Poets Cornered

Attack Of The Killer Trousers

Thu, 19 Nov 2009 21:14:49 +0100

Have you ever noticed anything sinister about the trousers old men wear.

Doctor Doctor

Fri, 13 Nov 2009 21:34:44 +0100

As the government pumps up the hype on the swine flu pandemic, the better to help its major donors in the phramaceutical industry I thought it was a good time to revive this old ditty:

Doctor Doctor

You might also like to find out the simplest way to manufacture a pandemic. Learnhow in Need A Crisis

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Kiss and Sell

Sun, 30 Aug 2009 16:36:48 +0200

What is a glamour model to do when her boobies start to droop. A girl has to earn a crust somehow and when the main item on the CV reads "Getting my tits out for the boys" it tends to narrow one's options a little.

Read how Fabulous Felicity solved the problem in Kiss and Sell

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Ode To Hazel (in the style of E.J. Thribb)

Thu, 04 Jun 2009 15:43:50 +0200

So farewell Hazel
Blears.
The manner of your leaving
was so typical of a ginge.
You had to whinge
about being picked on.
I will remember you,
for what it's worth, you were
always my favourite Smurf.
But losing you Hazel Blears
will cause few tears.

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Freedom retreats with its arse on fire as Banana's poem reveals.

Mon, 12 Jan 2009 15:46:09 +0100

Over a year of inavtivity on this blog, I'm surprised it is still here.

Well I haven't done much myself recently but can recomment the prolific and talented Banana to lovers of comic verse.

Try this as an introduction, a story that will strike a chord with many parents of grown up, unattached children (and hopefull a few grown up children will take it on board too - ours in particular.

De Problem With Defooing

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Earth Strikes Back

Tue, 07 Aug 2007 16:43:47 +0200

Check out Poetry Life and Times August 07 issue and read the inteview with Ian Thorpe on the role of protest poetry in the battle against climate change.

Poetry Life and Times

Also check out some thought provoking poems at Authorsden:

Peccavimus
African Ambition

Feel The Burn

The Offcomer

Have a look at my sweetie Janet Caldwells interview and poems too:

5 degrees to separation

EJTrad

Poets Cornered Returns with The Tardy Miss T.

Sun, 21 Jan 2007 17:52:56 +0100

It took a long time to decide what to do with this blog, I am not such a prolific poet that I could post a new poem a day (or even one a week)even were the blog not restricted to comic verse.

It finally struck me, blog other people's amusing poems.

So let's start off with A Prayer For The Late Lissa T. written by a lady who is sure she will be late for her own funeral.

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A Hippie’s Solstice by Brother Bastion

Mon, 26 Jun 2006 16:36:50 +0200

A Hippie’s Solstice
by Brother Bastion

‘twas midsummer’s morning on Salisbury Plain
while waiting for sunrise on the solstice day
all around the great henge Druids congregated,
their anticipation made the dawn seem belated.
Suddenly on the horizon appeared one single ray,
I looked to my mate Pigpen on the grass where he lay
saying “rise up good Pigpen for the Solstice is here.”
“Fuck off hippie,” he said, popping another beer.

Check out Brother Bastion’s music at MySpace

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Poetry Life and Times

Thu, 04 May 2006 16:13:52 +0200

This month sees a relaunch for British poetry e-zine Poetry Life and Times under the editorship of Robin Ouzman Hislop.

I am featured along with other poets bringing vetry different styles from around the world. The mag had been stagnant for a while as pressure of work weighed increasingly heavily on the previous editor, Sara Russell. Fortunately Robin, like me, is a gentleman of leisure these days so no likely intrusions from the increasingly frenetic world of the workaholic society.

I hope you get time to check out the mag, bookmark it, and maybe even consider submitting your work for a future issue.

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Fires of Love (Beltane)

Mon, 01 May 2006 16:43:39 +0200

Tried to post this yesterday but it has not showed up. The servers are so slow at the moment it probably timed out.

