"encyclopaedia" poems
Mike Bee,
Wandering Free.
My Willy’s Pub Sunday Luncheon mate,
With always plenty on his plate.
Then at The Crow’s there’s John and Keith,
Using Sam Smith’s to wash their teeth.
What they don’t know, isn’t worth knowing,
Lots of banter to keep me going.
They call Brian there, “Encyclopaedia”,
With lots of facts, he will feed ya.
He’s so bright cos he’s from Leeds,
And knows his I before E except after Cs.
Paul Butters
Nov 14, 2015
Nov 14, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
Kelly Brook
Mistook
A book
For a hook.
Went fishing with
Alanis Morissette
And Anneka Rice.
Caught a complete set
Of Encyclopaedia Britannicas.
Popped it in the keep-net
And mused,
This really is a landmark
Of informational literature
But is rather wet
So not easily used.
I think I'll stick
To the Internet.
Apr 11, 2014
Apr 11, 2014 at 2:53 PM UTC
i believe that there lives a counterpart
of me in Spain and in France -
equally critical - not me per se,
but two individuals to compensate
my efforts in England,
Eastern European, hell-bent
to overtax the happy meal and frozen foods
for "the busy lives of 21st century love-e-dub-e's;
a seance of unification might be far away
mind you;
they say they cite the Bible as if it
were an Encyclopaedia -
you reared the African as subhuman,
you think, that other European nations
will succumb to the African systematisation
necessary for integration?
you actually think i'll abandon my
mother tongue to engross myself
in your filthy history and sing god save our queen
like a kindergarten sing-along readying
myself for Oompa-Loompas?
oh i'm sure that's just due to your genetic
makeshift tents on the steppes of Mongolia;
any news from Mongolia? none.
any news from Kazakhstan? none;
except irony... or the great Tao principle:
forget the world and let the world forget you;
i'm not too eager on the Heidegger octopus either
having to be in the world and care for it -
or at least tax my existence with a concern for it.
but of course it's like an inbreeding principle:
little Britain meets the Empire,
Darth Asthmatic... coo khhh... coo khhh...
H vocalised is the best painting
of ancient static in televisions,
motivational ashes lost with digitalisation,
the kaleidoscope of flies and 8-eye spiders
hacking the flight with spider-web geometrics...
prolong the first two letters of the word Khan...
and i'm sure you'll genealogically stress
the origin of Pakistan as being in Mongolia.
Jun 8, 2016
Jun 8, 2016 at 7:40 PM UTC
In this house
sticky thin floorboards
slinking from wall to wall.
Everything dripping down,
pictures taped,
a story told through
ticket stubs
and pushpins.
The amount of stuff
is astounding,
every piece exact,
writing an encyclopaedia.
Teal doors chipping,
holes at hand-height
with paw prints
adorning every corner.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:20 AM UTC
Where once I stood still
You made me dance like a vivacious ballerina
Where once I was on a verge of extinction
You made me replicate myself
Where once I was about to jump off the cliff
You made me fly like a carefree swallow
Where once I had lost my voice
You made my vocal chords work harder than ever
Where once I turned grey
You made me more colourful than VIBGYOR
Where once I became oblivious to all
You made me a walking talking encyclopaedia
Where once I became deaf
You made Mozart immortal for my ears
Where once I refused to smile
You made me chuckle endlessly
Where once everything had turned dark
You made my life brighter than sunshine
Where once sadness refused to leave me
You made me forget what it even was
Where once the aura of shallowness surrounded me
You made me realise I'd reached the zenith
Where once I merely existed
You made me feel live ......... to the infinity
Apr 19, 2017
Apr 19, 2017 at 1:25 AM UTC
Every time I
catch a glimpse of my reflection in a shop window I
have to check.
Legs. Still there, apparently.
Still thin even though I
ate lunch today.
Every time I
sit down on the toilet to *** I
have to check.
Tailbone. Still protrudes a little, apparently.
Still hasn’t disappeared, isn’t
buried under fat even though I
put milk in my coffee this morning.
Softly, gently
My hands explore my back, tracing up
along my spine because I
have to check.
I wonder if I look a bit like
a dinosaur illustration from a child’s encyclopaedia:
you know, the one with the triangular bump-y things
running along its back?
Stegosaurus! That’s the one!
(I had to Google it.)
I have to check.
Aug 23, 2017
Aug 23, 2017 at 10:23 AM UTC
Dante four-hundred-years-later
when it was too late
to consider contemporaries;
and more about encrusting an
English class wit Irish nuns.....
who are we to judge?
the Dire Straits of sensibility....
as a bet: the one true fame
is posthumous cha cha choo
in Buenos Aires' tango and tiaras.
we all said lefty Hendrix and Morrison
in a tongue of Gobi tongue accented for
a rue worth a caramel's worth of yo yo;
maybe i too the tongue-tie buff
in search of the encyclopaedia,
and the higher status Orff tornado...
and wept to catch culprits like slingshots
in the wild west.
Jun 12, 2016
Jun 12, 2016 at 11:57 PM UTC
It's a bit like slamming on the brakes when all you have is what life takes and the winding down begins.
These are the stakes and the fixed odds chance so you dance off down the road to dreams that fall at the final jump and you pump yourself back up and get back down to it.
