"neville" poems
My hometown
is a place
of rustic beauty
and simple people
a population
under 200
meant that
everybody knew everybody
farmer Neville
and his sheep
always on the loose
and the quiz night
at the pub
just another excuse
to get drunker and drunker
and the private boarding school
which I attended
so rich with false academia
we learned the lessons
which would prepare us
for the false prophets yet to come
and the public school
and their ***** uniforms
where I found my friends
friends who at this point
have arrest records
ranging from assault
to petty larceny
and criminally wasted potential
oh how I miss that town
even now,
because despite the racism
and xenophobia
which infest my kinsmen
I still have to believe
that things can get better
that life there
can match the beauty
of North Yorkshire farm lands
and woodlands
and friendly knowing smiles
My hometown isn't perfect
and I wouldn't have it
any other way
Apr 21, 2013
Apr 21, 2013 at 3:13 AM UTC
He was going to get her a little plant,
and would be teensy-tiny and green
and the little plant would never die.
He would name it "Neville",
and she would giggle at the name
and the little plant would never die.
He would find her a little cactus,
or an aloe plant that had no spikes
(so she wouldn't ***** her fingers),
and the little plant would never die.
He would remind her to water it,
and she would tell him she forgot,
and it was a good thing he reminded her,
and the little plant would never die.
He would go over and visit it,
and he would visit her while he was at it,
and the little plant would never die.
He would bring her books about plants,
so she would know all about hers,
and the little plant would never die.
He would sing the plant little songs
when he visited the plant and her,
and she would like those little songs,
and the little plant would never die.
He would whisper I love you
to the plant, of course,
but she would hear it,
and the little plant would never die.
He would hear her say it too,
and he would understand,
and the little plant would never die.
But he did not get her a little plant.
The little plant would never die,
but she was not a little plant.
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 4:26 PM UTC
You are seen as weird
People often call you "Loony"
But they couldn't be more wrong
Yes, you are indeed different
But then, every individual is unique
And I like you as you are
With all your pros and cons
Yes, you may believe in things
Which do not really exist
But then, who doesn't?
What truly matters
Is the fact that you are a beautiful human being
With a heart of gold
Who doesn't judge anyone
Sees people as they are
Doesn't shy away from speaking uncomfortable truths
Is modest to a fault
And last but not the least
Values friendship above everything else
You know, I can relate to you
I am also different
And got bullied for that
Just as you did
However, your mental strength is remarkable
After losing your mother at a very young age
That too due to a freak accident
You have shown the courage and fortitude
Not to mention, resilience and tenacity
To carry on with your life
Do your best to excel at magic
Display the natural curiosity and aptitude for learning
Which is expected of every Ravenclaw
Develop and sustain friendships
And finally, put your life on the line
In order to try and make the world a better place for all
You are not only a true Ravenclaw
But also possess the courage, nerve and daring of a Gryffindor
And the loyalty and sense of justice of a Hufflepuff
You only lack the cunning and ambition of a Slytherin
Not to mention, you were kidnapped and held hostage by Death Eaters
That too for a few months
And somehow emerged almost unscathed
After such a traumatic experience
You really are an incredible witch
Please remain the way you are
No matter what people say
And I will be a fan of yours
Until, as Neville would say, "Hell freezes over"
Jun 18, 2023
Jun 18, 2023 at 1:07 AM UTC
*one reason why you're not read with a volume you
expected, jedi-know-how, you'll be easily plagiarised.*
**when i first came to england i fell in love
with manchester united...
the 4 - 4 - 2 line-up**
peter schmeichel (dane goalkeeper),
then ooh aah cantona (eric cantona baseball cap),
original wembley white towers...
(white towers, charity shield
newcastle united)
so meh for the arch....
irwin... steve bruce... lee sharpe...
gary pallister... (7) eric cantona.... george best....
mcclair, ryan giggs,
cotton tomilisom, then roy keane...
then davies cole ****
the neville brothers...
scholes and david beckham...
