I have just listened to the poet laureate (Karen Stuffy – check this for me later, please) reading a poem what she writ to commemorate the death of Henry Allingham.
I couldn’t make it beyond the first 20 seconds.
I am putting it on record here that no matter how famous I may become - if my words here are recognised for their inherent genius and become part of the English Literature ‘A’ level syllabus, if I am chosen as the first president of the People’s Republic of Britain, if I save 50,000 children from suffering and pain, if I discover a cure for Thatcherism – I do not want this dull trollop spouting her gonad-aching tripe on the occasion of my death. In fact, now that Adrian Henri is no longer with us (“You make me feel like a septic bowel, You make me feel like Enoch Powell, Enoch, we hate you”) I could well do without any poetry to mark my contribution to the well being of the planet, thank you very much.
On the other hand, our dear friend Donn has composed a nice essay today. Please sit comfortably while you read it.
When you have done that, try to complete the limerick I began in the title, or send me a nice Clerihew about Ms Chuffy.
8 comments:
Of Carol Ann Duffy
Vicus has had Enoughy
Her rhymes have a tempo
That would not go down well at the Glasgow Empire
Ok it's rubbish but I don't see hundreds of better ones!
This is an ode to Vicus Scurra
Till last week a resident of this borough
He did not suffer twats so gladly
Or words put together badly
There was an old man called Vicus
Who tried his best to amuse us.
Parsing Carol Ann Duffy
Was a bit of a toughie
As her verse made him froth and cus.
Young Vicus was born in Nantucket,
his particle accelerator was so large he could..
Oh wait a minute, I might have another...
Carol offered her honour,
Vicus scoffed at her offer.
So when Vicus died,
Carol wrote something awful.
the end
There was a young lady from Glasgow
Who decided to head south to Harlow
Now being an Essex girl
She was happy to give it a whirl
And now has cards as far as Bromley-by-Bow.
There was a young lady from Glasgow
Who, in Monopoly, scurrying to pass Go
And enhandbag her £200,
Said 'Oh! I've mistaken my ground!
I'm likely to tip over arse go!'
(Just ghosting for Dave.)
You see, the rest of you, Christopher managed to find a rhyme for "Glasgow". You should hang your heads in shame. And pray that the day might come when you, too, have nothing better to do.
There was a young lady from Glasgow,
Who Vicus said really was A cow,
As a Yank I don't know it,
And should probably stow it,
But I'll MILK what she's worth anyhow.
Not having the least idea about something has never inhibited my definite opinion. Thank you for inviting the village idiot who takes deplorable liberties with the English language.
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