Racks to read
**********************
TALE OF A BULL
Some think
Mayo is short for mayonnaise.
Some think
Mayo a county fit for praise.
And some
don't care a cowpat eitherways.
But here's the tale
of an Irish Bull.
A tale that's true;
your leg I wouldn't pull;
and it happened in Ballinrobe,
so it can't be dull.
On Market Day,
Day of the Mart,
young Bull,
in the spirit of Simpson (Bart),
burst out of his pen,
like a flying fart!
To be sold for a song
isn't my life plan,
he roared,
and ran,
determined to cut out
the Middle Man.
I'll fight for Ireland,
that's what I'll do!
I'll be one of the happy few,
he muttered,
and uttered
a Mighty Moo!
And said to himself,
Come on, lad, let's go.
Let's head instore.
No more alfresco!
CUMMIN'S, I'm comin'.
To Hell with TESCO!
And burst inside
with a head of steam,
ready to rock and ruck
and ream,
like the Irish Grand Slam
Rugby team!
The Manager felt
as accursed as Jonah,
about to become
a steaming Donah
Kebabon Bull Day
in Old Pamplona!
Feeling
the opposite of jolly.
Wishing
he'd brought his thrusty brolly.
Armed only
with a shopping trolley!
Said the Bull,
I'll do you later ...
Feck it,
this is more fun
than Samuel
Beckett!
Then, in very single file,
enter the Farmer,
with charming
smile.
He nearly got it
up the aisle!
But where was a worthy matador
for the Mayotaur?
He was at the door!
My Brother John,
with his bravely untrendy red anorak on, hooshed a damsel out of danger till that Bull was gone!
He'd have taken Bull,
without a doubt.
Single punch =
End of bout,
but thought it wiser
to let him out!
So Happy Days
and Hallaloo!
Heaven be praised,
for all came through,
bar Bull,
who went down well at the barbecue!
***********************
WOOLLY JUMPERS
Like rabbits on stilts,
or shrunken llamas,
flocks
in flocculent pyjamas,
faces
like Lady Bracknell's
gardeners'
trowels,
whiff of grapeshot
from blackberry bowels.
Gregarious kegs
on precarious legs,
with your granny's knees,
ears in fear
of every teasing breeze.
Muzzles with graven grins,
chins,
nuzzling, guzzling,
lugging, tugging
scalps of Apache grass,
then,
all the bog-cotton-picking day to dally, chewing the cud, like good ole boys,
on a beach in Bali.
When they're not rutting,
they're butting.
Here's a Glasgow kiss for you, mate!
And they'd smother
their mother
to get through a gate.
Our modern sheep descends
from the Mediterranean MOUFLON
and the Asian URIEL.
MOUFLON just acted the goat,
and, as for URIEL,
you'd get more wool
off your Auntie Muriel!
That lamb you pet,
my dear Amanda,
will end up et,
as Lamb Pasanda.
If that makes you edgy,
turn vedgy.
Or, if that's too hard,
turn half-way hypocrite:
a wishy-washy fish-and-chipocrite.
The thought of slaughter,
me darlin' daughter,
don't make me quiverous,
for I'm carnivorous!
Like the beast,
is yon farmer to be fleeced,
dipped,
ripped,
and frozen fresh?
Will meat-
eat-
ing go the Way of all Flesh?
Ram-rod rams,
who think they're Rambo.
Ram-shackled ewes,
doing the Mambo.
Wait five months,
and there's a lamb bo-
ldly bawling, Here I am!
Then ear-marked, barked-at,
stamped and cramped
Tail,docked
Male,doct-
ored - Ooh!
The weaning
and the keening.
Babbies baa,
Where are ya, Ma?
Mammies bleat, Here I am,
sweet lamb!
Gambolling against the Green,
the Shining Lamb.
Against the odds, uncowed,
disporting, cavorting
in the foolishness of freedom.
Jumping for joy
across the hungry grass.
Shaking a weedy
hoof at the greedy
gods. LIVING FOR NOW!
***************************************
FROM A BARD TO A SHARD
Spear,
pyramid,
rocket,
aspiring
spire!
Pause
before
you get
any higher.
Settle for less,
& still we'd bless,
from north of town,
your amazing blaze,
before the sun goes down!