Not a comedy poem but one for my pagan friends, with a brief description of what Beltane is all about for the "infidels."

Fires of Love

Hope to get poets coirnered back online soon but finding people willing to contribute is soooo difficult and I can't expect half a dozen people to keep it going.

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Someone keeps visiting

Tue, 07 Feb 2006 19:13:48 +0100

One or two hits every day mean the site is getting visited. It coulod be a search engine spider of course...
I will be starting this project again very soon, all that is holding me up at the moment is trying to work out how to make it fly and bring contributing poets the audience they deserve.

But I am getting there.

Cheers
Ian

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Apology

Sat, 24 Sep 2005 18:29:41 +0200

Sorry for absence folks, back in a few days.
Ian

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Horizon News by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Wed, 21 Sep 2005 17:58:02 +0200

A newcomer today, with a dark and sardonic poem. Well its been that kind of a week.

Horizon News.
by Robin Ouzman Hislop

Nobody wants to say
New Millennium
Got off in a bad way.

No sugar for the coolies,
Government shortage of oil,
To pay or not to pay.

But O brave new world
In the name of your host et al
Your legacy's crashed.

robin ouzman hislop 2005

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rickle Down Theory by John de Roe

Sun, 18 Sep 2005 18:51:16 +0200

a rich man
steps in a dog-turd
on his doorstep,
swears at a tradesman
who has called to
present his bill

the tradesman
is unctious, but then
sacks his workman.
a good man who
is not to blame
for his sad demeanour

the workman is bitter
he beats a beggar
who lives on the street
has no home or family
holds no position
and can go no lower

the beggar kicks out
at a passing dog
he kicks out his anger
he kicks at injustice
a rich man's injustice
that has trickled down to him

the dog has no reason,
no means of stating his case,
feels pain, instinctively knows
where that kick got started.
He shits on a doorstep.
The rich man's doorstep.

Check out Beloved Succubus a gothic horror poem with audio

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English Haiku by Michael St Mark & Ian Thorpe

Sat, 17 Sep 2005 17:41:17 +0200

NOTE: Haiku are a Japanese poetic form consisting of seventeen syllables arranged in lines of 5,7 and 5 syllables. A true haiku conforms to a philosophical definition too, in fact a Japanse - American poet of my acquaintance holds the opinion that haiku can never work properly in English because it is a verbose language where as Japanese is a highly nuanced language with a completely different structure. Undeterred, your resident intrepid adventurers Mike St. Mark and Ian Thorpe plunged into the deep end...

1. Haiku in English

Haiku are fine things
but not always well suited
to the rules of Eng...

2. 'ear 'ear

Do old mens' ears grow?
Or is it their heads that shrink?
Ask them; they won't 'ear.

3. Disconnection

A butterfly flaps
its wings in the rain forest,
that's all, la,la,la

4 To The Poet Laureate - Poetry on Motion

Poet Laureate?
He is not a poet and
he does not know it

5. England

England, my England.
Held up in a gridlock I
miss the soaps again

6. Haiku to Autumn (after Keats)

Season of mists and
mellow fruitfulness. Christmas
in shops already.

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Stop Trackback Spammers

Fri, 16 Sep 2005 19:12:04 +0200

We have all been annoyed by the outbreak of trackback spammers. This is just a ruse by people to zonk their site up the search engine ratings and is not personal so nothing to worry about. Each trackback they do creates a link from your page to theirs thus zapping up their page rating score in Search Engine listings.
To stop it:
Open your [Blogs] tab on the taskbar above your workspace. All your blogs are shown in a list
For each blog in turn:
Click on the (Settings) icon
When the page opens look along the task bar for the [publishing] tab and open it.
Scroll down until you find the Trackbacks checkbox. It will be set to allow trackbacks. Click on the box so that it is clear. Trackbacks on your blog are now disallowed and the robots these spammers are using should not be able to function in your page code.

