The Friday Poetry Thread

Friggin rain ain't never stopping
I'm so mad I started hopping
Out tonight for beer and nosh
Times are hard so can't do posh

Fortescue for frothing ale
My birthday meal is chips with mayo
I know De-Lar is reading this
So up your arse and drink my piss.  

Nearly missed it,
Been to busy,
Cooking omelettes,
and drinking tea,
nothing fizzy.

Wrathal's back, though not really loaded
Newell's ill, his head has exploded
Webb has spoken, but really it's pap
De-lar is so quiet, sat on James's lap

Akeron, bang, the hotels are falling
Brenty is given an ATD mauling
But Friday is here, it's sunny and warm
Off now to Asders to buy more popcorn.

Time to move on,
Time to move on,
The good times are coming,
It's time to move on.

rovers tomorrow, so step on the gas
and please take your tongue from out of brents ass
represent all supporters and not just yourself
and be realistic, we will finish 12th

There was the young man Tommy Tynan
who's legacy was near ruined by George Synan
He scored so many goals
enlightened so many souls
That he was bestowed with flowers (antirrhinum)

 
Good old Mock,
here to cheer,
With a ditty,
Fer yer ear.

A verse on strikers,
How gay, how apt,
If he played for us now,
We would be rapt.

So
farewell
Sue.
You wrote lots of funny books
and I
was in love
with you.

PS farewell to Adrian
too.

There was a midfielder called Daveed
Who had Steve Adams as his honourable steed
That wunder-midfield
Was like both sword and shield
They soothed Argo like the Balm of Gilead

Roses are red,
Violets are glorious,
Don't try to surprise
Oscar Pistorius.

He's got no legs,
He's got no feet,
But he can shoot a gun,
Perfectly reet.

He's got his chance to talk the talk
But the big conundrum is
'will he walk'

You'll hear him coming,
He's fast as feck,
If you're in the bog,
Hit the deck.

It's been a while,
Without a post,
So here's a quicky,
Make the most.

Summer's gone, it's cold outside
I like to eat my bacon fried.

Autumn's here, the birds migrate
I like to lie in bed till late

It was yesterday
Tomorrow it will be Saturday
But now it is today

I tell you what,
I really need,
Another avatar,
From Mannameade.

Friday comes,
But once a week,
Before you find,
You have to seek.

A 25 pager? Lets be havin yerr
Our smallest rivals tomoz, Exeturr
A sea of green, a sea of white
awaits those throbbers, behold our might
Will we beat them? Was that a roar?
Will we beat them? FORE FOOKIN SHORE!

    
Is that sound of the GA RRROOAARRR!
We must beat city,
Fore feckin shore!

Reid and Banton to the fore,
Cox and Banton will they score?
We must beat city,
Fore feckin shore!

Brent and chauffeur,
In their box,
We must beat city,
What a pair of cocks!

In the land of bucket rattling Avivas,
The most devious are kings.
Where charidee is great for creating an illusion,
Of sincerity and other noble fings.

Behind it all, a burning desire for position,
The results of which are parochial submission.
This city club so deviously led,
Is only a happy home, to the brain dead.

'It will end in tears !', the more astute cry loud,
But the fanfesting throng are the janner in crowd.
GOS , their grim portraits they frame,
But history will condemn and terribly shame.

The reluctant one has plans of his own,
And to his toadies he tosses the odd bone.
'He gets it !' the Windsor Boys cried,
But now, the die is cast and there's nowhere to hide.

Tringreen wrote:

In the land of bucket rattling Avivas,
The most devious are kings.
Where charidee is great for creating an illusion,
Of sincerity and other noble fings.

Behind it all, a burning desire for position,
The results of which are parochial submission.
This city club so deviously led,
Is only a happy home, to the brain dead.

'It will end in tears !', the more astute cry loud,
But the fanfesting throng are the janner in crowd.
GOS , their grim portraits they frame,
But history will condemn and terribly shame.

The reluctant one has plans of his own,
And to his toadies he tosses the odd bone.
One thing is 'foreshore' and cast in stone,
When he leaves, he'll take with him, all those bones.

     It's a cracker from the Larnaca lyricist.

Home Park crumbles,
The Lindy clad in rust,
Come on Brenty,
Repay our trust.