"pence" poems
If you are the healer lay your hands on me, I am diseased you can set me free. If you have the will I have the desire, if you collect ashes send me into the fire.
If you are the liar then I am the fool, I wanna hurt myself by being close to you.
So catapult me into the sun and I'll burn baby burn, catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.
If you are the liar I am the fool I will survive to be used as your tool.
Ten pence piece lays heavy on the heart, loose change love affair that's falling apart.
so catapult me into he sun and I'll burn baby burn, catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.
Breakdowns and shakedowns got me bruised by your heart, it wasn't the words it was action from the start! You are the seducer I am the user together we feed off of each other.
so catapult me into the sun and I'll burn baby burn, yes catapult me into the sun and I'll burn just for you.
Jun 13, 2016
Jun 13, 2016 at 7:49 PM UTC
This Day, two Biped Ponies each of you ride,
Strolling along the lane Lovers enjoy
To watch this Sweet Scene from way far behind,
A Cheque I'd like to cash-in this Friday
Yes, for Pence-Tales of Romance and Success
Thinking to Follow is easy enough
How many, do those Squirrels squeak at-less
The Time which Currency states on the Rough
I guess Luck's Fair in Friendship does depend
On a Brisket-List sorted in custom
To where each of you in Common does spend,
Well, better than sulk out of sheer boredom.
The Bullseye's paid, admitting my Defeat,
Licking my own Fab's whilst hugging the Street.
Mar 10, 2013
Mar 10, 2013 at 9:14 PM UTC
Trump sat in his tower, supreme in every way
Whatever he wanted, he only had to say
The President to the press corps, of him, one day made fun
I’m gonna replace you bud, when your term is done
He started his campaign, they said he was a joke
But he became popular with all the common folk
The stuff that he spouted, was more and more absurd
But the stupid morons, swallowed his every word
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious
Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
There's no such thing as climate change, everything is fine
Burning coal and shale oil is perfectly divine
Those lefty enviornmentalists love to yell and shout
(making lots of money is what I'm all about)
The Mexicans are gonna pay when I build the wall
And I’ll lock you up Clinton, guaranteed next fall
No one could believe it, when the count was done
The blonde haired, orange faced, nitwit, actually had won
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious
Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
It’s just that he was used to, always getting his way
He signed executive orders, on his very first day
The Judges over ruled him, and put him in his place
They threw the executive orders, right back in his face
He’s having lot’s of problems, with the phoney press
And though he tweets daily, it’s still causing distress
If he bombed the Syrians, maybe it would make amends
But all he succeeded in doing, was **** off his Russian friends
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious
Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
The FBI investigate, so he fired their chief
The replacement just carried on, Trump got no relief
Congress is thinking, let's put Trump against the wall
Pence is in the wings, just waiting for their call
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
Even though the sound of it is really quite atrocious
Maybe we could change him, if we tried hypnosis
He’s a Super Callous Fragile Racist Sexist **** Potus
May 21, 2017
May 21, 2017 at 3:55 PM UTC
Leave my Nan out in the rain, it'll be right.
She's having veg later with some meat, on a bone but meat.
No gravy, she's too lazy. She will not thread it.
So what do you think? Shall we fold it the other way?
Do it tonight, it won't be today and not quite black but definitely not grey.
If it smells like cheese, just wear one and keep one eye open!
Then, we may even finish third.
Remember, listen for the sound.
It's crucial, like a twenty pence piece.
Dust! Always dust. Grams and ounces of the dustiest dust.
Never before six and never after six.
Just continuous with no bends, bubbles or any of that material you really like.
Because when he'd finished speaking (The Italian) I didn't understand a ******* word of it!
"Sorry, I don't speak Italian", shrugged my shoulders, did that thing you do with your bottom lip and ****** off.
THE END
(FINITO)
May 28, 2018
May 28, 2018 at 3:01 AM UTC
Look, look, master, here comes two religious caterpillars.
The Jew of Malta.
Polyphiloprogenitive
The sapient sutlers of the Lord
Drift across the window-panes.
In the beginning was the Word.
In the beginning was the Word.
Superfetation of ,
And at the mensual turn of time
Produced enervate Origen.
A painter of the Umbrian school
Designed upon a gesso ground
The nimbus of the Baptized God.
The wilderness is cracked and browned
But through the water pale and thin
Still shine the unoffending feet
And there above the painter set
The Father and the Paraclete.
. . . . .
