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Poetry


waynetta

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Anthem for a doomed youth - Wilfred Owen


What passing-bells for these who die like cattle

Only the monstrous anger of the guns

Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle

Can patter out their hasty orisons

No mockeries for them from prayers or bells

Nor any voice of morning save the choirs

The shrill demented wailing of the shells

And bugles calling for them from sad shires


What candles may be held to speed them all

Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes

Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes

The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall

Their flowers the tenderness of silent minds

And each slow dusk a drawing down of blinds

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Granny by Spike Milligan


Through every nook and every cranny

The wind blew in on poor old Granny

Around her knees, into each ear

(And up nose as well, I fear)


All through the night the wind grew worse

It nearly made the vicar curse

The top had fallen off the steeple

Just missing him (and other people)


It blew on man, it blew on beast

It blew on nun, it blew on priest

It blew the wig off Auntie Fanny-

But most of all, it blew on Granny!

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I like this one.....


When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick the flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit


You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes


But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.


But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

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TWAT

by John Cooper Clarke


Like a Night Club in the morning, you?re the bitter end.

Like a recently disinfected shit-house, you?re clean round the bend.

You give me the horrors

too bad to be true

All of my tomorrow?s

are lousy coz of you.

You put the Shat in Shatter

Put the Pain in Spain

Your germs are splattered about

Your face is just a stain


You?re certainly no raver, commonly known as a drag.

Do us all a favour, here... wear this polythene bag.


You?re like a dose of scabies,

I?ve got you under my skin.

You make life a fairy tale... Grimm!


People mention murder, the moment you arrive.

I?d consider killing you if I thought you were alive.

You?ve got this slippery quality,

it makes me think of phlegm,

and a dual personality

I hate both of them.


Your bad breath, vamps disease, destruction, and decay.

Please, please, please, please, take yourself away.

Like a death a birthday party,

you ruin all the fun.

Like a sucked and spat our smartie,

you?re no use to anyone.

Like the shadow of the guillotine

on a dead consumptive?s face.

Speaking as an outsider,

what do you think of the human race


You went to a progressive psychiatrist.

He recommended suicide...

before scratching your bad name off his list,

and pointing the way outside.


You hear laughter breaking through, it makes you want to fart.

You?re heading for a breakdown,

better pull yourself apart.


Your dirty name gets passed about when something goes amiss.

Your attitudes are platitudes,

just make me wanna piss.


What kind of creature bore you

Was is some kind of bat

They can?t find a good word for you,

but I can...

TWAT.

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  • 1 month later...

The night bus

by Richard Purnell


A bottle of water rolls past,

Full of yellow liquid,

Oh God, that isn't, is it?

Two stops in and they're having a jimmy

On the N68 night bus


And what a bloody cheek!

The girl sitting by me has gone and fell asleep

Leaving a dribble of spittle on my retro jacket sleeve

But I don't mind too much

Because I know it's all about the love

On the N68 night bus


And the boys who haven't pulled are full of lust,

A sense of duty and honour says they must

Have a little word with the doner-eating birds

On the N68 night bus


And a chap in the back is chatting black,

Going on his phone

'We need to fuck him up, blood,

He ahksing for trouble, bruv,

We need to fuck him up.'

And the girls sitting by are like,

'You need to fuck him up, blood!

You need to fuck him up!!'


For the well-bred woman it's all too much

On this rampaging beast of a bus

Headphones on and she's dreaming

Of rolling fields and clotted cream teas

She wants no more of this polyglot scene

On the N68 night bus


And the atmosphere starts to turn nasty

When a white man gets on and starts to do a whitey

He's getting called 'fucking wanker' and 'prick'

Because if there's one thing you don't do

you don't never be sick

On the N68 night bus


As his effluence rolls down the floor

Like an alien species on the march

Or the soul of an Englishman after dark

A big-haired man pulls out his guitar

And starts playing


Ooh, Baby I Love Your Way (reggae version)

Wanna be with you night and day, yay-ay-ay, ay-ay-ay


And the bus turns into a magical place

Each addled face reanimates

Every weary body starts to sway

And the Christians praise Him above

Because we've been reminded

It's all about the love

On the N68 night bus

Yes, it's always all about the love

On the N68 night bus

On the N68 night bus

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