Below is a selection (in no particular order) of my favourite poems for your delight and entertainment...
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the manxome foe he sought -
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
'And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!'
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.
Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstacy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime -
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from froth-corrupted lungs,
Bitten as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, -
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
John had
Great Big
Waterproof
Boots on;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Hat;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Mackintosh -
And that
(Said John)
Is
That.
"But that was nothing to what things came out
From the sea-caves of Criccieth yonder"
"What were they? Mermaids? dragons? ghosts?"
"Nothing at all of any things like that."
"What were they then?"
"All sorts of queer things,
Things never seen or heard or written about,
Very strange, un-Welsh, utterly peculiar
Things. Oh, solid enough they seemed to touch,
Had anyone dared it. Marvelous creation,
All various shapes and sizes, and no sizes,
All new, each perfectly unlike his neighbour,
Though all came moving slowly out together."
"Describe just one of them."
"I am unable."
"What were their colours?"
"Mostly nameless colours,
Colours you'd like to see; but one was puce
Or perhaps more like crimson, but not purplish.
Some had no colour."
"Tell me, had they legs?"
"Not a leg nor foot among them that I saw."
"But did these things come out in any order?
What o'clock was it? What was the day of the week?
Who else was present? How was the weather?"
"I was coming to that. It was half past three
On Easter Tuesday last. The sun was shining.
The Harlech Silver Band played Marchog Jesu
On thirty-seven shimmering instruments,
Collecting for Caernarvon's (Fever) Hospital Fund.
The populations of Pwllheli, Criccieth,
Portmadoc, Borth, Tremadoc, Penrhyndeudraeth,
Were all assembled. Criccieth's mayor addressed them
First in good Welsh and then in fluent English,
Twisting his fingers in his chain of office,
Welcoming the things. They came out on the sand,
Not keeping time to the band, moving seaward
Silently at a snail's pace. But at last
The most odd, indescribable thing of all,
Which hardly one man there could see for wonder,
Did something recognizably a something."
"Well, what?"
"It made a noise."
"A frightening noise?"
"No, no."
"A musical noise? A noise of scuffling?"
"No but a very loud, respectable noise -
Like groaning to oneself on Sunday morning
In Chapel, close before the second psalm."
"What did the mayor do?"
"I was coming to that."
There are holes in the sky
Where the rain gets in,
But they're ever so small
That's why rain is thin.
the pest pulled up propped his pushbike on a pillar box paused at a post and pissed 'piss in the proper place' pronounced a perturbed pedestrian petulantly and presently this particular part of the planet was plunged into a panorama of public pressure and pleasure through pain the pandemonium prompted the police who patrolled the precinct in pandacars to pull up and peruse the problem while pickpockets picked pockets in pairs 'arrest the pest who so pointedly pissed in that public place' pleaded the peeved populace practically palpitating the powerful police picked up the pest pronounced him a pinko a pansy a punk rocker and a poof they punched him poked him pummeled his pelvis punctured his pipes played ping-pong with his pubic parts and packed him in a place of penal putrification he pondered upon progressive politics put pen to paper and provocatively and persuasively propagated his personal political premise - pity: a police provocateur put poison pellets in the pest's porridge the police provocateur was promoted and the pest was presented with the pulitzer prize... posthumously.
to amuse
emus
on warm summer nights
Kiwis
do wiwis
from spectacular heights
Whenever I walk in a London street,
I'm ever so careful to watch my feet;
And I keep in the squares,
And the masses of bears,
Who wait at the corners all ready to eat
The sillies who tread on the lines of the street,
Go back to their lairs,
And I say to them, "Bears,
Just look how I'm walking in all the squares!"
And the little bears growl to each other, "He's mine,
As soon as he's silly and steps on a line."
And some of the bigger bears try to pretend
That they came round the corner to look for a friend;
And they try to pretend that nobody cares
Whether you walk on the lines or squares.
But only the sillies believe their talk;
It's ever so portant how you walk.
And it's ever so jolly to call out, "Bears,
Just watch me walking in all the squares!"
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said;
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldier knew
Some one had blunder'd:
Their's not to make reply,
Their's not to reason why,
Their's but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.
Flash'd all their sabres bare,
Flash'd as they turn'd in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder'd.
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro' the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke
Shatter'd and sunder'd
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.
Cannon to the right of them,
Cannon to the left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley'd and thunder'd;
Storm'd at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro' the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.