Easier to slit your throat or cut your wrists than scroll down all the losers, winners that you missed, the list is long, your time is short, getting caught out, being bought and sold out to the highest bidder who only ever wants to get rid of and you who should have known the breakdown was on the way say nothing when you could have rattled off some encyclopaedia. Spilled the beans on social media but you were always greedier than Bunter and now the hunter is the hunted, slammed the brakes on, shunted from behind to find that life is and can be that unkind.
Its a never mind and I don't care, never wanted to be here and never ever there but it stares me in the face when I look at these things, place your bets and let's get real we've set the wheels in motion now they'll spin we'll win or lose and then somehow we'll come into our own, become the happiness in the happy home or slam the brakes on when this life's gone and that takes no time at all.
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 1:48 AM UTC
If you are rich,
You speak less yet it is like spelling everything inside an encyclopaedia.
If you are rich,
You talk foolish yet it is taken to be of wisdom that no man can understand without any consultants.
If you are rich,
And you wear rags,
They say you are simple and expensive, man of the people ,worthy of many praises .
If you are rich,
You *** on the road and they say you are sane.
But
If you are poor ,your wisdom is the poo of a monkey ,you talk of something important ,they say it's old cliché that has no meaning .
You are insane even if you *** in the loo.your poo should not be seen because it may be contagious.
Do I mean it?
Rich or poor,you are human ...you should be humane and be with everybody unboastfully .
Because ,
We are all candidates of death.
Bye
Nov 6, 2018
Nov 6, 2018 at 5:09 AM UTC
Break me and make bread.
In your head,
I'm forever alive.
You can take your road to Calgary and it won't bother me
if you take me.
Here are true lives in the lines.
We read because we need them,
even in our solitude, we choose them and after all, they give meaning to the many men who come to pray before them.
On the Richter scale, we measure five, not quite a fail but not an achievement of which we could boast.
Break me and I'll play host to the demons that ride through the night when you're at your most vulnerable.
Take me and recreate me in the image of your man, but we fake it where we can.
Because,
and that has to be the answer sworn,
the baby born
the cradle cap
the winged bat
All these to choose
rejoice and win
or reject and lose.
Sermons on the Mount in many fonts available from any encyclopaedia,
online any time
Line
Break.
Mar 3, 2016
Mar 3, 2016 at 3:23 PM UTC
Acronym has no antonym
and initialism no synonym
they are the only celibate
encyclopaedia file words,
always separate in Pears!
Mar 11, 2025
Mar 11, 2025 at 3:27 AM UTC
Words can make or break someone
Don’t contribute to other people’s ordeal
They may forgive what you said or did
But never forget how you made them feel
As physical bruises are easier to deal
Emotional scars take forever to heal.
Mindfully articulate the words you say
Avoid your statements going astray
Don’t let your mood dictate your words
You’ll regret later if said absurd
While commenting Be precise and kind
Keep other person’s feelings in mind
Keep sensitivity & compassion twined
Better to talk once concept refined
Words are encyclopaedia of thought
Be mindful of the purpose sought
While communicating, keep a subtle balance
Speak if words are better than silence.
Apr 22, 2020
Apr 22, 2020 at 1:04 PM UTC
Weeds of words in garden
Makes encyclopaedia
With thousands of trees
Nov 17, 2019
Nov 17, 2019 at 3:09 PM UTC
I recall the wonder of discovery and
The awesome Technicolor
When you , taking me in your hand,
Perplexed the monarch of my affections
And I was a spinster no longer
My cataracts bent themselves rectangle
As you made primetime of my matinee
Made me pixellated
The world was square
And the Sky without limits
When I moved you into my private chamber
The pause button, having broken
Made us live in the moment
Every sound wave a fluttering falsetto
That we dare not turn the channel over
You came to me in flat format
But you were the set top box of times now gone
I longed to open you up
And absorb your teletext- the sonnets of old
Primetime was a kaleidoscope
As I lay there in bed with you, my precious television
Suddenly this slim rectangular riddle, when switched on,
was a philanthropist without shackles
The infinite gift that kept on giving
Mid-way through Holby City
20:20
Vision slipping
I lay there captivated by the elements of some fictional dame
And her fiery mane as it lights up the screen
The screen flickered 24 frames per second
And with it I slip into a familiar abyss
Ah, the reassuring comfort of my companion
And how you lulled me to sleep
Every press of the remote was a celebration of my admiration
Groping and clinging to it like some wilting tradition
Night after night you kept me company
Breathing warmth and pointing your aerial towards me
As I begged Mr Murdoch to
Open my eyes and fill me with information
Nothing dared distract me from you
Though there are those that tried
Those who found themselves muted
I was glued
And when the schedules faded to shopping or teletext
I’d switch you off
And listen to you on standby
How your heavy breathing would soothe me
The red on/off light that burns brightly into the night
Lets me know that you are alive
I hide the remote from prying eyes
Beneath the pillow that, on top, sit’s the TV guide
My encyclopaedia to the stars
How you have pleased me endlessly
Illuminating me
Filling me with light
I swift you off and reach for the plug
When suddenly a shock of electricity runs through my body
I feel it in my bones
You are possessive
It reminds me that I am alive
End
Oct 26, 2018
Oct 26, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC