"brits" poems
There was a chap called Charlie.
Who lived in separation.
In total world of degradation.
Father left when he were nine.
A raging alcoholic.
Charlie, his brother and his mother.
Sent off to the workhouse.
In the land of Lambeth.
No palace.
The family were ushered into areas of segregation.
Mother and children apart in our apparently grand nation.
Product of shame documented by satirists.
Dickens's favourite topic.
Poor folks made poorer,
In workhouses designed to embarrass.
Those already destitute,
Not by choice for sure.
Only crime being poor.
Dignity stripped.
Destroyed of heart.
Wrecked in health
To reduce their being even more.
God help you if you were not fit.
**** of the earth, you were purged.
We the Brits now get benefits,
Be grateful that we do.
_____________________________________________________________________________
Charlie found extreme success.
When as a film star of the silent kind.
With a plaque on the wall of his once posh house in Vauxhall.
His surname it was Chaplin!
By ladylivvi1
© 2014 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Jan 2, 2014
Jan 2, 2014 at 10:35 AM UTC
I really think
that it is just a sin.
That when there is trouble
The Big Boys join in.
They all come across
saying that they'll make a change
and then somebodys World
they will then rearange.
The US and Russia
along with us Brits
don't want it that way
so we blow it to bits.
We give guns to him,
supply arms to another.
Then we sit back and watch
as Brother kills Brother.
Who are we to guide?
Who are we to preach.
When we cling on to their assets
like a blood ******* leach.
We should leave others alone
till our own house is done,
yet we watch as our schools
become run by the gun.
Where now it's the norm
to be shot as we learn,
just as long as big commerce
is able to earn.
Those who should know better
don't know how to behave
Happy to see
another Child in a Grave.
So you Big Boys go elsewhere
because it's well known
that if you come to play
you come armed with a Drone.
While you're sitting back
comfy in your armchair.
You can relentlessly ****
from a place that's not there.
Then when you pull the plug
and remove your devices
we are faced with a problem
of people making bad choices.
We have made problems worse!
We have let people down
and when we get a world crisis
we'll react with a frown.
We don't want them here.
They cannot go there.
A whole host of humanity
who is welcome Nowhere.
We created this problem!
We created this way.
So in the future
keep The Big Boys away.
Oct 3, 2015
Oct 3, 2015 at 1:56 PM UTC
Sticky Sticky, So **** Sticky,
Us Brits and our Weather
are so **** Picky
Sun Beats Down, Evaporates the Frowns
Then there's the complaints for which wer are so renowned
Too Cold, Too Hot, Please Just Stop...
I was waiting all winter long and now you strop
I much prefer shades to a winters coat
Up round my **** not up round my throat
Own far more Mini's than I do Scarfs
and it was the Summer Holiday's I had most Laughs
So you can keep your dreams of cosy nights in
As I excite the 'Vit D' and Tan my Skin
All trhose extra layers keeping you wrapped
I prefer the White lines where my Crop-Top Strapped
"I can't Move, Think I'm Melting",
I quickly choose 'Rays' over 'Downpours' or 'Peltings'
Sitting at this screen writing is now getting Tricky
It's Sticky Sticky....Too ****** Sticky... Yeergh!
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 7:07 PM UTC
With a Jewish religion and a German Queen,
Who has a clue where the Brits have been?
Mum’s clan were Huguenots,
Dad’s maybe Welsh.
Lots of Africans in our football teams.
Keep out those immigrants many do say,
Even those whose parents came from Bombay.
We’ve lots of patriots from Pakistan:
The younger generation, Brits to a man.
But some are Radicals I hear you say,
We should be sending them on their way,
Back to Asia where they belong,
To the tunes of a UKIP song.
So what is “British” we must ask,
For this is not an easy task.
Justice and Democracy I hear you shout,
Tiny islands with some clout.
Shakespeare, Beatles, Rugby Lions,
Churchill clapping foes in irons.
Let’s be glad that we are free
And settle down to a cuppa tea.
Paul Butters
Nov 4, 2015
Nov 4, 2015 at 5:47 AM UTC
CHAI GARAM CHAI
Millions of cups of TEA/CHAI each day, we Indians happily consume
It is almost a must every morning, evening and before we work resume
Lures us its aroma at home or when we pass by a tea-stall, tempting are its fumes
One of the most consumed drinks in India is definitely chai, anyone can this presume
Huge varieties there are, count one cannot; but the most famous I guess is Masala chai
Most Indians, specially Gujjus, this thoroughly enjoy; even foreigners must definitely it try.
