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Unread 08-20-2020, 03:39 AM
Jim Hayes Jim Hayes is offline
Join Date: Dec 1999
Location: Kilkenny, Kilkenny, Ireland
Posts: 4,949

Thanks Michael, Martin

Young Lochinvar
after Walter Scottt

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west
in old jockey shorts and a warm woolly vest.
(He thought to wear now’t but his mother knew best)

He rode all alone to find him a bride
with a flower that he pinned to his hair with a slide.
((He was keeping in touch with his feminine side)

Up to the cabin he rode at full tilt,
with a whopping scean dhu he held hard by the hilt.
(A dirk that was barely concealed by his kilt)

There, inside the door he saw his bete noir,
Fungus McGrump wi’ a massive claymore.
(A dastard in love and a blackguard in war)

And who should he spot but Bonnie Wee Neel,
and her aunts, uncles, cousins, brothers, sisters as weel.
(She was goin’ to wed Fungus)—“No’ likely, by Heel”

Swore young Lochinvar in impeccable Lallans,
as he grabbed Bonnie Neel from the hands of her valiants
(They’d had a few drams and were slightly off balance)

They stay’d not for brake, and they stopp’d not for stone,
they swam the Eske river where ford there was none.
(When Bonnie Wee Neel got wet through to the bone)

There was mounting ‘mong rakes of the Netherboy clan,
Farquhars,* Fartquhars, McGrovels, they rode and they ran.
(Tho’ Fungus McGrump took his loss like a man)

They still race unchaste on Cannobie Lee
and brides are still lost, and some carelessly.
(But none were as lost as the baul’ Bonnie Wee)

*Farquhar is an old Scottish name pronounced ‘Farker’ while Fartquehar is an unknown sept the pronunciation of which is best left to the readers imagination tho’ bearing in mind the guide provided.

Good to hear from you Bob

Last edited by Jim Hayes; 10-17-2020 at 02:45 PM.
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Unread 08-20-2020, 07:26 AM
Roger Slater Roger Slater is online now
Join Date: Jun 2001
Location: New York
Posts: 15,890

Martin, I had a Darkling Thrush parody in that Spectator comp as well (which called for an alternative ending to a famous poem):

And so I thought, What could it be?
.... Perhaps my somber mood,
That sense of life's vacuity,
....Was caused by lack of food?
I took aim from the coppice gate,
.... The hope inside me stirred,
And I felt better once I ate
....That optimistic bird.

PS-- Hi Jim!
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Unread 08-20-2020, 03:24 PM
Martin Elster Martin Elster is offline
Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Connecticut, USA
Posts: 7,463

Roger, I like your alternate ending.

Jim, I enjoyed your "Young Lochinvar."
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Unread 08-21-2020, 10:45 PM
Allen Tice's Avatar
Allen Tice Allen Tice is online now
Join Date: Nov 2006
Location: Brooklyn, NY USA
Posts: 6,000

If you can make this link work (or part of it), there’s a recent Dinosaur Comics parody of Frost’s “Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening.”
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Unread 08-25-2020, 04:43 AM
Jim Hayes Jim Hayes is offline
Join Date: Dec 1999
Location: Kilkenny, Kilkenny, Ireland
Posts: 4,949


Out of the night a black vice-POTUS,
a cry of hope from poll to poll.
Wrapped in our flags we know they loath us
and our unconscionable soul.

In the fell clutch of discrimination
we hear them wince and cry aloud.
Within our bludgeoning Christian nation
their heads are bloodied, ja, und cowed.

Let them sulk in their vale of tears,
we’ll never let them turn the page.
No prospect of getting four more years
finds, and shall find us howl with rage.

Again we’ll make our country great,
no matter we lose our nation’s soul.
He is the master of our fate.
Wir gibt unser Fuhrer ganz kontrol.

Last edited by Jim Hayes; 08-30-2020 at 02:37 PM.
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Unread 08-29-2020, 03:09 AM
Jim Hayes Jim Hayes is offline
Join Date: Dec 1999
Location: Kilkenny, Kilkenny, Ireland
Posts: 4,949

Melania, Melania

Melania,Melania, our journey’s nearly done,
We fudged the facts, paid little tax, the prize is almost won,
The polls I hear are tied—‘tho clear that most folk are disgusted,
With hollow eyes they realize I’m crude and can’t be trusted.
In deed, O heart! heart! heart!
those lipstick marks are red
they stain my shirt!—Melania’s words
are fallen cold and dead

Melania, Melania, get up and hear the bells,
‘Tis but for you my fling is flung—not Stormy Daniels.
Your haute couture—a sinecure—we’ve been through this before,
A little hicky on my ass and you’d walk out the door?
Melania, Melania
she was but a little hussy—
it’s just your dream that on the deck
I grabbed her by the pussy.

Melania does not answer ‘tho I grovel at her foot,
My lady neither holds my hand so I just pats her butt.
At my inauguration I have but myself to thank,
‘Tho would have mentioned too my crew had most not walked the plank.
Shout O shores and ring O bells!
Hark! —potentially a gremlin—

someone, I ween, that I must thank—
exulting in the Kremlin.