When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder'd,
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!
outside the take-away saturday night
a bald adolescent asked me out for a fight
he was no bigger than a two-bob fart
he was a deft exponent of the martial arts
he gave me three warnings trod on my toes
stuck his fingers in my eyes and kicked me in the nose
a rabbit punch made my eyes explode
my head went dead and i fell in the road
i pleaded for mercy and wriggled on the ground
he kicked me in the balls and said something profound
gave my face the millimetre tread
stole my chop suey and left me for dead
through rivers of blood and fractured bones
i crawled half a mile to the public telephone
pulled a corpse out the call box held back the bile
and with a broken index finger i proceeded to dial
i couldn't get an ambulance the phone was screwed
the receiver fell in half it had been kung fued
a black belt karate cop opened up the door
demanded information about the stiff on the floor
he wore a bamboo mask he was genned on zen
he finished his devotions and he beat me up again
thanks to that embryonic bruce lee
i'm a shadow of the person that i used to be
i can't go back to salford the cops have got me marked
enter the dragon... exit johnny clarke
James James
Morrison Morrison
Weatherby George Dupree
Took Great
Care of his Mother,
Though he was only three.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he;
"You must never go down to the end of the town, if
you don't go down with me."
James James
Morrison's Mother
Put on a golden gown,
James James
Morrison's Mother
Drove to the end of the town.
James James
Morrison's Mother
Said to herself, said she:
"I can get right down to the end of the town and be
back in time for tea."
King John
Put up a notice,
"LOST or STOLEN or STRAYED!
JAMES JAMES
MORRISON'S MOTHER
SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN MISLAID.
LAST SEEN
WANDERING VAGUELY:
QUITE OF HER OWN ACCORD,
SHE TRIED TO GET DOWN TO THE END OF
THE TOWN - FORTY SHILLINGS REWARD!"
James James
Morrison Morrison
(Commonly known as Jim)
Told his
Other relations
Not to go blaming him.
James James
Said to his Mother,
"Mother," he said, said he:
"You must never go down to the end of the town without
consulting me."
James James
Morrison's mother
Hasn't been heard of since.
King John
Said he was sorry,
So did the Queen and Prince.
King John
(Somebody told me)
Said to a man he knew:
"If people go down to the end of the town, well, what
can anyone do?"
(Now then, very softly)
J. J.
M. M.
W. G. Du P.
Took great
C/o his M*****
Though he was only 3.
J. J.
Said to his M*****
"M*****," he said, said he:
"You-must-never-go-down-to-the-end-of-the-town-if-
you-don't-go-down-with ME!"
The Owl and the Pussy-cat went to sea
In a beautiful pea-green boat,
They took some honey, and plenty of money,
Wrapped up in a five-pound note.
The Owl looked up to the stars above,
And sang to a small guitar,
"O lovely Pussy! O Pussy, my love,
What a beautiful Pussy you are,
You are,
You are!
What a beautiful Pussy you are!"
Pussy said to the Owl, "You elegant fowl!
How charmingly sweet you sing!
O let us be married! too long we have tarried:
But what shall we do for a ring?"
They sailed away, for a year and a day,
To the land where the Bong-tree grows
And there in a wood a Piggy-wig stood
With a ring at the end of his nose,
His nose,
His nose,
With a ring at the end of his nose.
"Dear Pig, are you willing to sell for one shilling
Your ring?" Said the Piggy, "I will."
So they took it away, and were married next day
By the Turkey who lives on the hill.
They dined on mince, and slices of quince,
Which they ate with a runcible spoon;
And hand in hand, on the edge of the sand,
They danced by the light of the moon,
The moon,
The moon,
They danced by the light of the moon.
And did those feet in ancient time
Walk upon England's mountains green?
And was the holy Lamb of God
On England's pleasant pastures seen?
And did the Countenance Divine
Shine forth upon our clouded hills?
And was Jerusalem builded here
Among these dark Satanic mills?
Bring me my bow of burning gold:
Bring me my arrows of desire:
Bring me my spear: O clouds unfold!
Bring me my chariot of fire.
I will not cease from mental fight,
Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand
Till we have built Jerusalem
In England's green and pleasant land.
Spring is here, a-suh-puh-ring is here.
Life is skittles and life is beer.
I think the loveliest time of the year
Is the spring. I do, don't you?
'Course you do.
But there's one thing that makes spring complete for me,
And makes every Sunday a treat for me:
All the world seems in tune on a spring afternoon,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
Every Sunday you'll see my sweetheart and me,
As we poison the pigeons in the park.
When they see us coming, the birdies all try and hide,
But they still go for peanuts when coated with cyanide.
The sun's shining bright, everything seems all right,
When we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
We've gained notoriety, and caused much anxiety
In the Audubon Society with our games.
They call it impiety and lack of propriety,
And quite a variety of unpleasant names.
But it's not against any religion
To want to dispose of a pigeon.
So if Sunday you're free, why don't you come with me,
And we'll poison the pigeons in the park.
And maybe we'll do in a squirrel or two,
While we're poisoning pigeons in the park.
