeah.
It was a good posting.
And nice weather, never rained,
Not rain at any rate.
Then, not long after, I was sent home for good.
They said I’d caught a cancer off a someone and
for me own good
I had to be discharged.
-0-
Sad really.
It was a good posting.
Sep 21, 2011
Sep 21, 2011 at 5:00 PM UTC
Don't get chippy lippy,
where's the ****** spinach Jeff!,
I didn't think you was a two-bit cook,
I thought you were a chef!,
so wheres the ****** spinach Jeff!,
Where's the bleeding turbot, Herbert?,
and where's the feeking risotto,
if I don't get some ****** food soon,
I'll drink a bottle of wine and get blot-toad
Where's the ****** crab, Brad?,
blimey! does it smell high to you!?,
You'll ****** **** someone,
and bleeding get me sued!
By Christos Andreas Kourtis and Larna Kira Kourtis
Apr 17, 2014
Apr 17, 2014 at 5:40 PM UTC
How to write an English poem
Well this is what I do,
I listen to my dear friend "Jon"
Then I go about copying him.
He says Good-marrow My to Thy lady
I laugh & reply back Hath thee fared well,
Like I'm in Shakespeare's Macbeth.
I love how
He uses "thou" different then myself
I say thou in sense of "even though"
translations are must
to understanding my friend!
He speaks in
Cockney- crockery riddles
Yet some how I understand.
I doth not speak to make
fun of him
for I love his English gib,
I listen while learning
to write a sonnet since.
How to write an English poem.
I listen to Sir "Jon's"
witty sense of humor
His cloaked sarcastic'ness
as he talks in general,
Saying such this as
Aroin't thee & Blimey ole chap
as if I know'th what he means.
How to write an English poem
Well frankly it's a pickle of a thing,
I say I doth rightly know lets ask'th
Sir"Jon & see!
He say'ith to me
"change your ****** dialect"....
And
when he's spitting made
He yells
O' God Save the queen.
He also talks of frippery
& ask if I'd like a spot of tea
when asking me questions
he laughs & quotes
such things like ;
" cheeky" little beggar or monkey
as "IF" I
know what he means.
Funny thing is though
Sir "Jon'
never really
******* told me
How to write an English poem
(so answers to every-ones question- I'd say walk around & say top of the morning,
ole chap & blimey, Even things like Bristol Cities & things likes this don't forget your "TH" s
addressing your selves a lot & put emphasis on every other syllable & thing!)
Well dear Sir "Jon"
I am not a British Bolk
Just A YANKEE- New Englander
oh & a NuYorican
Ta Boot
So next when I see You
****** Friend tell me-
How to write an English poem !?!
Always Me Ayeshah
Mar 13, 2010
Mar 13, 2010 at 6:29 AM UTC
Just a cool orange drink,
Sparkling, the clink of ice
A long straw bobbing with bubbles
and you have found paradise.
Sitting on a sandy beach,
Blue sky, no cloud, just nice.
Listening to the children play
and you have found paradise.
In walks a man, wife at doorstep
Drunk, he knows he is in paradise.
She yells, he thinks, she cries, he laughs.
smack she smiles, he cries.
He is out cold, she is warm in bed.
He snuggles the doormat, blimey he thinks.
The wife ought to have a shave
and she absolutely stinks!
The cat joins him on the doormat
Licking his bruised face, mmm nice.
A pair of slippers also joins them
But he is till in his drunken paradise.
A bucket of cold water joins them too
A stark wake up call hit his face.
"Ouch! where am I? who are you?"
"Get me out of this cruel place!"
"You are home fool. Get to bed"
His face yells, crinkling at the brow.
Secretly she is enjoying all of this,
what have I done to upset her now?
Once again he finds paradise
in the form of crisp white sheets and dreams.
Alcohol is playing with all his mishaps
And his paradise is not now what is seems.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 12:25 AM UTC
Nothing to do with shampoo bottles, empty or otherwise I'm afraid. Just some rambling nonsense from an over stressed imagination.
Sitting alone
listening to
tunes Lennon
never lived to write
I find the sight of
sunlight streaming
through the blinds
quite depressing
I'm guessing I should
say **** it and pull
the trigger but the
bigger picture looms
large before me
The contemporary
decay of society
more than I can
tackle at this crackling
moment of existence
but tomorrow after all,
is another day.