The sable presbyters approach
The avenue of penitence;
The young are red and pustular
Clutching piaculative pence.
Under the penitential gates
Sustained by staring Seraphim
Where the souls of the devout
Burn invisible and dim.
Along the garden-wall the bees
With hairy bellies pass between
The staminate and pistilate,
Blest office of the epicene.
Sweeney shifts from ham to ham
Stirring the water in his bath.
The masters of the subtle schools
Are controversial, polymath.
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beautiful fair maiden
tending her mistress
revering in her muses .
long auburn tresses
come undone,
once a braid
embellished with ribbons
deep lavender color
as maiden’s eyes.
entering parlor
the comely chevalier
stunned by his presence.
voltage lightening sparkles
for time stopped.
remaining composed
casting downward
to make her leave,
empress needs tending affairs.
smitten she was
aghast a fool
she might've looked
her skin flushed
with reverence to behold.
unbeknownst to the privy
betrothal is in making
for he paid a pretty pence.
enchanted ever after
cinderella no more.~~copyrightlorilynn2011
Jun 16, 2011
Jun 16, 2011 at 8:18 PM UTC
Kanye West visited Trump
At the White House, and man, what a scene!
His words were bouncing off all the walls,
Just like a ball in a pinball machine.
His disjointed rantings and ravings
Made little if any sense.
He ****** up to the president
More than even Michael Pence.
Rambling about the 13th Amendment,
The Unabomber, and then trap doors,
He ended the strange concoction of thoughts
With a weird reference to thirteen floors.
To him, Trump is a father figure.
To prove how much he is fan,
Whenever he wears his MAGA cap,
It makes him feel like Superman.
Illegal guns, tasting fine wines,
And liberals controlling blacks
Through racism? You wanted to say,
Calm down, Kanye. Try to relax.
One thing is certain: We can see
From trying to follow his monologue threads,
That Kanye needs some serious help.
Kanye, please get back on your meds!
-by Bob B (10-14-18)
Oct 14, 2018
Oct 14, 2018 at 1:08 PM UTC
you kidding me, right?
nachos? tacos? tortilla wraps?
guacamole molé molé?
sombrero(s)...
the revised eastern european
moustache?
tequila!
that's it?
well... not if you consider
the second tier of soy boys -
the ones that drink that...
budscheiss that's
"der könig aus bier"...
one word... no... actually two:
CER-VE(H)-ZA(H) -
probably the spanish word,
that sounds better than all
the other spanish words...
what did mexíxíxíxíco give
us?
the orthodox script
of a german beer:
yeast, hops, barley, malt,
water... fizz: boom!
a fine summer's day...
mexíxíxíxíco beer?
MALTED, BARLEY...
don't ask me how the genius
figured out a smoothness
so subtle,
that you actually had to shove
a lime wedge into the neck
of the bottle...
or, as i did - buying an almost litre
sized bottle,
and a lime -
looking at this ***** goliath
at the checkout thinking:
david?
am i david?
did we really enslave such people?
david, meet goliath...
goliath wanders off like some
happy ****** giggling and brings
another strawberry milkshake
to the checkout...
so the west, enslaved these
nearing 7ft Baobabs?
king david's audacity,
nothing more...
so i buy the CO(H)-RHO-NA(H),
and a lime (30 pence a piece)...
**** no knife...
guess teeth will have to do...
shove a whole lime in bits and bites
and walk on...
seriously?
guacamole molé molé?
that's the best you can do?
drinking a beer with lime...
compared to the h'american
budscheiss?
who... apart from the japanese...
extracts alcohol...
from: ******* rice!
malted, barley...
whoever that sergio
sanchez was...
hats off to him...
sometimes it's just nice...
to take a break from the heavy cavalry,
orthodoxy brew of german
beers...
americans?
know jackshit about brewing
a decent beer...
mexicans?
they put a lime in it!