Every morning a fresh cup of boiling chai makes your day; ah! that cup of "garma-garam chai"
My most favorites are the aadu-ilaichi (ginger cardamom) n Bawaji special, the fudhina-leeli-chai
Once you sip it, along with Bun-Muska, almost addicted you are, you get a "Chaska" true.
There is an art in concocting a good cup of chai; one must know how to it properly brew
Sadly I wasn't allowed to taste coffee or tea/chai when young, I tasted it, only when I grew
Tea here, is a drink old, but the Brits loved it n made it famous; so, chai is old tea is new
Armin Dutia Motashaw
Apr 24, 2022
Apr 24, 2022 at 4:59 AM UTC
Gwuts on gwanilliagax
Ready hot gwip
Trill on the vibrant note gabeeboh
What a thril it is to be in nice gazeebo
What a punk that doused on the free zobe
What punctillious panagax that frigged all the wets out
And when the trip to the sausage make didnt pull down alaz
Alaz, I am the wet tug.
Alaz, the sprig of wheat ***** taint.
Didn't you say you loved me?
Well, the bruts on the wagon sauce now
Didn't me have a big one, tug one, sauce one?
Well elemayo gwit gwits gwit gwits gwit gwit.....gwit
Embryo collecting on the branch of a saggy
My baggy be ripped, dripped all the can out
Me step on a puddle, the wet one, the biggy
My pets on the leg, rub, all on it sticky, how ******
He chugs out a wet belch and creams on the gricky
How quaint is his fat bristle comb, of his **** I am assured
This great honkulous tank sub that brits on my dimbo,in limbo my ship
It greats on the grates treat me to a sub snack ship ***** ***** factory get e
Tag me on your webpage, then **** me silly
Aug 16, 2011
Aug 16, 2011 at 11:01 PM UTC
Your life's twilight on a
September evening came.
And ferried you were by
crimson cherubs; conveyed
in splendour on a celestial
cruise, to gates pleasant for
a permanent reign.
Your reign on the throne
on a September autumn
exited,
but your indelible legacy
in the hearts of Brits
is enthroned gloriously.
Dec 21, 2022
Dec 21, 2022 at 8:28 AM UTC
Curtains up
NOW OWN
~IT~
AS IF
you're the King
of the whole
**** stage
when
you're
really
just another
player
acting out
for those
cheap seats
you survey
Where else
****
HERE*
would
THEY
get to see
such a
[defamation]
-free play?"
(laughing)
**"Best you
throw some sweets**.
Indulge them
...**I'd say!
...I'd say!"**
The Evil Queen
smirks
&
a knife glints in her hand
Is
she
creeping
up
Behind You?
(or... does she need a real man?)
Ahhhh!!
you see...
she's
exhausted
A-LADD-IN
& she knows
where to find you..
(evil laughter)
Ohhhh!
It's
just as well
you're in costume
*...now remember
your lines*
"Don't props (& illusions) make a jolly good night!"
and baby, WOW!
you look
Oh! Soooo cute
in those tights!
and with a sweep of the stage, the smirking Queen exits > right
This stage
is all yours now
So Buttons... take a bow
(us Brits love an underdog in a fight)
... Make your bow deep
~with a flourish of resplendence~
that captures their hearts
try more than That wiggle
-and a lot more-
than one dance!
To do it well...
get a catchphrase
(which we'll ALL lurvey darlink from the start)
Believe me,
is good
Always
is
another...
try
the one
you've used in
rehearsals with the
Stepsisters
- all dragged up-
looking
L
O
V U
E G
L L
Y (like their mother)
cough
**** it..
Everyone chokes
on the dry ice that swirls!
The audience ponders....
WHO's the boys ?
THAT's... a... girl ?!
&
in
the
low
glow
they'll see
Cinders singing
of loves' sweet melody,
those s l o w shoe shuffles
softly sliding across their
t
r
a
p
door hearts
Laughing & crying along through
each emotion of the tattered
sweet princess, who
simply hasn't had
a Prince in her...
winks
sights
(YET!)
then
**Act II ends
with
a Flash!
&
a Bang!**
They all lived
ever after...
Cinders' happy?