We'll murder them all amid laughter and merriment,
Except for the few we take home to experiment.
My pulse will be quickening with each drop of strychnine
We feed to a pigeon. It just takes a smidgin
To poison a pigeon in the park.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed - and gazed - but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
I took Rover over to the park the other day
I met another bloke with another dog on the way
his dog was an alsation
my dog was not
he said is that dog an alsation?
I said no
and he said why don't you get a proper dog?
and I said Rover
ignore this copper
and I pick up a stick
and I hold it over Rover
and say Rover jump out of the clover
and get stuck into the stick
and Rover jumps out of the clover
and bites me in the arm
ALARM ALARM
my dog my dog why hast thou mistaken me?
I am not calm
my dog has done me harm
in my arm
I show him the toothmarks
see Rover where the skin is mauver
Rover sees these nasty marks
he barks
and he begs
for forgiveness
yet I know I must break his legs
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forest of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, and what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And watered heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
I have been to places in Soho, who's denizens have crossed social and geographical barriers to reach them. In one, I have seen a girl sitting amid musical pandemonium with a book open on her knees and her little finger entwined with that of her true love. Of course, she was not really listening, not really reading and not communicating with her friend in any way that required effort or style. It would be hard to say whether the jukebox caused the death of human speech or whether music came to fill an already widening void - but unless the music is stopped now, the human race, mumbling, snapping its fingers and twitching its hips, will sink back into an amoebic state, where it will take a coagulation of hundreds of teenagers to make up a single unit of vital force - which, once formed, will only live on sedatives, consume itself on the terraces of football stadia and die.
Christopher Robin had wheezles and sneezles,
They bundled him into his bed.
They gave him what goes with a cold in the nose,
And some more for a cold in the head.
They wondered if wheezles could turn into measles,
If sneezles could turn into mumps.
They examined his chest for a rash,
And the rest of his body for swellings and lumps.
They sent for some doctors in sneezles and wheezles
To tell them what ought to be done.
All sorts and conditions of famous physicians
Came hurrying 'round at a run.
They all made a note of the state of his throat,
They asked if he suffered from thirst;
They asked if the sneezles came after the wheezles,
Or if the first sneezle came first.
They said, "If you teazle a sneezle or wheezle,
A measle may easily grow.
But humor or pleazle a sneezle or wheezle,
The measle will certainly go."
They expounded the reazles for sneezles and wheezles,
The manner of measles when new.
They said, "If he freezles in draughts and in breezles,
Then PHTHEEZLES may even ensue."
Christopher Robin got up in the morning,
The sneezles had vanished away.
And the look in his eye seemed to say to the sky,
"Now, how to amuse them to-day!"
Swing door swings open in the fast food fun palace
Two pairs of eyes meet mine
I steel myself and grimace
Elbows against the counter they slump
Mean eyed
Po faced
No nonsense
Pre-pubescent pugilists
Terror tots
South London's finest
Knee-high nihilists planning nursery crimes
The Wimpy bar mafia
Nine years old
Macho
Murderers
Primary school but primed to kill
Or maim
Or terrorise
Size you up and slice you through with Peter Sutcliff eyes
They're into older women
Eleven or twelve's their favourite age
They chat them up as they come in
Invade their space like Space Invaders
"Oy Love"
"Want some chips?"
Then invite them home for glue and a private rendition of the new Exploited single
Or some other manic mayhem to make their extremities tingle
Soon they'll be old enough to bunk into a disco
But 'till then they'll stick to the hamburger hustle
A bang and a Wimpy
A Wimpy and a bang
The grim and grimy gangsters from the mustard and cress gang
Video vandals
Violent virgin vigilantes verging on the vindictive
I've been searching for the young soul rebels
Been searching everywhere
Couldn't find them anywhere
But here they are in the Wimpy bar
Right by Victoria station
I stand and watch them operate in muted fascination
'Till...
" 'ere, got 10p mate? "
Snaps me back to hard reality
And the half concealed glinting switchblade smiles with awful clarity
I give them 21 pence and they give me a hard smile
Now they've the price of another tube they're happy for a while
And in the Wimpy wonderland, the crisis kids run free
A bang, a Wimpy and a sniff and home in time for tea
Oh, dear little Flo,
I love you so,
Especially in your nightie.
When the moonlight flits,
Across your tits,
Oh, Jesus Christ almighty.
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant,
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out consume
Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel;
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine,
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel...
There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya 'bout the raising of the wrist,
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed...
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill
Plato they say, could stick it away;
Half a crate of whiskey every day!
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am."
Yes, Socrates, himself, is particularly missed...
A lovely little thinker, But a bugger when he's pissed!