**** you have to drink it!
Jul 24, 2018
Jul 24, 2018 at 6:44 PM UTC
One Republic
pick and mix, assorted all sorted
wrinkles missing, smooth as glaciers
toils reversing on harbingers like excesses does
walking the trodden alleys learning Sods mathematics
organs pains for non-organics are inherent consequences so
one Republic and the anthropologists utters a myth in passing
all bananas look like all bananas because bananas are bananas alike
sing a song of three pence and a pocket full of fear
Plato's cave a grand auditorium for lames
united disunited ages in anti-virus glares
white noise in white air and masses sigh
the emperor's coat plays invisible chess
ladies think long and hard in minds
for a dolphin swims like none-other
the glides of the sweetest depths
and in those places unseen
expanded vibes of feels
know reasons why so
it's the bigger snap
it's the difference
the forbidden
fruit lures
will not
move
not
go
in
Apr 20, 2019
Apr 20, 2019 at 6:07 AM UTC
Brown yellow rusted pages
None read
None would for ages
Lying on the pave
Blurred is the title and name
Lost dream and never born fame
Wisdom of long bearded sages
Dumped in the grave
Dusty old forgotten write
Feasted upon by termite
What to author full of sense
Fetch not any pence
Should I buy take home to read
Not treat it like just **** ****
Spend some time in smelling old
See if bring some gains?
Feb 4, 2016
Feb 4, 2016 at 11:41 AM UTC
Gay little poem book
sitting on the shelf
no one has a one pence
to give you a new home
Gay little poem book
big enough to Pocket
Your true love
shall steal you soon
Gay little poem book
Long forgotten
tell us all
your secrets that you hold.
Mar 12, 2010
Mar 12, 2010 at 8:25 PM UTC
The sugar, the ice, glazed upon the cream buns.
An array of plates of delicacies.
The roasted pig, grunted while being chewed.
Or perhaps, that was the man who chewed it.
She stood in rags waiting to be served.
'What would 2 pence get me?'
They snickered and giggled as she,
Bought a stick of butter for dinner.
Mar 31, 2013
Mar 31, 2013 at 7:05 AM UTC
1477
How destitute is he
Whose Gold is firm
Who finds it every time
The small stale Sum—
When Love with but a Pence
Will so display
As is a disrespect
To India.
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Hatred and vengence--my eternal portion
Scarce can endure delay of execution--
Wait with impatient readiness to seize my
Soul in a moment.
****** below Judas; more abhorred than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master!
Twice betrayed, Jesus me, the last delinquent,
Deems the profanest.
Man disavows, and Deity disowns me:
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore Hell keeps her ever-hungry mouths all
Bolted against me.
Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers;
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors,
I'm called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence
Worse than Abiram's.
Him the vindictive rod of angry Justice
Sent quick and howling to the centre headlong;
I, fed with judgment, in a fleshy tomb am
Buried above ground.
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Lumpy Dump and Denso Pence
Decided to run for President
Even though, they neither had
An idea what that title meant.
So Lumpy Dump and Denso Pence
Both thought it would be lots of fun
Dump because of the money he'd make
And Pence for fame when they had won.
Lumpy Dump seemed to think
The title made him King of the Earth
Denso Pence hoped to show
Exactly what he was really worth.
Neither one of them realized
They'd have to follow all the rules
Which they were not a mind to do
Because they were both such fools.
Lumpy Dump strung words together
He didn't make all that much sense
But he felt he was doing just fine, as
He sounded brighter than Denso Pence.
Lumpy Dump thought he was slim
Not dumpy like a big old bag of fat.
Denso Pence thought he was bright.
That shows where these to were at.
Let's all hope this is all we hear
Of these two unfunny circus clowns
After Hillary kicks their *****
And runs them both out of town.
We have already had such bad times
And need good times to commence
Which will not happen unless we nix
Lumpy Dump and that idiot Denso Pence.
Sep 24, 2016
Sep 24, 2016 at 5:32 AM UTC
For the girl who used the umbrella as a walking stick,
this is for you.
No limp and leg slide followed your wake
just the upright roar of footsteps on pale shale-
Cambridge cotton stones that reflect and reverberate
the sound from around into the ears of the passerby.
I cannot wait, nor hold it in,
the urge to scribble 11 numbers
onto parchment paper, old receipts or
or that wilted vapour notepad paper,
that nestles in the jeans.
If I had, then we’d be at a meal now- a dining experience
just for two.
22 numbers and one letter was written,
illegible and wrong.
I forgot which phone number worked
and forgot which one you could reach me on.
**A poem from the upcoming poetry pamphlet, published by http://www.coffeeshoppoems.com, entitled "Leather Clad Warriors", available soon for £3. That's only 300 pence.
