The Friday Poetry Thread

A rare weekend,
When Argyle won't lose,
So let's all celebrate,
By hitting the booze.

It's freezing cold
And heating costs
But nobody despair

For in these days
Of ice and frost
I still can find good cheer*

Together with the four year old
And her lovely sister
I've found new fun to do

As on the school run
We can search
For bits of frozen poo

(Hopefully of the dog variety. Although that shouldn't be on the bleddy pavements either.)

*Look. It rhymes in carols and stuff, so it rhymes in my poem what I wrote without any help. Right? Right.

Christmas is coming, the geese are getting fat
Please to put a penny in the old man's hat;
If you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do,
If you haven't got a ha'penny then God bless you!

Pissed off stuck in hospital
No alcohol in sight
Food is feckin awfull
I feel like feckin Shite

Should be home tomorrow
So good news on the way
My dog just called me on my cell
To tell me he was gay

So that's my input to this thread
I going back to sleep
Lets just hope that heart monitor thingy
Keeps on going beep

Gay dogs, Gay bears,
Who knows, Who cares?

Grumpy Shunter wrote:

Pissed off stuck in hospital
No alcohol in sight
Food is feckin awfull
I feel like feckin Shite

Should be home tomorrow
So good news on the way
My dog just called me on my cell
To tell me he was gay

So that's my input to this thread
I going back to sleep
Lets just hope that heart monitor thingy
Keeps on going beep

Grumpy Shunter is one of those old grumpy gits
But he'll be happy tomorrow back home from the surgery
With his new vagina and tits!

I've got a sore head -
I shoulda stayed in bed.
I think it's due to too much thinking
Either that or the start of stinking
Flu.

Will I be There tomorrow?
Will I face the sorrow
Of spending too much money
On another defeat? Oh lummy!!!!!
What would you do?

It's Friday, Hurrah
Soon time for the pub
But first of all
A little grub

It's been snowing all day
and it's bloody cold
Think I'll wrap up warm
Cos I'm getting old

hairy j wrote:

Grumpy Shunter wrote:

Pissed off stuck in hospital
No alcohol in sight
Food is feckin awfull
I feel like feckin Shite

Should be home tomorrow
So good news on the way
My dog just called me on my cell
To tell me he was gay

So that's my input to this thread
I going back to sleep
Lets just hope that heart monitor thingy
Keeps on going beep

Grumpy Shunter is one of those old grumpy gits
But he'll be happy tomorrow back home from the surgery
With his new vagina and tits!

Just think of all the fun I'm going to have

It's not that much fun
Honest

(Poems don't have to rhyme or scan, do they?)

No
they don't
P
e
g
g
y
in

fact

you
don't
e e
v n
have
to
stick
to the

NORMAL
layout
now a daze

Friday Morning, I have no work
Nothing to stroll through; no tasks to shirk
Pissing it down, dogs and cats
Penning a blogpost - wading through stats
Shopping to complete, for those across the Earth
It just aint as important, as the baby Lord's birth

Old sailors sit
And chew the fat
About things that used to be,
Of the things they've seen'
The places they've been,
When they ventured out to sea.


They remembered friends
From long ago,
The times they had back then,
The money they spent,
The beer they drank,
In their days as sailing men.


Their lives are lived
In the days gone by
With the thoughts that forever last.
Of the bell bottom blues,
Round white hats,
And good times in their past.


They recall long nights
With the moon so bright
Far out into the lonely sea.
The thoughts they had
As youthful lads,
When their lives were wild and free.


They know so well
How their hearts would swell
When the flag fluttered proud and free.
The underway pennant
Such a beautiful sight
As they plowed through an angry sea.


They talked of the scran
Ol' cookie would make
And the shrill of the bos'n pipe.
How salt spray would fall
Like sparks from hell
When a storm struck in the night.


They remember old shipmates
Already gone
Who forever hold a spot in their heart,
When sailors were bold,
And friendships would hold,
Until death ripped them apart.


They speak of nights
Spent in bawdy houses
On many a foreign shore,
Of the beer they'd down
As gathering around,
Telling jokes with a busty whore.


Their sailing days
Are gone away,
Never again will they cross the brow.
They have no regrets,
They know they are blessed,
For honoring the sacred vow.


Their numbers grow less
With each passing day
As the final muster begins,
There's nothing to lose,
All have paid their dues,
And they'll sail with shipmates again.


I've heard them say
Before getting underway
That there's still some sailing to do,
They'll say with a grin that their ship has come in,
And the Good Lord is commanding the crew.

Blowing a gale,
Got no ale,
lucky though,
Don't have to sail.

Tis the season to be merry
When we play the Reds
Will we miss Berry?

The meadow is flooded again,
Just booked my ferry to Spain,
Then carry on to Morocco.

A week today is doomsday
7 days to live bey.

A week today is doomsday
7 days to live bey.

A week today is doomsday
7 days to live bey.

On and on he droned
On to the stars, the future and beyond

His rubber band unravelling, his future cloned
Next time around he'll dress up as James Bond

1,2 my dog done a poo
I once had a hamster called Steve.

Christmas time,
Tequila and wine
Children drinking, an ominous sign
Sambuca on fire,
All necked back by me
Praising good will, to all on ATD

(apart from the filthy racists)

Today it be the end of the world
I find that rather queer
I'm off to Tesco later on
For lashings of Ginger Beer (huzzah!)

It's nearly here. We're doomed we're doomed.
I just had anal sex with my broom