Poetry in Motion
The Fornicator by Robert Burns (can be sung too)
Ye jovial boys who love the joys,
The blissful joys of Lovers;
Yet dare avow with dauntless brow,
When th’ bony lass discovers;
I pray draw near and lend an ear,
And welcome in a Frater,
For I’ve lately been on quarantine,
A proven Fornicator.
Before the Congregation wide
I pass’d the muster fairly,
My handsome Betsey by my side,
We gat our ditty rarely;
But my downcast eye by chance did spy
What made my lips to water,
Those limbs so clean where I, between,
Commenc’d a Fornicator.
With rueful face and signs of grace
I pay’d the buttock-hire,
The night was dark and thro’ the park
I could not but convoy her;
A parting kiss, what could I less,
My vows began to scatter,
My Betsey fell — lal de dal lal lal,
I am a Fornicator.
But for her sake this vow I make,
And solemnly I swear it,
That while I own a single crown,
She’s welcome for to share it;
And my roguish boy his Mother’s joy,
And the darling of his Pater,
For him I boast my pains and cost,
Although a Fornicator.
Ye wenching blades whose hireling jades
Have tipt you off blue-boram,
I tell ye plain, I do disdain
To rank you in the Quorum;
But a bony lass upon the grass
To teach her esse Mater,
And no reward but for regard,
O that’s a Fornicator.
Your warlike Kings and Heros bold,
Great Captains and Commanders;
Your mighty Cesars fam’d of old,
And Conquering Alexanders;
In fields they fought and laurels bought
And bulwarks strong did batter,
But still they grac’d our noble list
And ranked Fornicator!!!
Paul Durcan
Sport
There were not many fields
In which you had hopes for me
But sport was one of them.
On my twenty-first birthday
I was selected to play
For Grangegorman Mental Hospital
In an away game
Against Mullingar Mental Hospital.
I was a patient
In B Wing.
You drove all the way down,
Fifty miles,
To Mullingar to stand
On the sidelines and observe me.
I was fearful I would let down
Not only my team but you.
It was Gaelic football.
I was selected as goalkeeper.
There were big country men
On the Mullingar Mental Hospital team,
Men with gapped teeth, red faces,
Oily, frizzy hair, bushy eyebrows.
Their full forward line
Were over six foot tall
Fifteen stone in weight.
All three of them, I was informed,
Cases of schizophrenia.
There was a rumour
That their centre-half forward
Was an alcoholic solicitor
Who, in a lounge bar misunderstanding,
Had castrated his best friend
But that he had no memory of it.
He had meant well – it was said.
His best friend had to emigrate
To Nigeria.
To my surprise,
I did not flinch in the goals.
I made three or four spectacular saves,
Diving full stretch to turn
A certain goal around the corner,
Leaping high to tip another certain goal
Over the bar for a point.
It was my knowing
That you were standing on the sideline
That gave me the necessary motivation -
That will to die
That is as essential to sportsmen as to artists.
More than anybody it was you
I wanted to mesmerise, and after the game -
Grangegorman Mental Hospital
Having defeated Mullingar Mental Hospital
By 14 Goals and 38 points to 3 goals and 10 points -
Sniffing your approval, you shook hands with me.
’Well played, son’.
I may not have been mesmeric
But I had not been mediocre.
In your eyes I had achieved something at last.
On my twenty-first birthday I had played on a winning team
The Grangegorman Mental Hospital team.
Seldom if ever again in your eyes
Was I to rise to these heights.
In praise of Tommy Atkins by Rudyard Kipling
Success to Tommy Atkins, he's a very brave man, And to deny it there's few people can; And to face his foreign foes he's never afraid, Therefore he's not a beggar, as Rudyard Kipling has said.
No, he's paid by our Government, and is worthy of his hire; And from our shores in time of war he makes our foes retire, He doesn't need to beg; no, nothing so low; No, he considers it more honourable to face a foreign foe.
No, he's not a beggar, he's a more useful man, And, as Shakespeare has said, his life's but a span; And at the cannon's mouth he seeks for reputation, He doesn't go from door to door seeking a donation.
Oh, think of Tommy Atkins when from home far away, Lying on the battlefield, earth's cold clay; And a stone or his knapsack pillowing his head, And his comrades lying near by him wounded and dead.
And while lying there, poor fellow, he thinks of his wife at home, And his heart bleeds at the thought, and he does moan; And down his cheek flows many a silent tear, When he thinks of his friends and children dear.
Kind Christians, think of him when far, far away, Fighting for his Queen and Country without dismay; May God protect him wherever he goes, And give him strength to conqner his foes.
To call a soldier a beggar is a very degrading name, And in my opinion it's a very great shame; And the man that calls him a beggar is not the soldier's friend, And no sensible soldier should on him depend.
A soldier is a man that ought to be respected, And by his country shouldn't be neglected; For he fights our foreign foes, and in danger of his life, Leaving behind him his relatives and his dear wife.
Then hurrah for Tommy Atkins, he's the people's friend, Because when foreign foes assail us he does us defend; He is not a beggar, as Rudyard Kipling has said, No, he doesn't need to beg, he lives by his trade.
And in conclusion I will say, Don't forget his wife and children when he's far away; But try and help them all you can, For remember Tommy Atkins is a very useful man.
There once was a man from Devizes
Whose balls were of differing sizes
One was so small you couldn’t see it at all
The other so big it won prizes.
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There once was a man from Leeds
who ate a packet of seeds
within the hour his dick was a flour
and his balls were all covered in weeds.
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There once was a Senator from Mass
Who wanted a strange piece of ass
He lucked up and found it
But screwed up and drowned it
And now his future is past.
There once was a man from Nantucket
with a d**k so long he could suck it
he said with a grin
as he licked off his chin
”if my ear was a c**t I would f**k it.”
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There was a young lady from Brighton
Who had an incredibly tight ‘un
”Heavens Above! It fits like a glove”
”Oh! you ain’t put it in the right ‘un!”
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That recently single dude Martin
told his ex-wife “Since our partin'
I’ve had women and men
several geese and a hen
and a Hoover, and that’s just for startin’.”
Limericks, you’re no ladies.
You’re poetic Bloody Marys
You’re all rhyming couplets
With some timing buttress
And finishing short and curlies. 😘
There once was a woman named Jill
Who swallowed an exploding pill
They found her va**na
In North Carolina
And her tits in a tree in Brazil.
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There once was a man from sprocket
Who went for a ride in a rocket
The rocket went bang
His balls went clang
And he found his d**k in his pocket!
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Two lesbians north of the town
Made sixty-nine love on the ground
Their unbridled lust
Leaked out in the dust
And made so much mud that they drowned.
Roses can be Red
They can also be white
Some people pee in the bed 🛌
In the middle of the night 🌙
Marie Therese was to marry in Chester.
Her mother Teresa Mary, blessed her.
“Well, MT, you're in luck,
Dell’s quite an okay fuck.
I shag him myself when in Leicester. 😘