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 11:19 AM UTC
feathered daydreams
semantically encoded heartache
we all remember
i remember
where we came from
we never go back to again
rationalizing pain until it
becomes a drum
and it echoes
*i fall down the stairs again
hit my face on the tile
and when my lip bleeds
it comes as a relief*
two-pence for lovers
a penny for thoughts
shots of chamomile to chase the night time
away
butterfly beats
ba-dum ba-dum
ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum
fluttering
like eyelids longing for greater ends
spit out that memory
pull it out of your ears
maybe it doesn't really
matter anymore
May 3, 2017
May 3, 2017 at 7:04 PM UTC
im skipping through the day,
flying away like fairy dust and dripping gold like a caramel bar
grinning ear to ear like a Cheshire cat
because most everyone is mad here
and im not altogether here myself
3 parts infected 2 parts sane and 7 parts mad
my heads on a spring like a bobble necked pin
not here !they scream not here!
so my mind leaves,
truances my classes skipping through feilds of poppies and clovers
where all the rainbows end
my Conscience can hide from the lies my eyes tell
so ive lost it 12 pence at a time,
rounded down to dimes,
raving lunitics prance here, in the halls of my brain
10:16 like its 420 again
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 6:24 PM UTC
So many, many moons ago
The gang from St. Brigid's would go
Every single chance we could
Off to local farms to sow spuds.
Each one covered in burning lime
(No health and safety at the time)
Each sown under a foot apart;
If not, you went back to the start.
All for only ten pence a line
(Though 'twas a fortune at the time)
Working mostly long ten hour days;
Kids would not do it nowadays!
Picnic lunches in all weathers,
Sitting in the fields together,
Lemonade bottles for the tea,
Eating with hands filthy *****
It was work that would break your back
But sure we all had mighty craic,
Laughing and joking all day through,
Slagging each other as kids do!
St. Brigid's gang were number one,
Farmers knew the work would be done.
At harvest time back we would drag
To pick spuds for ten pence a bag!
It did none of us any harm
Working such long hours on the farm.
Although the work was onerous
'Twas the making of all of us!
Mar 8, 2016
Mar 8, 2016 at 4:35 AM UTC
you call her a ****
you call her a *****
you tear her skin into tiny shreds
and then beg for more,
your masculinity is fuelled by the sexuality you stripped her of.
she has no right to be liberated in your eyes,
but your eyes also want to see what is in between her thighs,
your respect for her body only exists as long as she is your possession.
a woman is to you what a table is to a person;
something to use,
sometimes a burden.
a woman can't be outspoken without being a *****
but if she's quiet you treat her like ****
you tell us to fight for what we believe in,
but when we do you tell us we're complaining,
(maybe you think I'm complaining)
while you're thinking about that
please mind the wage gap,
yes the wage gap MORE THINGS TO COMPLAIN ABOUT!
I get 75 pence for every pound a man makes,
maybe I'm making mistakes?
no, no I am not.
perhaps some people have forgot
that someone's *** doesn't make them under qualified,
I think your brain is nonaligned,
because right now in two thousand and sixteen a woman should be respected even if she isn't the god **** queen.
I hope you can see what struggles women endure,
we may as well go back years and years and knit at home while you go to war.
I'll just be over here cleaning the entire house,
oh and while I'm at it I'll clean that glass ceiling while waiting for my husband and feeding my offspring
because that's all a woman does right?
cook clean and nurture, and give yourself to your husband at night
God forbid you swing the other way!
single, or worse...
no kids and gay!
women have to fit into perfect cookie cutters.
that, and a size 6
but not too skinny though, men aren't nutters!
big ***** big *** and a small waist
your extra few inches of skin can be erased with diet pills, exercise plans and corsets!
if not, you can choose the forfeit,
of society telling you that you can achieve your dream beach body,
to catch the attention of somebody
preferably a man who can be the bread winner,
while we can stay at home, look after his kids and cook his dinner.
I'll stop complaining now and go back to concealing my blemishes and under eye bags,
while you talk to your friend about how we are still just slags.
~T.T
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 8:33 AM UTC
YOU gave, but will not give again
Until enough of paudeen's pence
By Biddy's halfpennies have lain
To be "some sort of evidence',
Before you'll put your guineas down,
That things it were a pride to give
Are what the blind and ignorant town
Imagines best to make it thrive.
What cared Duke Ercole, that bid
His mummers to the market-place,
What th' onion-sellers thought or did
So that his plautus set the pace
For the Italian comedies?
