[Martin Parker]

Now ensconced in new home, though not the one we had originally intended. Back on Internet after a gap of two months. No chance of finding time to write anything new, so I shall need to rely on recycling from now on.

Fortunately -- or maybe not -- I have unlimited stocks of this sort of stuff :--

KEATS ON THE STREETS AT CLOSING TIME


Much have I travelled past the late-night bars
and many drunken revellers have I seen
whose vodka shots and alcopops have been
thrown up into the streets or over cars
by girls -- in belt-width skirts and skimpy bras
with nothing but goose pimples in between --
called Kayleigh, Karly, Kylie or Charlene,
too drunk to stand beneath dawn’s fading stars.
And then I wonder what can be the gain,
except to satisfy the taxman’s yen,
of making drink so easy to obtain
by scarce-pubescent girls and not-yet men
just so that every semi-dressed Charmaine
can puke each night upon some prick called Darren.

[Rob Stuart]

I reckon that's a cracker, Martin.

[Brian Allgar]

Aaargghhh! There I was, polishing up my piece which, as is often the case, consisted of four four-line stanzas with ABAB rhymes, when I re-read the specification and saw that, unlike all other competitions known to man or beast, the limit was not sixteen lines, but the 'F' word - fourteen. So it's not so much back to the drawing-board as hacking at it with a chainsaw.

The swearing and cursing was at a level not usually heard from me unless I'm apostrophising Bill Gates.

[John Whitworth]

Yeah. I had to do a certain amount of surgery too. Curse the fellow!

[Brian Allgar]

By the way, John, what's happened to the current Speccie competition, or do I simply need new speccies?

[Peter Goulding]

Looks like a bumper crop for this one.

Two from Yeats - The Lake Isle of Innisfree

I will arise and go now, and go to Classroom 3,
and forty winks have there, while seated down the back;
for Farreller will drone on like a bumbling honey bee
about potatoes and how they once turned black.

And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow.
Forty golden minutes till the lunchtime bell rings;
I hope that Finian Byrner doesn’t stab me in the toe
with one of those compassy things.

I will arise and go now, to Hist’ry I will stray,
to hear a lengthy soliloquy on famine lore;
while I lean back against the wall and drift away,
I hope he does not hear me snore.

He wishes for the cloths of heaven

Had I a pair of Nike Air Max runners,
incorporating tonal mesh and blue satin tongue,
the prince of all looped lace-eyelet runners,
beloved by the young, the old and the half-young,
I would leave them showily under your feet.
But I, being poor, have only second-hand Asics.
I have left my Asics under your seat.
Sniff lightly or you’ll smell my Asics.

[John Whitworth]

I forgot it, Brian. I am full of apologies. It is there now.

[Graham King]

Originally Posted by Peter Goulding

...
But I, being poor, have only second-hand Asics.
I have left my Asics under your seat.
Sniff lightly or you’ll smell my Asics.

I laughed out loud at that ending, Peter! Well done with both.

[Terese Coe]

Peter Goulding, your Innisfree gave me a great laugh!

[Graham King]

Removed to avoid 'prior publication'