**** stuck to azkazam fudge, it's still perfectly refrigerated
in kazakhstan:
steve mcmanaman will tell you;
it's a random barricade question worth a shot
in the rubric of a sudden challenge.
Dec 12, 2015
Dec 12, 2015 at 7:41 PM UTC
Priti Patel's quote on EU migration - whatever it was...
list of common surnames: cropper, cross, crouch,
dabney, dalton, daniels, eads, easton, eccleston,
fairclough, farnham, fay, gardner, garey, garfield,
haight, hanes, hailey, ibbott, irvin, isaacson,
jack, jackson, jacobs, kay, keen, kelsey,
lacey, lacy, lamar, macey, mann, marchand,
neal, nelson, neville... sure pati japati patel -
i'll be an albino in Gujarat
if your play the sitar in a sari;
but your name sounds a bit migrant
revealing, what a weird 'back of the bus'
you seem to stand on -
you want the Mongolians resurrected?
i swear we were being ousted in line
of what Queen Sheba said to Solomon:
'olive skinned throughout the geography
and the unwelcome green men on
sponged-knickers creaming for an ******
a french dessert...'
yes pretty prior, you found home on a
continent when half of the european nations
didn't practice colonial antics -
i guess it's easier to pick on them.
but with a Patel surname you sound british
already, the great experiment worked
the anaesthetic of former colonialism
numbed via recreational Ketamine use
really numbed the skull and jaw mandibles -
i hate, i hate being conscripted into
post-colonial affairs of "why it all failed"
what a waste of the urban hubs of
Manchester or Liverpool -
where once artistic expression thrived -
i hate these post-colonial societies,
it's as if they were castrated en masse,
and they're wondering why no one has a permanent
suntan in scandinavia - maybe the raw herring diet -
cinnamon up your *** magician's trick with
space between fudge of digestion, disappearing trick
but then the cough that blinds you sweetly -
i guess post-colonial nationalism wanted to
listen to non-colonial nationalism -
a former migrant like pretty plated smell
olive skinned exploited inversion of angers
but dunked a footstep into a trip-up
with non-colonial nations -
a bit like the greek bail-out - pretty patel
is a name least likely associated with migration;
you teasing the beast out?
Apr 21, 2016
Apr 21, 2016 at 9:33 PM UTC
They came from the deep sky
with conquest in their eye
not content with the trees
they were here to squeeze
us
Drove us underground
put us in zoos
wailing and gnashing our only sound
hairy devils they ate Gary Neville..
tried to eat Vinnie Jones
He ate them, burped, and spat out all the bones
"Oi! monkey breath!" his battle cry
He rallied humanity he would not let us die...
Got riled up, called in his Hollywood pals
started kicking-ass and seducing gals
Rowdy Roddy Piper and Van-Damme
left those flying monkeys
looking like chewed ham
They released mankind from slavery
saving us from certain doom
The Fall of The Flying Monkeys
in a theatre near you soon.....
Feb 1, 2011
Feb 1, 2011 at 5:21 AM UTC
I didn't find Narnia in my closet
I didn't get my letter to Hogwarts
I didn't get to train as a Jedi
This is my reality
It may not be like yours
That doesn't mean your better then me
You don't know my story
You don't know what I've been though
You only know what I tell you
And what I show
Don't tell me I'm not worth your time
I'm nothing special
Or that I'm a wanna-be you
All you are is a Bully
I didn't chose this life
I am me
I don't want one of you
So I say...
