The airwaves are full of programs about poetry at the moment. Apparently everyone loves poetry now. Not only the long haired romantics, wandering through Cumbria smiling at sheep (When they aren't necking half-pints of Laudinum). Ordinary people like you me and Frank Skinner are wandering around speaking tripe to taxi-drivers.
These modern poets like Homer and Rimbaud are all well and good, but what the British People really want are poets like Tennyson and Kipling. The British Public won't stand for dull fuzzy odes to a mushroom. What they crave are poems about how great Britain is, all set to a rumptdy-dum rhythm.
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Where I come from the only poetry we need is a bit of Good Old Cockney Rhyming Slang. Apples and Pears! Pork pies! Berkley Hunt! Whistle and Flute! Slabs of Meat!
ReplyDeleteLor' love a duck! I'll get you round the johanna, boy, and learn you about poetry, boy!
Only two poems in the English Language interest me remotely:
ReplyDeleteThere once was a Royal Marine,
Who tried to fart God Save the Queen,
When he reached a soprano,
He let out some guamo,
And his breeches weren't fit to be seen.
The virgin sturgeon needs no urgin'
The virgin sturgion is a fish
The virgin sturgeon needs no urgin'
That's why caviar is my dish.
Hello, I've composed a short Haiku about cricket:
ReplyDeleteCricket - I love you
O! How I love you, cricket
Its the best sport by miles.
I gave up on poetic justice the day I discovered that England's Glory matches were made by the Swedish Match Corporation.
ReplyDeleteMy favourite poem was written by brother groucho:
ReplyDeleteWhat is the way, which is best,
To find out if a man is honest?
“Are you honest?”, you ask him.
If he says ‘yes’, you reckon him
A crook. This is Groucho’s test!
Cor Blimey!!?!
ReplyDelete