Last edited by Jim Hayes; 08-30-2020 at 02:35 PM.
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Unread 09-07-2020, 03:50 PM
Joe Crocker Joe Crocker is offline
Join Date: Sep 2020
Location: York
Posts: 453
Default Paodies of Larkin's "This be the verse"

Being a new boy on the sphere, I failed to read the rules properly and I fear I may have had my wrist slapped by Admin for putting a poem of mine in the wrong place. To be fair it was in connection with a parody of Philip Larkin by Adrian Mitchell.

So perhaps I should post it here instead.

It could be worse

They tuck you up , your mum and dad.
You hardly notice, but they do.
They wrap you in the dreams they had
And pray they may come true for you.

For they were tucked up in their turn
By generations, kind or rough,
Who whether faltering or firm,
Did something right, or good enough

Man hands mortality on to man.
It's yours in sickness and in health.
Pass it on as best you can.
And, doing so, become yourself.

As I said on the other thread (it's under "general conversation" and is called "Adrian Mitchell parody of Larkin"), I wrote my counterargument to Larkin as a new father in 1997, quite unaware that other proper poets such as Mitchell had done something similar. There now seems to be quite an industry knocking out alternative versions of Larkin's "This be the verse". eg The Spectator competition a few years ago.

Although I was quite pleased with my version, When I later read Mitchell's poem, I thought his was so much better. Well, of course it was. Here is the version of his parody that I had by heart (but see other thread).

This be the worst (Adrian Mitchell)

They tuck you up, your mum and dad,
They read you Peter Rabbit, too.
They give you all the treats they had
And add some extra, just for you.

They were tucked up when they were small,
(Pink perfume, blue tobacco-smoke),
By those whose kiss healed any fall,
Whose laughter doubled any joke.

Man hands on happiness to man,
It shines out like a sweetshop shelf
So love your parents all you can
And have some cheerful kids yourself.

Comparing the two, I love his because, whereas mine is an argument that follows a plodding line of reasoning, his argument is based on images that are immediate and really grab you (in fact, "shine out like a sweetshop shelf") and so he makes a much more convincing, joyful case. The moral I take away is that there are clever parodies and there are parodies that can become genuine poems.

Last edited by Joe Crocker; 09-08-2020 at 05:56 AM.
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Unread 09-25-2020, 06:14 AM
Jim Hayes Jim Hayes is offline
Join Date: Dec 1999
Location: Kilkenny, Kilkenny, Ireland
Posts: 4,949

The End of Sennacherib
With a nod to George Gordon

The White House incumbent looked down on the fold
where Republican senators did as they’re told,
and the ultra right Proud Boys stood ready when he
asked them to buttress his presidency.

Like the leaves of the forest in the flush of July
how they danced and they waved that a vaccine was nigh,
like the leaves of the forest when winter has blown
their dead from the virus lay withered and strewn.

For the Angel of Death spread his wings on his blast
as their president lied that the worst was now passed,
and the eyes of the faithful waxed deathly and rheum
made them blind to the thought their day would not come.

And thus shone his greed with his nostrils all wide
as he railed from the rostrum displaying his pride,
and the range of his grasping laid bare on the lawn
to his tightly packed following gathered to fawn.

And thus went the populace black face or pale,
with firmness and purpose crowds voted by mail,
when the ballots were counted one banner was flown
and one trumpet blew loud when the verdict was known.

The Moghuls of Wall Street were loud in their wail,
as Nyx and Mendacius languished in jail,
Semele and Oizys slouched one by one,
with the Sultan of Trumpism packed up and gone .

Last edited by Jim Hayes; 10-20-2020 at 09:04 AM.
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Unread 10-20-2020, 07:07 AM
Jim Hayes Jim Hayes is offline
Join Date: Dec 1999
Location: Kilkenny, Kilkenny, Ireland
Posts: 4,949

It was Christmas Day in the White House

It was Christmas Day in the White House
and theTrumps were having their dinners
when the President called from the top of the hall
“Get down on yer knees ye sinners”

And them poor Trumps knelt in that cheerless room
and their hearts were all a’thuddin’,
and the President called in a voice of doom,
“Bring on the Christmas puddin”

“Put down yer heads” came loud and clear,
“Cause this is a time for reflection
on the sins of the flesh that have brought us here
and cost me re-election”.

“And I’m telling you now, and I’m telling you good”
And his voice had a hint of pain,
“There’s nobody gets to eat the pudd
till I’m asked to run again”

And a chill of doom ran around the room,
you could cut the air with a knife
as each of them dwelt in the depths of their soul
on the sins of their father’s life.

When upspoke Melania all of a sudden,
oh she of the better class—
“You can keep your goddam Christmas puddin’
and shove it up your .....“

A parody of a parody I wrote back in the day..

Last edited by Jim Hayes; 10-23-2020 at 10:23 AM.
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Unread 12-17-2020, 04:14 PM
RCL's Avatar
RCL RCL is offline
Join Date: Oct 2000
Location: Los Angeles, CA
Posts: 6,307


Out of the muck surrounding me,
Deep as a stinking sewage hole,
I damn the fickle gods that be
The puppet masters of my soul.

Everywhere my blurred eyes glance,
I see my foes and cry aloud.
As threats disturb my wobbly stance,
My head is muddy, fully bowed.

After this vale of blood and tears,
I know there’s worse that must be paid,
And think about my sinful years,
So must confess that I’m afraid.

No wonder that I feel such hate,
Or how devolved my human role,
I am a creature bound by fate,
I am a blubbering, failing stupid asshole.

Last edited by RCL; 12-24-2020 at 11:49 AM.
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