Humorous Poetry Part Three

[sbs]

Here's some Victoria Woods to start you off and some Dorothy Parker will appear later.

SATURDAY NIGHT

Oh dear what can the matter be?
Eight o’clock at night on a Saturday
Tracey Clegg and Nicola Battersby
Coming to town double quick.

They rendezvous in front of a Pillar
Tracey’s tall like Jonathan Miller
Nicola’s more like Guy the Gorilla
If Guy the Gorilla were thick.

Their hair’s been done it’s very expensive
Their use of mousse and gel is extensive
As weapons their heads would be classed as offensive
And put under some kind of ban.

They’re covered in perfumes but these are misnomers
Nicola’s scent could send dogs into comas
Tracey’s kills insects and dustbin aromas
And also gets stains off the pan.

Chorus:
But it’s their night out
It’s what it’s all about
Looking for lads
Looking for fun
A burger and chips with a sesame bun
They’re in the mood
For a fabulous interlude
Of living it up
Painting the town
Drinking Bacardi and keeping it down
But it’s all all right
It’s what they do of a Saturday night.

Oh dear what can the matter be?
‘What can that terrible crunching and clatter be?
It’s the cowboy boots of Nicola Battersby
Leading the way into town.

They hit the pub and Tracey’s demeanour
Reminds you of a loopy hyena
They have sixteen gins and a rum and Ribena
And this is before they’ve sat down.

They dare a bloke from Surrey called Murray
To phone the police and order a curry
He gets locked up, it’s a bit of a worry
But they won’t have to see him again.

They’re dressed to kill and looking fantastic
Tracey’s gone for rubber and plastic
Nicola’s dress is a piece of elastic
It’s under a heck of a strain.

Chorus:
But it’s their night out
It’s what it’s all about
Ordering drinks
Ordering cabs
Making rude gestures with doner kebabs
They’re in the mood
For a fabulous interlude
Of weeing in parks
Treading on plants
Getting their dresses caught up in their pants
And it’s all all right
It’s what they do of a Saturday night.

Oh dear what can the matter be?
What can that terrible slurping and splatter be?
It’s Tracey Clegg and Nicola Battersby
Snogging with Derek and Kurt.

They’re well stuck in to heavyish petting
It’s far too dark to see what you’re getting
Tracey’s bra flies off, how upsetting
And several people are hurt.

Oh dear, oh dear
Oh dear, oh dear

Oh dear what can the matter be?
What can that motheaten pile of old tatters be?
It’s Tracey Clegg and Nicola Battersby
Getting chucked off the last Ninety-two.

With miles to go and no chance of hitching
And Nicola’s boots have bust at the stitching
Tracey laughs and says what’s the point bitching
I couldn’t give a bugger, could you?

[sbs]

DOROTHY PARKER

Love Song

My own dear love, he is strong and bold
And he cares not what comes after.
His words ring sweet as a chime of gold,
And his eyes are lit with laughter.
He is jubilant as a flag unfurled —
Oh, a girl, she’d not forget him.
My own dear love, he is all my world—’
And I wish I’d never met him.

My love, he’s mad, and my love, he’s fleet,
And a wild young wood-thing bore him!
The ways are fair to his roaming feet,
And the skies are sunlit for him.
As sharply sweet to my heart he seems
As the fragrance of acacia.
My own dear love, he is all my dreams —
And I wish he were in Asia.

My love runs by like a day in June,
And he makes no friends of sorrows.
He’ll tread his galloping rigadoon
In the pathway of the morrows.
He’ll live his days where the sunbeams start,
Nor could storm or wind uproot him.
My own dear love, he is all my heart —
And I wish somebody’d shoot him.

[sbs]

AT LUNCHTIME by Roger McGough

When the bus stopped suddenly
to avoid damaging
a mother and child in the road,
the younglady in the green hat sitting opposite,
was thrown across me,
and not being one to miss an opportunity
I started to make love.

At first, she resisted,
saying that it was too early in the morning,
and too soon after breakfast,
and anyway, she found me repulsive.
But.when i explained
that this being a nuclearage
the world was going to end at lunchtime
she took off her green hat,
put her busticket into her pocket
and joined in the exercise.

The buspeople
and there were many of them,
were shockedandsurprised,
and amusedandannoyed.
But when word got around
that the world was going to end at lunchtime
they put their pride in their pockets
with their bustickets
and made love one with the other.
And even the busconductor,
feeling left out,
climbed into the cab,
and struck up some sort of relationship with the driver.

That night, on the bus coming home,
we were all a little embarrassed.
Especially me and the young lady in the green hat.
And we all started to say
in different ways,
how hasty and foolish we had been.
But then, always having been a bitofalad,
i stood up and said it was a pity
that the world didnt nearly end every lunchtime,
and that we could always pretend.
And then it happened...