Nicky my child he stands there with the wind in his hair
Wondering whether the water the wind or the where
I fear that someday he might ask me if mine is the blame
And I've got no reply save to tell him it's all just a game
And Heather and I lay together and I was in love
She weighted up the gains and the losses and gave me the shove
The fear of mankind's untogetherness pounds in my heart
The deceit of my friends the betrayals of which I am part
And oh how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my two feet standing here questioning
And I'm just a social experiment tailored to size
I've tried out the national machine and the welfare surprise
I'm the rich man the poor man the peace man the war man the beast
The festive consumer who ends up consumed in the feast
And my five eyed promoter is clutching two birds in the bush
He's a thief he's as bad as the joker they're both in the rush
He's telling me Ghandi was handy and Jesus sold his ring
(Dunno who to, God maybe?)
And everyone knows that this dough's gonna make me the king
And oh how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my two feet standing here questioning
Meanwhile the ticket collectors are punching their holes
Into your memories your journeys and into your souls
Your life sentence starts and the judge hands you down a spare wig
Saying: "Get out of that and goodbye old boy have a good gig"
And the town label makers stare down with their gallery eyes
And point with computer stained fingers each time you arise
To the rules and the codes and the system that keeps them in chains
Which is where they belong with no poems no love and no brains
And oh how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my two feet standing there questioning
Meanwhile the TV commercials are sweeping the day
Brainwashing innocent kids into thinking their way
The wet politicians and clergymen have much to say
Defending desires of the sheep they are leading astray
And Ma's favourite pop star is forcing a grin he's a smash
Obliging the soft-headed viewers to act just as flash
The village TV hooks its victims on give away cash
The addicts are numbers who serve to perpetuate trash
And oh how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my stupid poetry shuffling
And the bankers and tycoons and hoarders of money and art
Full up with baubles and bibles and full of no heart
Who travel first class on a pleasure excursion to fame
Are the eyes that are guiding society's ludicrous aim
And the village is making its Sunday collection in church
The church wobbles 'twixt hell and heaven's crumbling perch
Unnoticed the money box loudly endorses the shame
As the world that Christ fought is supported by using his name
And oh how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my stupid poetry burbling
And the pin-striped sardine-cum-magician is packed in his train
Censoring all of the censorship filling his brain
He glares through his armour-plate vision and says: "Hmm, insane"
The prisoner is taking his shoes off to walk in the rain
And the luminous green prima donna is sniffing the sky
She daren't tread the earth that she's smelling her birth was too high
Her bank balance castle is built on opinion and fear
Which is all she allows within three hundred miles of her ear
And oh how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my stupid poetry burbling
And I've seen all your pedestal values your good and your bad
If you really believe them your passing is going to be hard
And I've thought through all thought and I know that its blind silly season
Occurs when our reasoning is trying to fathom a reason
And if you really know it's all a joke but you're just putting me on
Well it's sure a good act that you've got 'cos you never let on
But if all of that super-sale over-kill world is for real
Well there's nowhere to go kid so you might as well start to freewheel
And oh how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see my two feet standing there burbling
And I had this dream in here same time as standing awake
These various visions rushed through as I giggled and quaked
The distant guns thunder my end and I duck for a while
Auntie Lily is handing me candy she chuckles I smile
And our village is where I was born and it's where I will die
And I'll never be able to leave it whatever I try
And the ebb and the flow of the forces of life pass me by
Which is all that I'll know from my birth to my last gasping sigh
And oh how the sea she roars with laughter
And howls with the dancing wind
To see the dying lying there obeying
My age and my time
The blood fire wine and rhyme
That fills my dream reminds me of an atom in a bubble on a wave
That held its breath for one sweet second then was popped and disappeared
Into fruitful futilities meaningless meaning
Meaningless meaning meaningless meaning
Under the toadstool lover down by the dream
Everything flowing over rainbows downstream
Silver the turning water flying away
I'll come to see you sooner I'm on my way
And there's a mirror that I'm looking straight through
And I get it
And there's a doorway that I'm ducking into
To forget it
The flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers
And reminding me behind my mind the earth quakes the sun flakes flutter
Over the mountain fairground
Candy floss day
Under the moonshine fountain
I'm on my way
Lemon tree blossom ladies
Pouring my tea
After the blue sky breezes following me
And there's a river that I'm making it with
And I know it
And I'm floating to I don't care where
I'll just go it
The flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers
And reminding me behind my mind the earth quakes the sun flakes flutter
Daffodil April petal hiding the game
Forests of restless chessmen life is the same
Tides in the sand some lover watching us dream
Covered in stars and clover rainbows downstream
And the question in the great big underneath is forever
And the fanfare that I'm forcing through my teeth answers "Never"
The flashing just beyond the sky the shattering midnight gathers
The pumpkin coach and the rags approach and the wind is devouring the ashes