Look at that!
Three choppy
little verses all
much too sad to
ignore
(leading now
to number four)
Hey, how bout a joke?
An Irish bloke walks
past a pub...
What? It could happen
Blimey, me rhymes
a sodden mess.
I guess I'll hang it up
for the night and fight
the great fight in the
morning. If you've
read this far, you've
got my gratitude.
(And sympathy)
Feb 2, 2011
Feb 2, 2011 at 12:07 AM UTC
I won the bloomin' lottery,
Cor blimey so I did!
No more scrubbin' socks for me,
I've won ten million quid!
I'm goin' on a ******
Nuffin's gonna bring me down;
I'll be the biggest spender,
Gonna buy the whole **** town!
My new found wealth is awesome,
Have you seen my mansion pool?
I play tennis in a foursome,
And my coach is really cool;
On Wednesday's its Pilates,
And on Sunday's it's Judo!
Now I'm jetting to the Maldives,
Toodle-pip -- I have to go!
One finds oneself most indisposed,
To do this interview;
One's butler will be swift deposed,
For letting you get through;
One will accede to your request,
Tho' Sir, this is your lot;
Despite the wealth with which one's blessed,
One has not changed a jot!
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 12:54 AM UTC
One more follower
Than all the teachers and kids
At my school. Blimey.
Jun 3, 2014
Jun 3, 2014 at 12:23 AM UTC
Yay, it's another lovely Barry Hodges "Memories" poem.
How happily I recall the excitement of my visits to Lewisham's hospital
For my regular "haemorrhoid adjustment/re-alignment" sessions,
During which time I made the acquaintance of a nursing sister
With possibly the fiercest libido in south-east London.
And one night, whilst we were "on the job" in her comfy cubicle,
I glanced over her fat shoulder through the cracked observation window.
Ah yes, dear reader, it was the relatively cleanish Ward G
(the terminal one where the near-dead await merciful release,
wittily nicknamed "the happy dreamers' room" by the matron,
an evil predatory old **** with a 40-inch waist and wild halitosis);
I watched a spectacularly ugly nurse peering o'er the screen
Around poor old ******** Bertie "Big ***** Bloggs.
His wasted, crippled, whitened pyjamed form
Lay twitching on the none-too-clean patched sheets;
He opened his unseeing, ancient eyes and gave voice:
"Give us a gobble" the old ****** croaked pathetically,
"You know you want to, you fat smelly *****
And then he croaked. Unsucked and unloved,
O my beloved lector, compassionate creature that thou art,
Surely thy pleasure will be utterly intensified to learn that
The NHS bedsheets were indelibly and spectacularly stained
As his bowels opened spontaneously with Death's kindly appearance.
"Gor ******* blimey, what a ******* horrid pong," came a groan:
('twas Sammy "No Legs" Smith in mid-wank on a nearby trolley).
These events in the ward led to an inevitable result for me:
You have divined it correctly, O treasured fan of mine,
Yea verily, the happenings I espied made me blow my ***
Most prematurely and my love-partner, the sylphlike Sister Sally,
Was so sodding annoyed she crushed my tender haemorrhoids
Quite brutally in her surgical spirit-hardened left hand.
Aug 12, 2015
Aug 12, 2015 at 8:42 AM UTC
Dandelion and chamomile
peppermint and elderflower,
gee
whatever happened to
good old English tea?
What was good enough for dear old dad
is good enough for me.
You may wish and say
that there's no way
tea
is English,
I wish your wishes away.
What else could it be at a quarter to three,
but tea time?
my time where
biscuits and Earl Grey will
suit me quite fine.
At her time of life,
my wife would be having a baby
if I told her that tea was not blighty,
cor blimey
strike me dumb
make me fingers numb
if tea don't come
from England.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 6:45 AM UTC
Oh the cat is out of the hat
the maiden has lost her knickers
and my aunt Nelly blimey
oh what a kerfuffle
My wife just put ****** on the sausages
and one from the oven has shot up the dogs ***
oh this is not good, at party like this
oh what a kerfuffle
There must be at least twelve saints here
those that must be revered
yet they are dancing like nutters
oi the beers are over here
God look at peter paul and dingo
don't they act like plebs
I would not dance
if I could get the beat out of my head
Lets take it to the garden
and do the moonlight shuffle
let's be foot loose and fancy free
oh what a kerfuffle
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 4:58 AM UTC
A school in a village without any pastel –
Divine Child which never cares for riel
Strives for excellence. Does propel
The children upwards and rebel
Against injustice gigantic or sea shell;
Strives to let its stars and carvings excel
With the artistic hands of its roselle.
