Karaoke Dan

Karaoke Dan
Is your man
For any occasion.
A 5ft 11 caucasian,
Blue eyes, 25,
With a high sex drive,
A fucking big head
And a voice to wake the dead.
He's incredibly shite
But he keeps going all fucking night.

The Boy known at school as "Little Pope"

"Jesus Christ," he said
"Wants the world well fed."
But he had crazy tactics,
Like banning prophylactics.

Good Riddance To Grandad

Grandad was a minstrel,
He sang those "negro" songs.
When pressed on integration,
He said "They don't belong".

Grandad was a minstrel,
He blacked up every day.
When dad married a black girl,
Grandad moved away.

The Chugger's Lament

Oh, why do you ignore me so?
All I want's your time, you know.
Just time enough to help someone,
Five minutes and we'll be done.
I know you've got a train to get
And may be in a lot of debt.
But millions are worse off than you
And I've this fucking job to do.

Theresa Meets The Love Of Her Life

She loved Morten Harket
And found love in a supermarket.

By the frozen peas,
She met her new squeeze,
As the radio played Take On Me,
She bought one, got one free.

His name was Keith,
He had gaps in his teeth,
But a lovely kind heart
And six cherry Bakewell tarts.

Cockney Love Poem For Valentine's Day

You are my sunshine,
My diamond,
My queen.

You fit me like a mitten
And this kitten



Is for you,
My Kathleen.

Recycled

He was a bin man from Tring,
Who made his fortune impersonating Sting,
Then lost it again on the gee gees.
He tried to make a comeback doing the Bee Gees,
But was laughed off stage.
So he went back to earning a humble wage
And can be seen on the bins,
Carrying the bottles and tins,
Throwing them in the truck.
And nobody gives a fuck.

Mild Beryl

Not hot like a vindaloo,
It takes a lot to warm her.
Our Beryl's mild and lovely too,
Just like a creamy korma.

Last year she met a chap named Jack,
Who was a good friend to her.
But played around behind her back,
As he started to woo her.

Beryl's son said "Jack's a fake,
Unfaithful and conniving."
She looked down at her walnut cake,
Then she stuck the knife in.

She slashed it into tiny crumbs
As Jack entered the kitchen.
She aimed the knife for Jack's old plums,
Her fingers really itching.

She gave a growl and bared her teeth,
This woman had turned feral.
She chased Jack all over the heath,
No more mild Beryl!

My Old Man's A Wanker

My old man's a wanker,
He wears a wanker's hat,
He wears Stringfellow trousers,
And he lives in a penthouse flat.

He shags birds decades younger,
He snorts cocaine for fun.
It's only for the money
That I play the loving son.

Last Orders At The Bar, Please

I'm drunk and I'm dizzy,
My cider is fizzy,
My nuts are spread out on the bar.

Last orders are ringing,
An angel is singing,
Beckoning me from afar.

Perhaps not celestial,
The voice is more bestial!
It's Trudy, my very best mate.

She's growling, "Oi, Steph!
Are you bleedin' deaf?
If you don't sink that pint we'll be late!"

The IT Man

The IT man fucked up my life
On the twelfth of May.
I stabbed him with my paper knife,
Now I've been put away.

The program that he promised was
Too good to be true.
Eleven months I suffered cos
He hadn't got a clue.

That bloody man drove me to drink,
His work was so unstable.
He drove me to the fucking brink
Of yanking out the cable.

As I logged on that fateful day,
He got my evil look.
Not only had he turned me grey,
He'd blocked me from Facebook!

Beryl Bombshell

I am currently in the process of writing some more poems which I will attempt to publish with Lulu sometime this year. The best of the poems on this blog and my Rock 'n' Pop Stew blog will be included in the book. I feel I have come to a crossroads in my writing life. Do I turn left, or right? Or do I indeed go backwards or forwards?

One thing I do know. I'm not going to stand still and get run over!

Toilet Trained

Every time he takes a piss
He whistles some old hymn.
God looks down and helps him miss
The outside of the rim.

Scouse Love Poem (To Celebrate The European Capital Of Culture 2008)

I love the bones of you,
I love the north, south, east and west of you,
I know the best of you
Is still to come,
My love.

Band Of Gold

"Cut the cake! Cut the cake!"
I name this marriage "dead".
Why don't we just pack up now
And knock it on the head?