If you find any of the above makes your mind conjure up pictures of little pink mice dancing the can can just mail me.
Also spread this info around to your friends.
Power To The People
Ian

NOW SCROLL DOWN FOR TODAY'S POST

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The Dinner Plates of Old England by Hereward The Worzel

Fri, 16 Sep 2005 18:50:42 +0200

The Dinner Plates of Old England by Hereward the Worzel

The dinner plates of old England
are forever under threat
by foreign foes of every hue
from Capsicum to Courgette.

Since Romans brought their zucchini
to plant roots in English soil
invaders from around the world
have come, soaked in olive oil.

'taters from the Virginias,
Tomaters from Armenia,
Perfidious papist mange-tout peas?
They gave us schizophrenia.

The zestful, sneering citrus fruits
with their gaudy, ghastly skins
give native apples a complex, but
the fightback now begins.

Mangol Wurzel warriors, warlords
of the noble turnip clan
marshal radishes, parsnips, beets;
plumed carrots march in our van.

We will ally our armies with
hoards of stately English greens,
make kitchen gardens safe again
for honest native beans.

Hark to the hungry Englishman,
and heed his famished shouts
the phlegms can go back to Brussels,
and they can keep their sprouts

We shall drive out the offcomer,
no compote or julienne,
but steaming hunks of boiled grey gunk,
food fit for Xenophon.

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Song of The Flea by Ian Thorpe

Wed, 14 Sep 2005 18:50:55 +0200

Apologies for posting two of my own poems on successive days, but this one is kinds topical:- Ian

If reincarnation is a fact
and we all must visit this earth again
with God or the Devil I'll make a pact,
but one condition I must make plain
I don't want to return as a TV star
a pop singer or Hollywood icon
I would not enjoy life as an athlete,
politician or business tycoon.
When I return to begin my new life
for me it will quite enough
if I can be just a humble flea
and live in Katie Melua's muff.

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Fingers by Ian Thorpe

Tue, 13 Sep 2005 18:17:43 +0200

From the collection A Dummies Guide to the Human Body - not currently available in full. Do not try this at home; the fingers are actually tasty but the nails are horrible :- Ian

Fingers

Fingers hold your sandwiches
And fingers scratch your head
And fingers pick your nose
When you're lying in your bed
Fingers play piano, trumpet or guitar
And fingers make rude gestures
When you're driving in your car
So don't cut off your fingers
They do useful stuff for you
And you might find your lover

Enjoys your fingers too
But if you let your knife slip
Because you are in a hurry
Fingers are quite tasty
If you cook them in a curry

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The Death Machine by Ros Thompson

Mon, 12 Sep 2005 19:05:43 +0200

Very dark irony today, not exactly belly laugh stuff, in fact "Dantean" comes to mind.

The Death Machine
by
Ros Thompson

These evil,
Metal objects.
The things we call,
Cars.

Each one,
A destructive weapon.
Capable of,
Maiming or murdering.

Fuelled by,
A slippery substance.
Cause of,
War and torture.

We don't,
Want to get out.
We're happy,
In our little world.

Don't want,
To think of consequences.
Too selfish,
To think of the suffering.

We drive,
Someone is tortured.
We drive,
And Earth is plundered.

Fragile world,
Polluted by these beasts.
Slowly dying,
Because of us.

Dedicated to those idiots, who make me wonder how they got a licence!
Sorry for the miserable ending!
Rosalind Thompson

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Fashion Sense by David Turner

Sun, 11 Sep 2005 17:55:06 +0200

Fashion Sense
by David Turner

Forget the designer labels
The Versace, the Lacoste,
New Italian handsewn leather shoes
Haute Couture merdé at haute cost.

Forget the snappy numbers
In new-black, new-pink, new-red;
Forget colour co-ordination,
Wear something old instead!

Wear something comfortable
Don't worry about the tear,
Or that the size is not quite right,
Why should anybody care?

Take these ancient moccasins,
They were ambipederous new;
Now they're comfortable in parity
Both left and right feel true.

