Verbwhores Poem 2009

[Ginyard]

There was a young man from Beirut,
Who really, yes really, liked fruit,
But one sunny day,

he gave his plums away
and took gipsy cock up his chute


Cross thread reference proliferation
encourages

[Cerys]

me to appear
tardily
like a time travelling doctor
who is missing an 'S'
(maybe he lost it
somewhere inconvenient
while auditioning for Shakespeare)

[Cambrian Times]

Setabos, great Setabos,
God of my mother's art,
Hear my prayer, thy servant calls,
From within this cell of hew-ed stone.
Giveth me my vengenge pray,
On the Milanese tyrant that imprisons me hence.
May his own perfidious arts confound him and,
As he has broken my body and my spirit,
May this day, his proud heart break
And those airy vassels that attend him in his every whim and torment
Rebel and tear it from him!

[Jemble Fred]

All my love and snogs, Shirley.

Kiss kiss, kiss kiss,
The sentiment echoes around.

[buttgammon]

Oops. Wrong thread.

[the midnight watch baboon]

Chicken Oxo, crumbled pasta
Manics sing Where? and Yes! and Faster
April's tits have joined the room
Wurly-birds choppers pierce the gloom

[Cerys]

Bombs go tweet and birds go boom,
Brucie boy evades the tomb
Dull with toupée-addled doom;
Didn't he do well?

[Ginyard]

Wizened skin, sagging chin
Corset sucks his belly in
Commode paid for by ads for argos
He'll die on it just like Davros

[Cambrian Times]

When he's on the fairway green
He's a sight to be seen
He thinks he is the golfing daddy
But he's got a Zimmer in his caddy.

[Jemble Fred]

IV : SHIT IT'S APRIL

The downy downstairs carpet is still sticky with your juice,
The nibbles left un-nibbled in their bowls,
Oh darling dear Fiona Bruce,
I hate your

[Cambrian Times]

Whiny Hibernian tones.
They rattle through my aching head
Like a tsunami of dried peas down a marble
Corridor.

The last balloon deflates slowly
Resembling an ag-ed breast
The coloured string we tied
Around the wall bracket
Will still hang there, neglected
Until August, fading by degrees
With each rising sun.

[Jemble Fred]

There's never a war when you want one,
There's never a drink when you're dry,
There's never a murderer there in your bath,
And there's nary a

[the midnight watch baboon]

good day to die.

But if you're really unhappy
And thinking of ending it all
Strap on a nice adult nappy
And lay down, and poo, and bawl

Then even if life's still shitty
And you still need a lovely enhance
You can suck on yo mom's pert right titty
As the faeces builds up in yo pants

[Jemble Fred]

Alternatively, buy a kitten.
They're furry, and funny, and nice.
But once they're full-grown,
Kick them out of the home,
Or squeeze out their brains in a vice.

But never adopt a

[Cerys]

Sneering expression
However smug you feel
In your cosy warm life,
Thinking everything
Will be
Easy
And
Secure, because
Each time you think that, I'll be
Laughing at you and your acrostics.

[Ginyard]

A new poem

I'm going to invent a new poem
I'm going to start it right now
I've done fuck all today
'cept piss, eat and play
so now must make good
with some words that now should
make up for my lazy display

-----------

Titles

Lord of the Duchess of Baron
Sir Izambard Kingdom Tom Darren

[the midnight watch baboon]

These knights of the realm
Don't seem REAL to Me
They're less about jousting
Then elaborate housing
And blowjobs shared with Turkish businessmen


In Tooting
Tooting Bec
Not Broadway
St George's Hospital
A real Knight
Who I love so well

[Ginyard]

Lay dead on a slab
His mobile phone
Also dead
Like his mother
Not his real mother
His foster mother
From the low part
Of High Barnet

[Cerys]

Or was it the high part
Of Low Barnet?
Alas!
I know not,
For I am but a stranger
Around these parts
Whether high
Or
Low

[Ginyard]

She was a scrubber
A dead scrubber
But the knight
Called Sir Day
Who lay dead
Like his mother
Not his real mother
His foster Mother
From the low part
Of High Barnet
Had been slaughtered
In Hampstead
West
Not Heath

[the midnight watch baboon]

Teeth
'neath Heath
The Chancellor of the Exchequer
Dat stupid pub
in Hampstead Heath
The fools there
I wanna slap 'em
And throw them out
Then hide out in Clapham
Where it's better, no doubt
The Goose and Granite
Something like that
£2 a pint
They'll serve any twat
And their brother,
or Seven Sisters

[Cambrian Times]

You have to be tough
To live in Tufnell Park
And them be hell to pay
In Holloway
If your caught there after dark
So come down
To Camden
And we'll dance on Primrose Hill
And wake the next morning
In Mornington Cresent
Wouldn't that be pleasent?

[Cerys]

I paused
At Lud's gate
As jackdaws chacked,
Unchecked
In sunlight

[the midnight watch baboon]

London curled up and died.

The spirit went up, up north,
to Yorkshire. Aye!
IF you think blue and green should never be seen
Then come to t'dales, it's fockin' serene
Sharp slopes roll gently
Past sheep who look mentally
To Wharfes and Swales and Wensleys and Nidders
Look around now, many other critters
Though mainly sheep
And lichen
and fellas pitchin'
Tents on these slopes
Pegs and guy ropes
Rusticity!
And Rufus Wainwright
Eeeeeee that's right

[Jemble Fred]

Oh shit I forgot
The point of this thread,
A poem a month,
But since April, it's dead.

It's really just a stroke of luck,
That nobody could give a fuck.

[Cerys]

But July!
July!
Nothing extenuate
Simply
That:
July!

[Ginyard]

There once was a poet in a storm
Who corrupted the limerick form
With no sense of style
He injected some bile
And made it too long
But not as long as a pop song
The rhythm and metre began to change
And soon it was clear that it was quite out of range
For longer and longer and longer it most certainly had become
Like a snake who had just eaten another snake and doubled in length rather than width
Longer even than one of Prince Charles' lectures to the fossil fuel community (well not quite that long)
So with a reluctant heart the poet forced himself to shrink it back to its suitable size bit by bit
Like a backwards time travelling ZX81 that had become too big for its boots
Not that ZX81s could ever get away with the steel-toe cap
They'd be better off with an Imelda Marcos reject
Or a pink number from VivaLaDiva
Or maybe no shoes at all
That sounds fair
Doesn't it?
Well?

[the midnight watch baboon]

It aint fair
Please buy us sweets
Then all's good

The Latent Trisexuality of all VerbWhores: An Awesome Rock Opera Aside to Poetical Poo

Boom! dah! Boom Boom Dah! [x16]

[the midnight watch baboon]

Freddie! Ah Freddie!
Growing up in slacks musta been kinda tough
Like the first wicked taste of slimy hooker muff
Wearing Beatle bag-man bully-o stereo
Mmmm ballah ballah bing
Smoking de herb learning a verb a day
Like piss and its urea-type qualities
A budgah budgah bow
Sing sing sing sing sing
Trying to wank over teletext
That's my recollection
Of ninety-four
The untraceable one-way internet

[Jemble Fred]

I love to sing-a,
About the moon-a and the June, and Jerry Springer,
And the character of Slinger,
Played by Bruce Forcyth after Leonard Rossiter died,
It wasn't very good, but it filled him with pride.

Jazz hands, yeah.

Bruce is alive,
Bruce is alive,
Bruce is alive but