They won't last, he's not the sort
To do things round the flat.
She's not the kind of woman
Who'll be satisfied with that.

They'll be at each other's throats
Before the month is done.
They've both got tempers on them,
They don't argue for fun.

He listens to his indie rock,
An avid Spurs supporter.
She prefers some Simply Red
And going round Bluewater.

Her girlie nights out coincide
With his lads' beer soirees.
They never go to the same bars,
Neither really worries

Where the other is at night,
If alive or dead.
Their social lives are separate,
The only thing they share...
Is a bed!

Bad Mixer

Last night I tried some gin,
I poured it in the glass,
I tipped some tonic in.
Tonight, I think I'll pass.

Amy's Got To Pay Out

Nothing stirred, not a spoon,
As Amy turned the light on.
As cold as stone sat Bet and June,
In their living room in Brighton.

The table set for tea for two,
Two for tea, delicious.
But this was a deadly brew.
Deadly, not nutritious.

The sisters' poison took its time,
By all accounts an hour.
On their lips, an awful slime,
Their faces white as flour.

Her aunties dead, did Amy weep!
Her tears ran cold and bitter.
For no-one would come as cheap
As these two babysitters.

Margaret Thatcher's Christmas

She eats her breakfast prunes and
In her Christmas stockings,
Are ten toes tapping tunes and
Two knobbly knees a knocking.

The Commute

25 years of there and back,
15 more to go.
All those journeys of clickety clack,
Do I mind? Well, no.

Everyone keeps themselves to themselves,
For which I'm bloody chuffed.
I don't want fuckers attempting to delve
Into my personal stuff.

We all avoid all eye contact,
We're not on nodding terms.
The only things we share, in fact,
Are various nasty germs.

There's no First Class, no trolley snacks,
It's first to get on, first to sit.
With carriages full from front to back,
You wait until work for a shit.

The Chinese Restaurant

In the Chinese restaurant,
You can have just what you want.
Duck or chicken, tofu, beef,
All you need's a set of teeth.
Real or false, it doesn't matter,
If you can bite through that thin batter
To masticate the rubbery squid,
Just like that old woman did.
The one whose dentures, so I'm told,
Are heading for the finger bowl.

The Family Brown

"It's your nan and grandad's 40th year
So get your fucking arse in gear.
We're off to get our photos took
For nan and grandad's photo book.

Wash your face and comb your hair,
Don't give me that gormless stare.
Your nan and grandad want you happy,
Not all glum and dumb and dappy."

"OK, I'll be the perfect son
(I don't mind having my photo done).
But don't you think there's nothing creepier
Than a modern family pictured in sepia?"

The Good Samaritan

The more he saw to all her needs,
The more she called his number.
The more he practised goodly deeds,
The more she did encumber.

It's All In The Wrist Action

The missus has a fractured wrist.
It didn't break when she was pissed.
It just came out of the blue,
As accidents tend to do.

But try explaining to the nurse,
Who has seen some even worse,
"I haven't had a drink or ten."
She's thinking, "Here we go again."

I know that you have seen them all
And most of them are drunken falls,
But 'fore this woman you chastise,
Should not you really breathalyse?

Great Yarmouth Pier (Before The Storm)

Great Yarmouth's pier smells of fat,
But there's nothing unusual 'bout that.
It stretches right out on the sands
And features shite comics and bands.

Alf's Mum Pays A Visit

Dragged along by his wife to the theatre in town,
Alf sat back with a sceptical frown.
He didn't believe in those spirits at all,
Yet now he was here in the very front stall.

His hair well-coiffured, his shirt shouting loud,
The man on the stage cast his eye in the crowd.
It landed on Alf, whose face became red.
He avoided the gaze of the man who then said,

"There's somebody here in the very first row,
The sweet loving son of a woman named Mo.
The man Mo adores has a fat, hairy arse.
The message she sends is that all things must pass."

Alf's face transformed from deep crimson to white.
He turned and then ran from the theatre in fright.
For although his mum was full of platitudes,
Alf was just eight when she'd last seen him nude.

Doris Rides Into Town

Doris Spokes, the cycling psychic
Pedaled to the shops one day.
When slowed down by PC Mike Dick,
Said, "I know what you will say."

"You're going to say you want to pick
The brains of your dead Uncle Ron."
"No," he said, "you're fucking nicked,
For cycling with no knickers on."