When you wash a tee shirt many times
The cotton gets quite thin,
And perhaps there is a hole or two
But it feels so soft against the skin.

Twenty years ago, I think,
These leateher shoes were new;
Their grey shine now is scuffed a bit
But rub them and they'll do.

What's the point of wasting money
On new clothes when the old
Are good enough to walk the streets
And still keep out the cold!

Of course sometimes bare necessity
Forces me to the shop*;
Those trousers may be quite intact
And still match that faded top,

But Time has a way of changing things,
Old bodies most of all,
Stomachs tend to grow and grow
And make old trousers far too small!

*THE shop is of course Marks and Sparks!

For any American readers:-
To explain the Britishness of this - Marks and Sparks is the nickname for a
very old British Chain Store called Marks and Spencers - They became famous and successful by buying the London Penny Bazaar Company.Its reputation was made by selling
good quality British Clothing at a reasonable price under the Trade mark of
`St Michael's '
There is still a Marks and Spencer Penny Bazaar stall in - seeNewcastle Covered
Market

http://www.newcastle.gov.uk/vnev.nsf/shoptext/shopmark?opendocument

Well there is a bit of an oblique plug for Michael St Mark there too I guess :- Ian

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Promises, Promises by MonkeyGirl

Sun, 11 Sep 2005 16:20:08 +0200

Promises, Promises
by
MonkeyGirl

You said you would kill it this morning
as it jumped from your full cup of tea,
sploshed about with its feet in your Cornflakes,
raised one leg in a motion to pee;

You said you would kill it this morning
as it leapt on your head from the shelf,
but the look on its face, so adoring,
could you murder this part of yourself?

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Naughty Nursery Rhymes by Jojo

Sat, 10 Sep 2005 17:26:56 +0200

Naughty Nursery Rhymes
by Jojo

Sleight of Hand

Tommy had a tiny tool -
He was a ‘mini-muscle’ man –
He met a pretty girl one day
And slipped it in her hand
She thought it quite romantic,
In her hand she let it linger
But only cos the soppy girl
Believed it was his finger

To See Such Fun

Hey diddle diddle
The cat’s on the fiddle
The dog is having a moon
The rabbit smokes grass
The bird only farts
So who said that pets are a boon?

Full English?

Pinky and Perky sat on a wall
They were a bit confused
‘specially when Humpty Dumpty
Came and looked at them bemused

'Just hold on a minute there’ he said
‘This is my nurs’ry rhyme’
‘’We aren’t doing you no harm’ they said
We’ve been ere all the time’

Then poor Humpty he got proper roused
And things did not calm down
‘I can’t be having all this’ he said
And called King’s lot from town

Well all of the old kings’ horses and,
Of course, all of his men
Came trotting along to sort it out,
They did their best but then….

Well…Seeing as they hadn’t had their
Breakfast – O Woe betide –
They decided on an omelette with
Some bacon on the side

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Cover Me by Janny Caldwell

Fri, 09 Sep 2005 17:49:07 +0200

Ribs, though rarely seen
serve a function. Their purpose?
To hold it together.

Tie and tip hang down
as you cover me
like a safe canopy.

I move collar to lengthen
your shank, taking hold
of your ring and spreader.

Gripping your handle
hard, I try to
push it up; then

relaxing your frame,
collapsing your shank,
I secure you,

my umbrella.

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Twenty Eight by Michael St Mark

Thu, 08 Sep 2005 19:05:28 +0200

Don't wait
For the 28,
Don't waste your precious time
Scuffing heel around a vandalized timetable
This bus never runs on time.

