Jump to content
Faustus

Poetry

Recommended Posts

This always makes me a bit sad but the description is brilliant. Causley based it on a someone he knew. It reminds me of food banks and breakfast clubs for kids in school. We haven’t really come that much further from when it was written.

 

 

'Timothy Winters'

Timothy Winters comes to school 
With eyes as wide as a football-pool, 
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters: 
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters. 

His belly is white, his neck is dark, 
And his hair is an exclamation-mark. 
His clothes are enough to scare a crow 
And through his britches the blue winds blow. 

When teacher talks he won't hear a word 
And he shoots down dead the arithmetic-bird, 
He licks the pattern off his plate 
And he's not even heard of the Welfare State. 

Timothy Winters has bloody feet 
And he lives in a house on Suez Street, 
He sleeps in a sack on the kithen floor 
And they say there aren't boys like him anymore. 

Old Man Winters likes his beer 
And his missus ran off with a bombardier, 
Grandma sits in the grate with a gin 
And Timothy's dosed with an aspirin. 

The welfare Worker lies awake 
But the law's as tricky as a ten-foot snake, 
So Timothy Winters drinks his cup 
And slowly goes on growing up. 

At Morning Prayers the Master helves 
for children less fortunate than ourselves, 
And the loudest response in the room is when 
Timothy Winters roars "Amen!" 

So come one angel, come on ten 
Timothy Winters says "Amen 
Amen amen amen amen." 
Timothy Winters, Lord. Amen 

Charles Causley
  • Upvote 2

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

The Naughty Preposition

Morris Bishop -- 1947

-

I lately lost a preposition:

It hid, I thought, beneath my chair.

And angrily I cried: ``Perdition!

Up from out of in under there!''

-

Correctness is my vade mecum,

And straggling phrases I abhor;

And yet I wondered: ``What should he come

Up from out of in under for?''

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

I've seen the poison letters of the horrible hacks
About the yellow peril and the reds and the blacks
And the TUC and its treacherous acts
Kremlin money, all right Jack
I've seen how democracy is under duress
But I've never seen a nipple in the Daily Express

 

I've seen the suede jackboot, the verbal cosh
Whitehouse Whitelaw whitewash
Blood uptown where the vandals rule
Classroom mafia scandal school
They accuse, I confess
I've never seen a nipple in the Daily Express

 

Angry columns scream in pain
Love in vain domestic strain
Divorce disease it eats away
The family structure day by day
In the grim pursuit of happiness
I've never seen a nipple in the Daily Express

This paper's boring, mindless, mean
Full of pornography, the kind that's clean
Where William Hickey meets Michael Caine
Again and again and again and again
I've seen millionaires on the DHSS
But I've never seen a nipple in the Daily Express

  • Upvote 2

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes, Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay; And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs, Which said far more than words can say?

 

Though keen the grief thy tears exprest, When love and hope lay both o'erthrown; Yet still, my girl, this bleeding breast Throbb'd, with deep sorrow, as thine own.

 

But, when our cheeks with anguish glow'd, When thy sweet lips were join'd to mine; The tears that from my eyelids flow'd Were lost in those which fell from thine.

 

Thou could'st not feel my burning cheek, Thy gushing tears had quench'd its flame, And, as thy tongue essay'd to speak, In sighs alone it breath'd my name.
 

And yet, my girl, we weep in vain, In vain our fate in sighs deplore; Remembrance only can remain, But that, will make us weep the more.

 

Again, thou best belov'd, adieu! Ah! if thou canst, o'ercome regret, Nor let thy mind past joys review, Our only hope is, to forget

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
On 17/03/2009 at 19:27, Guest Ulysses Everett McGill said:

"COUGH"

 

Virgins

 

"COUGH"


Isn’t this one of the fellas that went on to do The Anfield Wrap podcast. Safe to say he jumped the gun a bit with his insults. 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

My heart yearns for a greater love,

One that fits my spunk pumper like a glove,

I don't care if it's latex or made out of ember,

I just want a tight fit around my member

 

 

  • Upvote 1

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
17 minutes ago, Bjornebye said:

Tenderness and love and happiness

Bitchiness and craziness

All I want

Is my sister to stop using my tampons 

 

tenor (4).gif

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Wrote this. It’s shit but not as shit as the person it’s about.

 

Boris Fucking Johnson...

 

Boris fucking Johnson,

acts the buffoon.

Top grades at posh school,

still plays the clown.

 

It’s all a ruse,

he’s luring you in.

You’re one of his gang, 

but not on his team.

 

Nothing he does, 

has you at its core.

Unless you’re from privilege,

have wealth or great power.

 

From you he just wants,

a cross on the ballot. 

Once you’ve obliged,

get back in your lane.

 

He’ll throw you some crumbs,

to keep you aligned.

While picking your pockets,

and stealing your pride.

 

Good old Boris,

you’ll probably shout.

While life gets tougher,

for all but a few. 

 

The few.

 

Not you. 

 

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Good that Mal. 

 

 

 

I wrote this about Gary Mabbutt. 

 

 

 

Do not go into that downstairs bog for a shite,
My arse has done nothing but burn and rage all day;
Rage, rage against coz I was dying for a shite.

Though wise men at their end remember when dog shit was white,
Because their memories aren't just of white lightning
Do not go into that downstairs bog for a shite.

Brave men, near death, who crave to smell shite
Blinded eyes could blaze but they would make hey,
Rage, rage coz their dying to smell shite.

And you, my Gary, stood there needing a shite,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go into that downstairs bog for a shite.
Let your arse rage, rage while you're dying for a shite. 

 

 

 

 

 

From The Poems of Stig The Sexist, published by New Directions. Copyright © 1952, 1953 Stig The Sexist. Copyright © 1937, 1945, 1955, 1962, 1966, 1967 the Trustees for the Copyrights of Stig The Sexist. Copyright © 1938, 1939, 1943, 1946, 1971 New Directions Publishing Corp. Used with permission.

  • Upvote 3

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

 

— Percy Shelley's "Ozymandias"

  • Upvote 1

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

One for this time of year

 

Seasons of mist and mellow fruitfulness

Close bosomed friend of the maturing sun

Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch eves run

etc, that's all i remember but it's a cracker, Ode to Autumn by Keats

  • Upvote 1

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
1 hour ago, polymerpunkah said:

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
My name is Ozymandias, king of kings;
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away."

 

— Percy Shelley's "Ozymandias"

Can't beat a bit of Perce. I occasionally drop the phrase "cold sneer of command" into conversations about horrible bastard politicians.

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
21 minutes ago, AngryOfTuebrook said:

Can't beat a bit of Perce. I occasionally drop the phrase "cold sneer of command" into conversations about horrible bastard politicians.

It came to mind when Trump went to visit his already-collapsing wall a few months back, and it's stuck around ever since with the never-ending series of governmental cluster-fucks we've had to endure.

  • Upvote 1

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites
4 hours ago, polymerpunkah said:

It came to mind when Trump went to visit his already-collapsing wall a few months back, and it's stuck around ever since with the never-ending series of governmental cluster-fucks we've had to endure.

Whenever Joe Anderson used to pull his sad face about the cuts he was imposing, I always thought of this bit of The Mask of Anarchy.

 

Screenshot_2021-10-09-22-21-20-83_40deb401b9ffe8e1df2f1cc5ba480b12.jpg

Share this post


Link to post
Share on other sites

Create an account or sign in to comment

You need to be a member in order to leave a comment

Create an account

Sign up for a new account in our community. It's easy!

Register a new account

Sign in

Already have an account? Sign in here.

Sign In Now

×