THE END
Nov 15, 2013
Nov 15, 2013 at 5:20 AM UTC
Adolf ****** was really quite a chap
He made those Froggies eat a lot of crap;
And he made all those Norwegians
Look like a load of paraplegians.
He marched into Poland with his troops
Into their pants those Poles did poops.
He made short work of the poor old Greeks:
And in their pants they did big keeks.
Killing the Jews was oh so bad and cruel:
Burning them up for harsh winter fuel.
But invading Russia was a bad place to go
And the Nazis froze in the cold and snow.
The Yanks were frightened to join in the war:
They were **** scared of what they saw;
(they only got involved when the Japanese
brought the Pearl Harbour fleet to its knees).
Only the Brits stood resolute and brave
For Churchill was an inspiring knave;
He fought Adolf on the shores and beaches
And the Germans crapped their leder-britches.
So what is the lesson of these facts from history?
Not ****** much - what a ******* mystery.
Sep 2, 2015
Sep 2, 2015 at 1:42 PM UTC
We bebopped
along the Straße,
full of the finest hops,
higher than kites,
enamored with
everything Deutsch.
Everywhere we went,
the deejays
spun the Beatles & Stones,
as if we were Brits,
when we were actually
Yanks & nein GI's,
Ich bin students!
Feb 7, 2014
Feb 7, 2014 at 12:25 PM UTC
i like jelly babies such a lovely treat
not to big and bulky small enough to eat
they have lots of colors a jelly baby race
everytime i eat one puts a smile upon my face
when you eat the females they are nice and thin
they fit in your mouth when you put them in
best of all the boys all of them are brits
they taste so much better they have the extra bits
Feb 21, 2014
Feb 21, 2014 at 6:13 PM UTC
Plane Poetry: I go to Barber
aisle seat C 14,
an emergency exit row,
forced to solemnly swear
that for the extra legroom,
I will solemnly assist to open
the exit door, me first as my reward,
and keep my terrified screaming
below an elephant's trumpeting mating call
what hast this to do with a trip to Barber?
you Brits and Aussies, ever economical,
say went 'to hospital,'
leaving we Ameddicans
to dignify that august institution
as going to
The Hospital
Thus advised, be apprised, a
Nota Bene Benidictus:
I go to Barber,
Not
I go to the barber.
Samuel Barber,
Adagio for String Quartet, Barber
If unfamiliar with this piece,
you will recall it well
if "Apocalypse Now" registers at all
If not stop immediately,
return to Go,
start here,
www.youtube.com/watch?v=RRMz8fKkG2g
be prepared to surrender your mortality,
listen and if effected,
if you find yourself on your knees
weeping, recalling the days of loss,
the early empires of hope,
the first kiss
of your firstborn
and unknowingly,
the last you gave
a loved one
if you have the courage to
be touched and impacted,
as I,
then welcome back to
right here where why...
*I go to Barber
where violins soar me heavenwards,
where violins rip open sores long since scarred over,
I go to Barber
and float, eyes sky'd, as water
fills and departs my body simultaneously,
I go to Barber
to know that art can rise beyond,
that my weakened, wrecked human flesh, surpassable
I go to Barber
to harmonize my disconcordia,
romantic lyricisize my waning days,
I go to Barber
to voluntary confess, admit my impoverishment,
to acknowledge that they, my days, yet are capable,
I go to Barber
to remember and to forget,
to mark and unmark time
I go to Barber
to be created and recreated,
to be destructed and despaired
I go to Barber
to acknowledge, as human, better is forever possible,
for of the god spark, yet unextinguished
I go to Barber
because there is no plane as fast as his slow adagio,
to transport me to the who I am and should yet be*
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 4:47 PM UTC
(Read in your best British accent)
Well what can’t I say
Of the so called Baylo Brits
Their weird, crazy, and wild
Smoking herb, and jiggling ****
They giggle and laugh
Acting all so very pip
They’re ****** wankas they are
Especially Fritz and Kip
Not from England
Though they do have a friend named Jack
Witty as hell the blokes really be
Its just sanity they seem to lack
First Hannah said **** off
She’s a lovely poppet of a girl
And all this first came about
As they passed around, a pearl
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
It'll all be over in about eight minutes,
Give or take, depending on your side of the Earth,
Plasma therapy for the masses.
Just like that, we're all crispy critters,
Pork rind skins flavored with dehydrated sea-salt.
