The Friday Poetry Thread

penzancepirate wrote:

seadog wrote:

They couldn't parody Mock,
For he is too clever,
Can they ever hope to match him?
No, feckin never.

Seadog ..... we have an issue we would like to discuss with you ..... a pm has been sent.
It is in your interests to reply.

No message yet and past my bedtime!

Sleep well SD.

What does that mean?

goodnight - I assumed you were off to bed?

What about the cryptic PM ex Penz

no idea mate, I'm lost here?

Who cares what's going on, we'll find out in time

For now I'm concerned that your posts do not rhyme

there should be a message,
Which route did it take?
I can't find the fooker,
Is it a mistake?

I do not know
i did not send,
there's no pm's
from my end.

Saturday beckons and the poetry must end...
Will Seadog get his promised PM from Penz?

Just woken up,
Had a quick glance,
Is there a sign,
No fooking chance!

Finally, this is my day
Poets come out, on Friday!

Brent the Saviour, Brent the God
Blue Square Premier, Stapes the Sod

Pay the staff, or maybe not
save your dosh, blame the last lot

the relegation that makes fans dread-filled,
holds no fear for those with land on which to build

Why get a manager to inspire and lead?
When you can develop hotels and quench one's greed?

Without a club, nothing to maintain
Concentrate on financial gain

Away to Accrington, a ticket to dread
I'll be at the Gabba, watching cricket instead

I'll be warm, you'll be cold,
I am young, you are old

Friday's here, Itchy knob
Penz has gone, and so has Gob.

Peace has reigned for nearly a week
Because we turned the other cheek

Penz and Gob have gone away
We hope they come back to stay

I was not scared when I saw a Ghost
On ATD he would be toast

Mock is in Oz watching the cricket
The only word that rhymes with that is wicket

The only man I know, who knows poetry...
I meet tomorrow for coffee at nine, he will say a lot to me...

Having not seen each other in years, this poetry thread is apt...
I will report back, as no doubt, ATD is enrapt!

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Rickler's rhymes are hardly ripe,
Mock's no more than Aussie tripe,
Czarcy has the tone just right,
Come on Penz, come on Gob,
Keep this forum's members tight.

Mock Cuncher wrote:

Finally, this is my day
Poets come out, on Friday!

Brent the Saviour, Brent the God
Blue Square Premier, Stapes the Sod

Pay the staff, or maybe not
save your dosh, blame the last lot

the relegation that makes fans dread-filled,
holds no fear for those with land on which to build

Why get a manager to inspire and lead?
When you can develop hotels and quench one's greed?

Without a club, nothing to maintain
Concentrate on financial gain

Away to Accrington, a ticket to dread
I'll be at the Gabba, watching cricket instead

I'll be warm, you'll be cold,
I am young, you are old

You are indeed, our prince of poets !

Accrington away !
Who the hell are they ?
Enjoying the ride, the Avivas still travel,
I too, would much prefer the Gabba !

The Ghost on the farm,
Indeed, he has a lot to say.
But onto ATD,
He dare not stray.

A breed apart,
These village boys.
Their dummies fly out,
Just like their toys !

Jamesy's posts are thick and fine,
Must be due to good design,
Tringreens posts are quite succinct.
In truth designed to make one think.

I've never before strayed into verse
I couldn't think what would be worse

It was on a par with Abu Hanza
But now I'm liking the odd stanza

Now I'm quite fond of this new game
Later on, I may do it again.

Me and dog
On ships we slog
If we earn enough
we can help Brenty with some stuff
Like paying a man to clean the bog




I really am rubbish at this but I did have to try that silly stuff

Lovely verse,
Lovely thread,
ere you are son,
On me ead!

Karneval time,
Six days on the booze,
Just recovering from yesterday,
Out again shortly, after a snooze.

Argyle play tomorrow,
That'll give me a break,
I'm getting too old,
For too much alcohol intake.

Back from Kernow in me van,
to get me head down was the plan,
replace the sleep,
by counting sheep,
phone keeps ringing,
head keeps singing,
I'll give it up and do some keyboard fiddlin.

A young Liverpool fan was once heard to say
"Accrington Stanley? Who are they?"

"Exactly", said Chris Webb;
his beard neatly trimmed.

Webby, as he is known
will have to make sure he doesn't moan...

...when he makes his summarising debut,
for Argyle's next defeat.

For those not going, we are in for treat.
For those that are, we will get beat.

When you walk the town, full of happy shoppers,
look out for Roy's sex change wife, Haley Cropper.

Accrington Stanley
What a name
To conjure up images
Of the beautiful game

Back from the ashes
They're doing quite well
But we're going to beat them
Aren't we? Like hell