************************************
TENNIS RACQ 2012
For the Coach,
it's a racket.
To me,
it's a bat.
He knows,
I suppose,
what he's up to.
(I don't know what he's at.)
TO RECEIVE SERVE,
STAND BACK.
BACK, BACK, BACK.
OFF THE COURT.
Then he serves: short!
TO MAKE THE BALL SWERVE,
SKEW THE BAT AS YOU SERVE.
Don't buy it.
Don't try it.
Trapped nerve!
TRY TOP-SPIN.
Missed!
TRY AGAIN.
The wrist!
A doc had to set it.
Top-spin?
Forget it.
EYE ON THE BALL
AT ALL
TIMES, THEN WHACK IT.
Eye on the ball?
Eye
on your partner's racquet!
This piss-extractor
must be on hire
to a chir-
opractor!
This maniac.
Chief crock supplier
to an osteo-quack!
Sure I'm only messin'.
He whisk-
t me, in one brisk
lesson,
to the Top of the Tree.
A BONSAI TREE!
Bonsai?
Banzai!
Now I'm a Wow,
& how!
Oh-so-
virtuoso!
Dynamic
as Jimbo.
Die-manic
as McEnroe.
Pecker
like Woody-Wood-Becker.
Not silly
& blasé,
like Ilie
Nastase,
but mean
& keen
as Seren
a, Ven
us, or Billy-Jean.
I can do it
better than Lleyton Hewitt.
Bedderer
than Federer.
My pal,
Nadal,
Rafa,
he call me The Gaffa!
Pete
Stamp-Ass,
the up-beat
Sampras.
More demigoddick
than Andy Roddick.
More of a raver
than DynoRod Laver,
Twice as shagassy
as André Agassi.
Compared to me, Henman
was a hen, man;
Borg,
a cyborg;
& young Murray,
in too much of a hurry.
Me vee Sharapova
or Navratilova:
Shamrock vee Clover!
Djokovic, joke over.
So it seems.
In my dreams ...
Oh, it's not just the Gladiators
& the Gladioli:
the Grand & Brave.
We also serve,
who only stand
& wave,
& flail,
to little
or no avail.
For there's a Law of Life:
it's practically official:
that, for those hot shots
with their sting bats
to succeed,
some sacrificial
dingbats
have to fail.
***********************************
26 02 2012 ~
HOLLOWAY HALLELUJAH!
It's Lent,
It's time to choose,
time to give up the booing,
time to give up the boos.
Tottenham!
A free-flowing, tight-knit team.
Of unknottin 'em,
how could farcical Arsenal even dream?
But it's not called the Emeroids Stadium without a reason,
especially towards the squeaky-bum
timeof the season.
BALEful Spurs!
But all Bale did was fall.
Walker & Kranchar
didn't do much at all.
Modrich (Luka)
thought he was playing snooka.
Kabool & King:
a pair of Christmas trees, in spring.
To dare is to do:
that's Tottenham's motto,
but they forgot to tell
Assou-Ekotto.
Brad Friedel:
lost, like a haystack needle.
Like SaHa who, after his goal (deflected), could scarcely be detected.
Adebayor, surplus to Man City,
scores, without pity,
from the spot.
An old friend? NOT.
Though their Captain, Colonel Parker,
a proper toff,
managed to mumble, Sorry,
while being sent off.
But we've Skipper Van Persie,
lean & keen,
showing no mercy,
a goal machine!
Young Chesney in goal,
on a roll.
Vermahlen & Koshelny,
committing no fatal felony.
Arteta ~ Who betta?
GOAL! From Sanya, Baccary,
off his vanity hair
(Not Vanity Fair,
that's Thackeray).
With glossy
Yossi
Benayoon;
Gibbs,
who never jibs;
Rozitsky, out of his skin & over the moon.
Alex Song sang
O Sole mio
as he lofted that lovely pass
to Theo ...
Walcott scores, ignoring every boo,
not just one single perfect goal but two.
& Harry Redknapp cries, FAQYEW,
I GAVE YOU YOUR DEBUT!
Don't worry, said Arsène Wenger,
You'll survive,
& so will I,
since Arsenal came alive!