Dear Victims,
Listen to what Ron Weasley said to Neville Longbottom
You're worth a hundred of him
And, Dear Bullies,
Get over yourself
Mar 24, 2015
Mar 24, 2015 at 6:12 PM UTC
Lord Henry Dickenbottem
Lived among his peers
A mind of deepest arrogance
Concealed between his ears
He spent his nights in gross misconduct
Lounging in his secret quarters
Mistress, maid and washerwoman
Ousted mothers, secret daughters
Hiding sordid love affairs
His endless line of ******* heirs
***** Henry Dickenbottem
Stalked above the stairs
Lady Mary Dickenbottem
Did her wifely duty
The slenderest of all her kin
Considered quite the beauty
Though in the dusk the candle burned
Alone, she stitched a pallid face
And in the dark she sought its words
To gain her shallow masters grace
Guiding will and fooling eyes
Beseeching of the dead to rise
Demon Mary Dickenbottem
She the pure despise
Master Neville Dickenbottem
Best of all his class
Beaten all the school boys
And bedded every lass
Allies of the strongest kind
And making merry of the weak
The liberties were his to take
And never one he wouldn’t seek
His gaze surveyed that which he ruled
All logical and water cooled
Nasty Neville Dickenbottem
Devil-fire fuelled
Young Jemmima Dickenbottem
Innocent and slight
Playing on the borderline
And darting out of sight
Only ever at her ease
When no one else was close about
And etched upon her baby face
The guilty shadow of a doubt
Always blamed if something broke
And speaking just above a croak
Shy Jemmima Dickenbottem
Tangible as smoke
Old Mother Dickenbottem
Lounging in her chair
Lavender and nicotine
Are fighting for her hair
Beware, at night she ventures forth
So best keep safe your tiny tots
She’ll creep up to the windowpane
And ****** them, sleeping, from their cots
Humming in discordant tones
Nimble fingers, cold as stones
Hungry Mother Dickenbottem
Gnawing on the bones
Dear Major Dickenbottem
Five years in the ground
Hoarded every ha’penny
But frittered every pound
Long he served his king and queen
A gentlemanly thing to do
He left the port with many men
And brought back homeward very few
He died away in foreign lands
Of syphilis and swollen glands
Dead Major Dickenbottem
Killed by wandering hands
Feb 8, 2013
Feb 8, 2013 at 2:03 PM UTC
There's an old road
where I spent much
of my childhood
back in England
that I miss
more than anything else
I tell all of my friends
"Yeah Virginia is ******* beautiful,
but you haven't seen real green grass
until you've been to that
small farming village"
yeah I'm from the sticks
it wasn't strange to come home
to stray sheep
which had escaped
from Farmer Neville
But where was I?
the road
that absolute beauty
on one side
proud oak trees
some of which are older than
the entire United States
covered in a sickly yellow moss
chlorophyll green shafts of summer
when we walked around
in shorts and t-shirts
the other side
is a field of grain
which was set ablaze
once a day
when the sun came down
to plant a kiss on the horizon
and we spent countless hours
playing on that tire swing
Now that road is closed off
overgrown
after we left
on our transatlantic journey
nobody was there to take care
no more children
whose laughter
echoed off of those
proud oak trees
and I do miss that road
I don't regret leaving it
life wasn't meant
to be spent
longing for old roads
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 9:50 AM UTC
EVERYONE WAS SOMEONE ELSE
Neville Chamberlain
gets on at Barking.
Umbrella, stripped trousers
the whole kit and kaboodle
just like the cartoonists
drew him.
Almost expected him to wave
that piece of paper and declare
"Peace in our time!"
But he only snapped open
The Times
with Trump trumpeting
some more inane lies
like a Dumbo
on acid.
At the next stop
the Chamberlain look-alike
got off and
an entity like something
Beardsley would have drawn
got on...yawn...fell asleep.
A girl at the end of the carriage
looked like she had just stepped out
of an Edward Hopper .
People kept assuming
the likenesses of others
no one was
themselves.
Here was a real dead ringer for
Meatloaf.
There the Mona Lisa
in a micro-mini and
still wearing the same
elusive smile.
Me too
even I
had awoken this morning
a badly drawn boy
feeling like nothing but
a bunch of scribbles..
I stayed on to the end of the line...
not wanting to get off
just going nowhere.
The next stop
the American elections!
Nov 7, 2016
Nov 7, 2016 at 6:27 PM UTC
Cause and effect made him shambling wreck
Cause too many late lights and too many in fights was the cause.
Just be. Cause it is doable don't mean you should do it
And a just cause is not always your cause.