That beautiful aurora-generating magnetosphere,
Shrinking daily, as the planet's poles reverse,
Will puncture like a too thin prophylactic.
The Christians will have just minutes,
Reminding us that we were prophesized
To all go out in fire and overlooking
That we're actually being ionized with radiation ---
A mere trifle to the True-Believers.
Will the Dow-Jones sell off in those final moments?
Will the Russians attempt to launch a Soyuz?
The Brits will take it all in stride with another pint;
Aussies venture on their final walkabout.
As for me, I'm gonna saddle up a pony
heading straight out to greet the Joshua trees.
I want to meet annihilation on my own terms.
Mar 1, 2012
Mar 1, 2012 at 2:28 PM UTC
The Platypus
(a limerick for adults, teens and older children)
by Michael R. Burch
The platypus, myopic,
is ungainly, not ******
His feet for bed
are over-webbed,
and what of his proboscis?
The platypus, though, is eager
although his means are meager.
His sight is poor;
perhaps he’ll score
with a passing duck or ******
Keywords/Tags: limerick, double limerick, humor, light verse, nonsense verse, platypus, ****** duck, proboscis, nose, beak, feet, webbed, flippers, eyes, eyesight, sight, vision, myopia, myopic, animal, nature, ****** erotica
The Mallard
by Michael R. Burch
The mallard is a fellow
whose lips are long and yellow
with which he, honking, kisses
his ***** boisterous mistress:
my pond’s their loud bordello!
Dot Spotted
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a leopardess, Dot,
who indignantly answered: "I'll not!
The gents are impressed
with the way that I'm dressed.
I wouldn't change even one spot."
Stage Craft-y
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a dromedary
who befriended a crafty canary.
Budgie said, "You can’t sing,
but now, here’s the thing—
just think of the tunes you can carry!"
Ballade of the Bicameral Camel
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a camel who loved to ****
Please get your lewd minds out of their slump!
He loved to give RIDES on his large, lordly lump!
Clyde Lied!
by Michael R. Burch
There once was a mockingbird, Clyde,
who bragged of his prowess, but lied.
To his new wife he sighed,
"When again, gentle bride?"
"Nevermore!" bright-eyed Raven replied.
Other Limericks
The Better Man
by Michael R. Burch
Dear Ed: I don't understand why
you will publish this other guy—
when I'm brilliant, devoted,
one hell of a poet!
Yet you publish Anonymous. Fie!
Fie! A pox on your head if you favor
this poet who's dubious, unsavor
y, inconsistent in texts,
no address (I checked!) :
since he's plagiarized Unknown, I'll wager!
"Of Tetley's and V-2's" or "Why Not to Bomb the Brits"
by Michael R. Burch
The English are very hospitable,
but tea-less, alas, they grow pitiable...
or pitiless, rather,
and quite in a lather!
O bother, they're more than formidable.
Mar 8, 2020
Mar 8, 2020 at 11:22 PM UTC
(sonnet #MMMMMCCCLXVIII)
Lo, poor man's tea in dawn's first light, whose pale
Eye shifts vague shadows 'cross dead houses thence,
Ere twinkling with an orange splash' warming sense
Upon that silence, and no coffee's bail
In morning's fog as rosy lee's detail.
Snow's bitter whiteness waits sans aught suspense
While sparrows gaily answer for two pence,
And I wash up the dishes on that scale.
We fix a mean cup of ole joe as twere,
Yet where the Brits swear by tea's mincing cue
I oddly know what tis to waken, poor
As such assertions oer the second brew.
Discuss caffeine, and I sleep well nor stir
'Til ah, forget it. What I need is you.
05Jan16d
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 10:46 PM UTC
The World is all forlorn
As New Covid is born.
Time to frown,
We are getting locked down.
Vaccine, vaccine, vaccine, vaccine
We hear your cavalry bugle call.
Vaccine, vaccine, vaccine, vaccine
If you don’t work, the writing’s on the wall.
So many dead, it’s hard to bear,
So much menace in the air.
Everyone tired of this stuff,
So many folk having it rough.
One Lockdown was very tough
Having three is more than enough.
Children getting schooled at home
By parents who are on the dole.
Americans fight amongst themselves,
Instead of putting food on the shelves.
Brits have been distracted by Brexit,
Arguably a mistimed exit.
Last March I asked
Will this last a year?
Well the time is coming –
It’s getting near.