All play ups and disobeys did she quell
For all discourteous and insolent is knell.
Insurgencies and Illiteracy repel
As soon as they hear Divine’s yell.
She made IAS, engineer and Laurel
Who are shining brightly in parallel.
The capacity to write is more in noel
As during Christmas less is evil’s spell
And more golly and blimey impel.
She is still like a nice damoiselle
Not touched by corruption or rebel.
This is pond. In it many a Raphael
Have drowned to break a cell
From which brains emerged like sail
Which drove young minds to foretell
Their future. With Anandi ma’am’s spell
She still does prosper, flourish and excel.
Aug 12, 2017
Aug 12, 2017 at 11:03 PM UTC
I dreamt I awoke...in Woking...in England
"Woking", I thought, "you gotta be joking!
What was I doing, doin' here in Woking"
I felt like Dr. Who stepping out of the TARDIS
And all the people there they were all looking, they were all staring at me
It was like the whole world was gaping
As if...as if there was something to see
I wondered 'Had my mask fallen and was what they were now seeing, was it something appalling
Could they see the real me ?'
So I started running...runnin' 'cos I thought they were all gunning
Gunnin' out to get me
And I met this policeman, this burly constable
And I said to him "I didn't want to awaken in Woking at all
I just wanted to get back home"
He replied "The last train out of Woking had just gone"
So I ran on
And it started raining... raining and I was soaking... soakin'
Soakin' in Woking
Then I met this sweet little London gal
She said "Cor Blimey where you goin'"
I told her I didn't know...
I told her "Here in Woking I felt like I was choking, that all the walls they were closing in"
I said I'd just been dreaming...dreamin'
But what was the meaning... the meaning
And why had they put me here in Woking
What... what was the reason ?"
"Have you been drinking Love?" she said
"No!" I replied indignantly, "I haven't been drinking, I was just sleeping...sleepin'
But hadn't expected to awaken, to awaken here in Woking
I opened up to her a bit then, I said "Though I was getting older I was... I was always still hoping
But then suddenly I woke up and found myself here, here in Woking
What was it all about ?"
"You poor darling " she said
(For a moment Woking didn't seem so bad after all)
Then she reached into her purse and brought forth some coppers and offered them to me
I said "No! No! You don't understand... you don't understand...
I awakened from Woking a little after the morning had broken
Still in one piece and still with all my secrets intact
But sadly
Without any meaning nor any reason.
Jul 9, 2024
Jul 9, 2024 at 9:16 AM UTC
Under the Bridge, along the Promenade: we
walked with words trickling through our
waxy lips. Where the Seafront was all silk.
Where the Waxwings, sealed wax tips,
lumbered about the Empyrean yonder:
splayed upon a Canvas
of Sapphire and Azure.
Before the Starry Night has come.
Before we reached the Shore only to
Digress.
"Liebe verleiht Flügel,"
I heard, or read in a Book.
The Streets are crimson rust;
The Spectators in Sanitariums watched
drab passersby. They shambled and
coughed admixt the crowded room, only
to find the Peristyle vacant and dead.
A Mantic Women, cards of dread,
stands on the corner; our
eyes catched, and She speaks:
"Wo bist du?"
"Wo bist du?"
Louder and fists shaking:
"Wo bist du?"
The buildings doddered, filled with
Cuscuta.
In Montauk, where we met, now withered,
covered in snow, I stood - my comportment
unsteady. Flashing in the distance I see
Point Light - Captain Kidd musing with his
Money Ponds - an Angel guiding wonderous
blights - The Recognitions, blimey,
Mr. Gaddis has gone blind - The Faustian
apotheosis abound -
The Streets are crimson rust
filled with dread.
Smelling of Jack-by-the-hedge -
I'm walking...
Noctivagant aura permeates -
Mich.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 8:18 PM UTC