And Guidobaldo, when he made
That grammar school of courtesies
Where wit and beauty learned their trade
Upon Urbino's windy hill,
Had sent no runners to and fro
That he might learn the shepherds' will
And when they drove out Cosimo,
Indifferent how the rancour ran,
He gave the hours they had set free
To Michelozzo's latest plan
For the San Marco Library,
Whence turbulent Italy should draw
Delight in Art whoSe end is peace,
In logic and in natural law
By ******* at the dugs of Greece.
Your open hand but shows our loss,
For he knew better how to live.
Let paudeens play at pitch and toss,
Look up in the sun's eye and give
What the exultant heart calls good
That some new day may breed the best
Because you gave, not what they would,
But the right twigs for an eagle's nest!
December
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Who knows who would
'true valiant be'
when you can't see
beyond the end of your nose?
who knows?
It has to be Sunday some day
and today is some day for some
hymns and hers (towels in the bathroom)
down the stairs
toast and preserves in the conservatory
not mandatory
but it's Sunday.
God must be reeling in shock
wondering what he has done
Jesus is getting the backlash
it's always a Sunday for some.
I'm going to queue up for my
holy wine and wafer
it's
safer not to sit upon the fence
and where else can you find this
kind of entertainment
for a pound or even less,
for fifty
pence?
beyond when I pass into
poets corner
where the monks and Friars
sort wheat from the chaff
I shall laugh
I shall rhyme
have a ****** marvellous time
Who knows who
'..would true valiant be..'
Apr 22, 2018
Apr 22, 2018 at 1:38 AM UTC
RIP,,, Obadiah.
here lies the body of Obadiah grey
choked on a bowl of soup they say
bought from Tesco’s last tuesday
fifty nine pence beef consommé,
Obadiah Obadiah Obadiah grey,
sure don’t smell a sweet bouquet,
here lies the body of Obadiah grey,
departed life yesterday,
ate too much of the free buffet
silly **** now has to pay,
Obadiah Obadiah Obadiah grey,
already started to decay................YAY!!!
We bunged up his holes
n buried him deep;
because the fucker's dead now
and began to seep.
Dec 7, 2011
Dec 7, 2011 at 12:44 AM UTC
on ruby jacobs walk, a
small girl
asked us for money for ice cream.
she eyed our cones
yours, lemon
mine, strawberry
with a child’s hunger
glinting and opportunistic
as she held out her palm for coins.
i was not yet accustomed to the shapes and sizes,
to a dime being smaller than a nickel,
and in any case wanted to preserve them for souvenirs
so we shook our heads and walked away.
a year later, writing this poem,
i learned that ruby jacobs was a local restauranteur
who, as a boy,
illegally sold ice creams
for a nickel on the boardwalk.
a nickel is the larger coin
the size of a ten pence piece.
i know that now.
the wide atlantic rose from a sloping manicured lawn
star-spangled,
like everything here,
the airborne flag
above a wide pavilion
a fanatic wedding cake topper
against the blood-blue sky.
i slipped
out of my shoes and let
the white sand burn my feet,
and jaggedly fill the spaces between my toes.
the atlantic held open its arms
though we weren’t, as we imagined,
looking east
looking home
but south to new jersey, across the bay.
the gnarled boardwalk was a
song of the twentieth century
a roll-call of mass-market capitalism
here in the city that didn’t invent the concept
but certainly perfected it:
hot dogs
amusements
ice creams (we’ve covered that)
fridge magnets
baseball caps
i bought an espresso cup with a picture of the president
and the caption:
‘huuuuge!’
i stopped to take a photograph
of a space-age building from the fifties
which turned out to be
a public toilet.
later
from the sunbaked d train,
brooklyn spread out beneath us
the houses garnished with flags,
then the city coughed us up on seventh avenue
and night fell five hours early.
Jul 20, 2019
Jul 20, 2019 at 7:51 AM UTC
Hatred and vengeance, my eternal portion,
Scarce can endure delay of execution,
Wait, with impatient readiness, to seize my
Soul in a moment.
****** below Judas:more abhorred than he was,
Who for a few pence sold his holy Master.
Twice betrayed Jesus me, this last delinquent,
Deems the profanest.
Man disavows, and Deity disowns me:
Hell might afford my miseries a shelter;
Therefore hell keeps her ever hungry mouths all
Bolted against me.
Hard lot! encompassed with a thousand dangers;
Weary, faint, trembling with a thousand terrors;
I'm called, if vanquished, to receive a sentence
Worse than Abiram's.
Him the vindictive rod of angry justice
Sent quick and howling to the center headlong;
I, fed with judgment, in a fleshly tomb, am
Buried above ground.
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