Arsenal 5 Spurs 2 26 02 12
************************************************
WELLBEING ~
A MESSAGE FROM
DAVID CAMERON
In this Con-Dem
nation of Tory and Lib,
We can't be wholly
Con or Dem, so let's be glib,
let's focus,
like blurry Blair,
on hocus pocus,
and aim,
not for Social Justice,
but WELLBEING ...
(I'll quiz that fellow there,
that frowning gent,
who may be able to tell me
what I meant.)
I say, old chap!
For me, WELL-BEING
has got a lot
to do with peeing,
and what to do
when you need the loo,
like any human being.
Since the British Public
Convenience
got thought to be inconvenient,
and ignoring what
went on in there
got thought to be
over-lenient,
Since then,
the late-night streets
are crammed
with desperate men,
craving, by and large,
not each other,
but crying
(Pardon my French),
Où sont les pissoirs?
Where can I dip my pen?
Bursting for a leak,
and up the creek:
Surely I'm not unique!
Hobbling oddly,
with a thwarted gait,
gasping to get there,
but Where?
before too late.
Knees knotted,
groin garrotted,
What to do?
You're turning blue!
Things have come
to a pretty pass
when you start
to regret that part
ing glass,
you drained unto the dregs.
Now all you ask
is a thermos flask,
or hollow legs.
WCs for WELL-BEING,
that's what Britain needs!
Beaming bowls,
steaming stalls,
and tall cylindrical urin-alls!
Tory or Labour,
Dave or Ed,
whatever your politics,
blue or red,
remember what
this voter said:
A LOO FOR ME,
AND A LOO FOR YOU,
AND TWO
FOR QUEUE-
ING LADIES TOO.
WE'LL SWITCH OUR VOTE,
LIKE THAT, HEY PRESTO!
WHEN YOU PLEDGE 'NEW LOOS'
IN YOUR MANIFESTO.
******************************************
A RAC FOR DRAC
Dracula stirs at dusks,
attaches tusks,
like a witch
atwitch
to hustle
fresh corpuscle.
He works in vein,
an artist of the artery.
The lad to fall for,
if you're feeling martyry.
His kiss
of bliss,
dis
dain it with a hiss
or boo,
do.
He's a voodoo
hoodoo:
he's a Jonah,
in quest of an involuntary blood donah.
The only way
to keep at bay
this shady driller,
this lady killer,
is to look at least as lardy
as Laurel,
combined with Hardy.
(Wear a burqa, or a wig
wam,
or a cardie.)
O virgins,
spurn his urgins.
No bill and cooing,
or, worse, undo-ing.
He's Transylvaniac:
a psychofrantic, neuromantic
neckromaniac.
O Maidens,
drop your superstud illusions.
All rat-man bat-man wants
is blood transfusions.
This vampire'
d never stoke
a lady's campfire ...
I plead,
miladies, heed
my admonition:
He offer
s naught ... out of ten,
blank ammunition.
The best
this infernal,
eternal
pest
can proffer:
a knock-knock-
knock-
turnal
emission.
He'd lick
& snick
& snack a lady's gullet.
Hence she must find
(but Where
at this time of night?)
a silver bullet.
Or feign delight,
conceal her fear,
aye, mask it,
& screw
Count Drac
ula back
into
his casket.
*******************************************************
TRIBUTE
TO THOSE WHO SWIM
WITHOUT BENEFIT OF TEXTILE
You gotta be tough
to swim in the buff:
to dip
in your nip:
to go hell~for~leather
in the altogether:
to disassociate Nude
from Rude:
to whip your socks off,
without wanting your rocks off:
to stand there,
bare
as a pickled pear:
knickerless,
ridickerless:
embarrassed
as a briefless barrist-
er:
fur-
ry & free
as a chimpanzee:
stripped off & splendid
as Nature intended:
You gotta be tough,
Oh,you gotta be tough:
& that's enough.
**************************************************
POEM FOR A MARRIAGE
Love is earthquake & rainbow;
minding & keeping in mind;
seeing
through another's eyes;
being
unworldly wise;
& patient,
whenever you can't be kind.
Victorious
over time,
glorious
love
is hand in glove,
like rhyme.
(is hand in glove,
like crime.)
************************
BEAUTY
Beauty is hidden everywhere.
Even in the simplest things.
The beauty of Opera?
Little dancing.
The beauty of Ballet?
No-one sings.
*****************************
To hear