That vaccine surely gives us hope
But where’s our second jab?
No more playing rope a dope,
This chance we have to grab.
No jab at all for me,
As I am sixty eight.
I’ll have to wait and see
But am prepared to wait.
Paul Butters
© PB 8\1\2021. First two lines by Norman Stevens.
Jan 8, 2021
Jan 8, 2021 at 8:30 AM UTC
it's weird that Brits say "chips" instead of "french fries",
and it's sad that your dad says "you're hopeless" instead of "I love you".
it's weird that the sun pokes up out of the ground at different times everyday,
and it's sad that it hurts more when you poke your finger than when you run the blade down your skin.
it's weird that the sun still shines when it's 3 degrees outside,
and it's sad that 3 am is filled with thoughts of agony and your pillow is stained with the salt water from your eyes.
it's weird that there's 365 days in a year but it dreads on feeling like 1,000,
and it's sad that the pills that are supposed to make you feel better for your depression only make you want to swallow 365 more to make the pain go away.
it's weird that you're forced to go to school with ignorant teenagers that have no idea what they want in life besides getting high,
and it's sad that those teenagers romanticize self harm and depression like it's beautiful to have demons in your mind eating away your sanity.
Mar 11, 2014
Mar 11, 2014 at 9:34 PM UTC
The Brits were twits in '29,
I reckon mandates were not their cup of tea.
I suppose silence speaks louder than a noose,
And that as long as one is civilized, we may agree to disagree.
Enemies share common grounds-
Blood to be spilled, one pair apiece of shoes,
Salaam, shalom, auf wiedersein, tootleoo.
Dec 2, 2012
Dec 2, 2012 at 3:02 AM UTC
O' Casey had been told where the meeting was
senior members of the IRA would attend
he didn't know and thought that MI6 would be there
duped into assassination was a dangerous masterstroke
others knew that he was dissatisfied with the hierarchy
so if it transpired, he would be a likely target
If the real resaon was found, they would never forget
the old mainland action would be re-ignited
and the Brits cleverness found to be short-sighted
the peace process was a sham, arms locked away
Adams and McGuinness in suits, smug faces
while they postulated and mixed in high places
'You realize what were doing?' The ***** said
'Rather, let them carry on with their empty head.'
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 3:06 PM UTC
I've got an invitation to the Boston Tea Party
I'm letting you know in case you want to come with me
I heard from some friends that it's going down in history
Don't think about it twice
Just say yes
Whoa! Uh oh!
No taxation without representation
Whoa! Uh oh!
These patriot's they know how to show a good time.
Whoa! Uh oh!
What Georgie gonna think when he wakes up in the morning?
Pass me the quill, dear Hancock.
Thomas Jefferson, he has got a way with words
He really makes you believe that this dream's gonna work
(Maybe if you forget that these Brits rule the world)
I'll sign the declaration
It's all I have left to believe in
Whoa! Uh oh!
Paul Revere he says the British are coming!
Whoa! Uh oh!
Can't you hear, the belfry's bells are ringing
Whoa! Uh oh!
Pick up guns we're off to Lexington
Hoofbeats are flying out to the night.
Wait.
Here I stand.
At this Battle of Bunker Hill.
Stop.
Close your eyes.
What happend to our sanity?
Civility?
Humanity?
(It went out the door with our freedom.)
Whoa! Uh oh!
We don't need a King we have our own voices
Whoa! Uh oh!
Life and Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness
Whoa! Uh oh!
Save the date, July 4th 1776
US of A, it's independence.
May 11, 2010
May 11, 2010 at 2:34 PM UTC
I didn't,
even though,
I wanted to,
I wanted to watch candles flicker and scabs form,
I wanted to see blood **** from were the light was so bright,
like nothing could be dark,
but the irony in what I wanted to do,
using light to create the darkness,
my simple candle will mimic the gods in the sun.
but my mind became that of a stronger one,
knowing the candle need not make my path darth,
and the candle acted as a godly sun,
the godliest of all,
the british one,
and I just felt over old burns and cuts,
and cried as one might,
in a the present of the brits sun god,
for even the queen herself would of cried if given her time.
but right now it's just me,
and the dark night.
Aug 9, 2015
Aug 9, 2015 at 9:38 PM UTC
Q: Doctor, I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?
A: Heart only good for so many beats, and that it... Don't waste on exercise. Everything wear out eventually. Speeding up heart not make you live longer; it like saying you extend life of car by driving faster. Want to live longer? Take nap.
Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake? ...
A: Oh no. Wine made from fruit. Fruit very good. Brandy distilled wine, that mean they take water out of fruity bit so you get even more of goodness that way. Beer also made of grain. Grain good too. Bottom up!
Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Can't think of one, sorry. My philosophy: No pain...good!
Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?
A: YOU NOT LISTENING! Food fried in vegetable oil. How getting more vegetable be bad?
Q: Is chocolate bad for me?
A: You crazy?!? HEL-LO-O!! Cocoa bean! Another vegetable! It best feel-good food around!
Q: Is swimming good for your figure?
A: If swimming good for figure, explain whale to me.
Q: Is getting in shape important for my lifestyle?
A: Hey! 'Round' is shape!
Well... I hope this has cleared up any misconceptions you may have had about food and diets.
And remember:
Life should NOT be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in an attractive and well-preserved body, but rather to skid in sideways - Chardonnay in one hand - chocolate in the other - body thoroughly used up, totally worn out and screaming "WOO-HOO, what a ride!!"
AND......
For those of you who watch what you eat, here's the final word on nutrition and health. It's a relief to know the truth after all those conflicting nutritional studies.
1. The Japanese eat very little fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Brits.
2. The Mexicans eat a lot of fat and suffer fewer heart attacks than Brits.
3. The Chinese drink very little red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Brits.
4. The Italians drink a lot of red wine and suffer fewer heart attacks than Brits.
5. The Germans drink a lot of beer and eat lots of sausages and fats and suffer fewer heart attacks than Brits.
CONCLUSION: Eat and drink what you like. Speaking English is apparently what kills you.
Concocted (for a sort of reconciliation) ...for our weekly fatty club weigh in.
Ha!
M.
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:54 PM UTC
Oh its that time again isn't it
Summer, had my ticket for months, but its that time properly now
Planning brings a strange nostalgic reality to it, little multi-sense photos
An atmosphere can be difficult to really deconstruct when you just got words to go on
But its definitely one I enjoy, one that I embrace headlong
Travelling is that monotonous thing, early rising to enjoy the window of a minivan for a few hours
Watching the familiar turn to new hills and roads that represent thousands of lives and millions of cells
That I don't give two ***** about
Did somebody bring a CD? Does it work? ****** hell.
The service station provides our group with yet another chance to take the **** out of each other
And converse in that usual way, a spontaneous collection of enjoyable media, social events and our opinionated picking apart of the world
Then we get there, I'm reminded of my sheer lack of exercise as I carry all my **** to the campsite
And after a while we're set up, the tents are out, the deck chair is under my *** and the plastic cup of *** and coke is in my hand
And here's the atmosphere again, that memorable ******* where the brits are really bohemian
We drink, we talk, we laugh, we **** take
The night develops and the spontaneity and quiet chaos cracks out of our shells
And if I've done well I've forgotten all of it, or puked it up the side of a fence
The bands come on the next day, and the drink is that usual inhibition ********** friend
As a couple misfits in black shirts and jeans surround themselves in thousands of misfits in black shirts and jeans
And the dark comes along again, I lose my crowd to immerse myself in another
That song on my mp3 player becomes four men on instruments, with bigger speakers than my house
The experience becomes completely mine as alcohol lowers my cynicism and enhances my immersion
Making that band a little more ******* awesome
I wake up with a dodgy looking beard, misplaced hair and a tent to abandon
Looking forward to a shower and a plate of chicken
But with resounding sense of success and a slight smirk
Definitely do it again next year.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 10:31 PM UTC
To me a poem is a Statement, even a Speech.
So, Friends, Britons and countrymen, lend me your ears;
I come to bury Britain, not to praise it.
The evils that empires do live long after them.
Colonial wrongs seem never put to right.
Achievements hidden away in dusty books
By historians, all honourable men (and women!).
Yet historians say the Brits were too ambitious
And too self-righteous by half.
For historians are honourable men (and women).
They say we must accept that we’re a tiny island nation
And accept our place in the world.
Yes, historians are honourable men (and women).
They say we were too ambitious.
But now, the world is threatened by dark forces,
And only the winner takes the spoils (and writes the history!).
Once more unto the breach us Brits must go,
To fight like tigers
And smite the foe.
Paul Butters
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 4:09 PM UTC