Quicker to walk it and curse
When, near journey's end
28 crawls past
Like a hearse

At least you'll get to your destination
Better late than never
Than to be in bondage to a bus
Than to 28 be tethered

Yes I hate 28
That lame excuse for a bus
And all who drive her and repair her
May their brains turn to puss

The number of times 28 blurred past
Before I reached the stop.
The number of times she was absent for an hour
While I froze at the que top

28's a joke
In the worst possible taste,
Like to see her in the scrapyard
Rusted, smashed
-All laid to waste

Mike St. Mark
fear and loathing in London
thebogblog

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Attack of the KILLER Trousers by Ian Thorpe

Wed, 07 Sep 2005 17:29:06 +0200

ATTACK OF THE KILLER TROUSERS

As a man reaches his dotage
when the fire in his belly is gone
and the lead in his pencil turns to dust
he is not safe to be let out alone.
Old men are hunted by killer trousers,
the mere sight of male wrinklies arouses
this predatory beast
to seek a blood feast
of mature meat before it decomposes.

The waistband creeps steadily higher,
like a big cat stalking its prey.
Hobbled by arthritic stiffness
the oldsters cannot run away
as the trousers close in without any remorse
until the flies open up just like a shark's jaws
as upward they strain
seeking jugular vein
which they bite with irresistible force.

Day after day score of old men
are being eaten alive by rogue pants
whose ultimate aim is world domination.
We must act to stem their advance.
Action must be uncompromising
when you see an old fellow's pants rising,
don't leave Grandad alone,
deed him testosterone
supplement. Make him unappetizing.

Comments

Bedsit Boy by Michael St Mark

Wed, 07 Sep 2005 17:22:35 +0200

BEDSIT BOY

Walking sodium-drenched streets
Lined with converted houses
-Dark dungeons, grotty lairs.
There's a tiny dingy window,
Lit with a nearly shot
Forty watt,
Hanging,
Callan-swinging,
Way up there.

Inside lurks a shadowy figure
Lingering over a black crumby stove,
-Stubbled face, matted hair, encrusted dressing gown-
Pouring out beans on toast.

He's just a bedsit boy
Probably with a degree.
Smelly little Belling in the corner and
Down three flights for a pee

Scrutinizing Time Out's lonely hearts
For a left wing vegetarian soulmate
" Bedsit romantics need not apply"
He begins to masturbate

He's just a bedsit boy,
Probably with a degree,
UB40 Origami for a creased-up laugh and
Up two flights for a bath

Social highspot of the week
-Stained Y Fronts & Levis do a' spin
Down the local ratbag whizzy wash
He sits Sunday supping, and kneading his chin.

Bedsit boys are sighning on
Bedsit boys cry alone
Bedsit boys get a letter from mum,
Nearly every day.

Fear an loathing in London
Cathead

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Thomas the Earthworm by Alan Butterworth

Tue, 06 Sep 2005 18:44:47 +0200

Thomas The Earthworm
by Alan Butterworth

The moon was shinging brightly,
the stars twinkled above,
Thomas The Earthworm smiled at his girl,
they were so much in love.

Thomas The Earthworm said to his girl
Your breath smells, not strong but slight;
"I had baked beans for lunch" she said,
you've been kissing the wong end all night.

Comments

Heaton Dental Clinic by David Turner

Tue, 06 Sep 2005 18:42:47 +0200

Heaton Dental Clinic
by David Turner
7th June 2005

For a mouth numbing experience
Come to Chilli Road -
Get some oral interference
To excite both young and old.

If your head's unsatisfactory
With teeth all badly holed
And they sense you are olfactory
Because your cavities aren't closed,

Then come to Heaton Dental Clinic
For some wonderful new teeth
Though I'm an old and ugly cynic
They gave me great relief.

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Flight of the Bumble Brained by Gilli Stokes

Mon, 05 Sep 2005 17:34:11 +0200

FLIGHT OF THE BUMBLE BRAINED

This thing that i’m feeling; that my senses are stealing,
my mind it is reeling with what am i dealing
so intense that i’m squealing on the floor i am kneeling
while i humbly confront my fate.

While your attention obtaining a hold i am gaining
my emotions not feigning, my power is draining,
my resistance is waning my mind is straining;
to my confusion i hope you relate?

Intensely expressing i find i’m regressing;*
with my mind you are messing while no interest professing
my all i’m confessing* i find it distressing,
when will you my passion sate?

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