Consequencies will cause you to blink
Double think when the right cause
Comes.along. cause
You paused. Double think.
Will take you to the brink
When instinct gets paused cause too many
Effects have caused you to balk.
Cause sometimes discretion is the better part.cause
Livve to fight another day caused neville chamberlaan
To dither while Poland burned. Why ?
Causes and pauses are like
Opaque obstructions.
But. That's what makes the wold go round
The world go round the world go round.
Causes make the world go round
It makes the world go round.
Seize the moment.
Jun 6, 2013
Jun 6, 2013 at 4:23 PM UTC
nine novice nuns
noticed Neville necking
Netta's nape
Jul 5, 2014
Jul 5, 2014 at 7:29 PM UTC
Reality and uncle Neville
always seem to disagree.
I guess he can't see the
tree for the tree.
To him,Truth's a transparency
that he cannot see beyond.
He must stay faultlessly opaque.
To the material certainty,
of which he's so fond.
Reality and uncle Neville
always seem to disagree.
I guess he can't see the
you for the he.
The only things that
are real to him,
are those that can be held,
but not felt.
Each alternative truth
is a tree to be felled.
Jan 22, 2017
Jan 22, 2017 at 12:02 AM UTC
IT'S 7.5% SO IT SAYS, OKAY, MAKES THE DAY PASS AWAY,
WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF YOU KNEW YOU WERE GOING TO DIE?
SIT ON THE VERANDAH, DRINK IN HAND LOOKING AT THE SKY,
OR TRY TO MAKE LOVE, AN ****** WITH ONE LAST SIGH;
NEVILLE SHUTE WROTE, 'ON THE BEACH,' NUCLEAR WASTELAND IN OZ,
THE NEWSPAPERS FLUTTERED DOWN THE STREET, SO HE SAID,
MAYBE THE LAST HEADLINE READ: 'ISIS DEFEATED IN SYRIA,'
AN OLD ADAGE: 'IF WE CAN'T HAVE IT - NOBODY ELSE WILL,'
GOD AND ALLAH'S PLANS BOTH DEFEATED - IT WAS ALL THROWN AWAY,
IF SOMEONE ELSE COMES UP WITH ANOTHER PLAN - GET IT RIGHT,
WE DON'T ALL WANT TO GO THROUGH THE SAME CRAP AGAIN;
THEY CAN'T TAKE AWAY THE MEMORY OF THE GOOD TIMES,
YOURS AND MINE; THE GOLDEN SUN IS SETTING HERE,
WE' LL ALL BE BACK REFRESHED, TO HAVE MORE POLSKI BEER.
Feb 3, 2016
Feb 3, 2016 at 2:18 AM UTC
What Can We Do...?
They may break our bodies…
but they need not dominate our minds.
-C. S. Lewis
Every book we read to a little child
Every kindness we work for another soul
Every bowl we fill while serving the poor
Every prayer whispered, spoken, or dreamed
Every cup of coffee shared with a pal
Every wheezy old joke about Pat and Mike
(Or, to be fair, about Trevor and Neville)
Every small joy sung to the universe
Is a beginning
Aug 10, 2019
Aug 10, 2019 at 10:48 AM UTC
Oh Life, why it seems to me
That it's not easy to play your game
Your ways are without precepts
Your methods hard to understand
At times you favor with us
Over our accomplishments and successes
While sometimes you make it seem worthless
At times of trouble, you condemn us
Desolate us in our solitude
While you also teach us the meaning of your existence
And also the value of others who truly mean
Funny how malleable your functions are
No culture has been able to define you better
Mysterious you forever have been and will be
Oh Life, I thank you for having chosen me
To be the Host for you to exist
For making me meaningful and worthy
And a person that will be remembered
By you in others...
Neville Philippe
Nov 26, 2016
Nov 26, 2016 at 2:02 AM UTC
And I became the monster.
I became the thing they feared whilst they slept.
I became the thing they tell stories of.
I became legend.
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 1:15 AM UTC