Quick asa crash
we all changed partners,
and soon the bus was aquiver
with white, mothball bodies doing naughty things.

And the next day
And everyday
In everybus
In everystreet
In everytown
In everycountry
People pretended
That the world was coming to an end at lunchtime.
It still hasnt
Although in a way it has

[sbs]

AGNUS DEI by Spike Milligan

Behold, behold,
The Lamb of God
As it skips and hops.
I know that soon
The Lamb of God
Will be the Lamb of Chops.

[Tim]

Originally posted by sbs
AT LUNCHTIME by Roger McGough

When the bus stopped suddenly
to avoid damaging
a mother and child in the road,
the younglady in the green hat sitting opposite,
was thrown across me,
and not being one to miss an opportunity
I started to make love.

At first, she resisted,
saying that it was too early in the morning,
and too soon after breakfast,
and anyway, she found me repulsive.
But.when i explained
that this being a nuclearage
the world was going to end at lunchtime
she took off her green hat,
put her busticket into her pocket
and joined in the exercise.

The buspeople
and there were many of them,
were shockedandsurprised,
and amusedandannoyed.
But when word got around
that the world was going to end at lunchtime
they put their pride in their pockets
with their bustickets
and made love one with the other.
And even the busconductor,
feeling left out,
climbed into the cab,
and struck up some sort of relationship with the driver.

That night, on the bus coming home,
we were all a little embarrassed.
Especially me and the young lady in the green hat.
And we all started to say
in different ways,
how hasty and foolish we had been.
But then, always having been a bitofalad,
i stood up and said it was a pity
that the world didnt nearly end every lunchtime,
and that we could always pretend.
And then it happened...

Quick asa crash
we all changed partners,
and soon the bus was aquiver
with white, mothball bodies doing naughty things.

And the next day
And everyday
In everybus
In everystreet
In everytown
In everycountry
People pretended
That the world was coming to an end at lunchtime.
It still hasnt
Although in a way it has

I love that. If only, right? :)

[relic]

Originally posted by Tim
I love that. If only, right? :)

Yeah. That would be cool. Except for the apocalyptic spread of VD across the planet.

And I bet it would sort out the congestion problem, nobody would want to take their car to work.

relic

[sbs]

More McGough public transport related poetry!


MY BUSSEDRUCTESS by Roger McGough


She is as beautiful as bustickets
and smells of old cash
drinks Guiness off duty
eats sausage and mash.
But like everyone else
she has her busdreams too
When the peakhour is over
and there’s nothing to do.

A fourposter upstairs
A jukebox inside
there are more ways than one
of enjoying a ride.
Velvet curtains on the Windows
thick carpets on the floor
roulette under the stairs
a bar by the door.

Three times a day
she’d perform a strip-tease
and during the applause
Say nicely ‘fares Please’
Upstairs she’d reserve
for men of her choice
invite them along in her best Clippie voice.

She knows it sounds silly
what would the police say
but thinks we’d be happier
if she had her way.
There are so many youngmen
she’d like to know better
give herself with the change
if only they’d let her.

She is as beautiful as bustickets
and smells of old cash.
drinks Guinness off duty
eats sausage and mash.
But she has her busdreams
hot and nervous.
my blueserged queen
of the transport service.

[Tim]

Originally posted by relic
Yeah. That would be cool. Except for the apocalyptic spread of VD across the planet.

And I bet it would sort out the congestion problem, nobody would want to take their car to work.

relic

:eek: :) Quite. I was thinking in a more idealistic way.

[Joe]

Kids - By Spike Millagan

'Sit up straight,'
Soid mum to Mabel.
'Keep your elbows
Off the table.
Do not eat peas
Off a fork.
Your mouth is full -
Don't try and talk.
Keep your mouth shut
When you ear.
Keep still or you'll
Fall of your seat.
If you want more,
You will say "please".
Don't fiddle with
That piece of cheese!
If then we kids
Cause such a fuss
Why do you go on
Having us?

:D :D :D

Reminds me of Roald Dahl a lot.

[Amanda Graceywire]

I hope I can share with you some of my mum's poetry. She is the funniest person I know, with the greatest sense of humour, but is reluctant to get published because she underestimates her writing. Most of her writing revolves around a fictional local paper, but that's something that has to be read in its entirety to be appreciated, and there is *so* much of it! Here are a couple of her poems.

Bring Me Something

I said bring me flowers
I don't care which kind
Although I like roses
I don't really mind
He brought me some orchids
Their petals were bent
I knew where he'd got them
They were full of cement.

I said bring me perfume
From Paris or Rome
A scent I could savour
When I was alone
He bought me some perfume
Of that, it is true
It smells like the stuff
That you shove down the loo.

I said bring me chocolates
Be it milk, be it plain
To rouse up my senses
Make me happy again
He brought me some sweets
But I can't tell you what
All that I know
Is they made my teeth rot.

I said bring me satin
Or leather or silk
A handbag, a scarf
Something of that ilk
He brought me a handbag
Of that there's no doubt
A handbag the size
To cart groceries about.

I said bring me diamonds
To wear as a ring
That sparkle and glitter
And make my heart sing
He brought me a ring
The stone it was green
It looked like a cabbage
It was truly obscene.

I said bring me flowers
To place in my hair
To make me smell pretty
To make me look fair
He gave me some flowers
To place in my locks
They smelt putrid and rancid
Like a pair of old socks.

I said bring me lotions
To rub on my skin
To make it feel soft
Like a butterfly's wing
He brought me some lotion
It had a strange stink
I think it's the kind
That cleans out the sink.

I said sing a song
That will make my heart soar
To make my mind dizzy
With words I'd adore
He sang me a song
That his rugby team sing
Full of vicars and virgins -
Not really my thing.

I said let's forget it
I was getting annoyed
My requests were ignored
His mind was a void
He pleaded and begged
Then he left in a huff
I won't bother with men -
I'll get my own stuff.


The next one was written for my aunt's boyfriend in Cyprus, who writes a lot of religious poetry and wanted to enter a competition. Mum being Mum wrote this highly religious ditty. Short and sweet.

Jesus Came To Tea

Jesus came to tea one day
We had pie and mash and liquor
"What is this crap, My son?" he said
And threw it at the Vicar.


There is a lot more of her stuff around the house, if anyone's interested I could probably find it and add more :)

[billy]

Originally posted by Amanda Graceywire
Jesus Came To Tea

Jesus came to tea one day
We had pie and mash and liquor
"What is this crap, My son?" he said
And threw it at the Vicar.

thats the greatest thing i have ever read.

[10km]

sorry... just have to post "Lingonben" here:

Lingonben
Bluff och Spark och Tork och Kvark voro sex små dvärgar
En var ful och en var glad och en var dum i huvet
Hej. sa Kvark till lille Tork. Känner du igelkotten Pilt?
Han som varit i Paris. Ja, det gjorde Ivar.
Hör du hans lilla runda tass när som han trippar på sitt pass
Tripp och trapp och trypa, se hans lilla piga.


Tomtefar i skogens brus sitter som ett päron
Han har inget eget hus, allt i sin stora näsa
Söt och blöt är skogens fé. Trollen är bjudna hit på te.
Det lilla trollet, pass för de! Nu skall mormor bada
Väva och spinna natten lång prinsen är här i fyra språng
Hopp och hipp och huppla Hästen heter Sverker


Stora slottet Drummeldimp ligger bortom fjärran
Dit får ingen komma in som ej kan baka struvor
Gyllenkrull och Sockertipp Kom skall vi dansa häxan våt!
Vill du mej här, så har du nåt. Sov du lilla tryne
Kungen är full av stock och sten skogen är full av lingonben
Per är full av tomtar, hur skall lillan orka?


and I can even translate it... because I have no life and just sits behind a computer with a big dictionary all the time :)

here we go:

Cowberry bones

Bluff and Spark and Tork and Kvark were six small gnomes
One was ugly and one was happy and one was stupid
Hello! said Kvark to little Tork. Do you know the hedgehog Pilt?
The one who's been to Paris. Yes, that did Ivar.
Do you hear his little round paw when he trip along his beat
Trip and stairs and "trypa" (just a made-up word), look at his little maid

Santa Claus in the roaring of the woods, he sits like a pear
He doesn't have his own house, everything in his big nose
Sweet and wet is the wood's fairy. The trolls are invited for tea.
The small troll, look out for it! Now will grandma take a bath
Weave and spin all night long, the prince is here in four leaps
Jump and hip and huppla (another made up word). The horse is called Sverker.

The big castle Drummeldimp lies beyond afar
Noone can come in who can't bake "struvor" (?).
Gyllenkrull and Sockertipp. Come let's dance the witch wet!
Do you want me here, you have something. Sleep you little snout.
The king is full of logs and stones, the wood is full of cowberry bones
Per is full of santas, how will "the little girl in the family" make it?


and NO, it's not supposed to make any sense ;)

[Joe]

amanda - those are hilarious! :D

[sbs]

TALKING TURKEYS BENJAMIN ZEPHANIAH

Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos turkey jus wanna hay fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don’t eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate an not on yu plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I’m on your side.

I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hay a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.

Turkeys jus wanna play reggae
Turkeys jus wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
‘I cannot wait for de chop’?
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hay brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.

I once new a turkey called Turkey
He said ‘Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?’
I said, ‘I am not too sure turkey
But it’s nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash.’
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey’ll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends ‘FOR LIFE’.