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General Discussion / Re: The Blind Beggar of Jefferton Green
« Last post by Neil Brooks on March 11, 2021, 03:37:43 pm »Commentary as before. Well done on getting it up - as the actress said to the bishop.
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General Discussion / The Blind Beggar of Jefferton Green
« Last post by Ian Ledward on March 11, 2021, 10:16:41 am »The Blind Beggar of Jefferton Green or Brexitia Deserta
Fore note:
These verses are not intended to reflect the views of the author who wishes to make it clear that he has no political views on the matter whatsoever and is simply reporting what he overheard.
When I was on the Strip Road not many weeks ago,
Looking in the hedgerows to pick the blackthorn sloe,
I passed the village play-park known as Jefferton Green
And heard a plaintive singing voice of a man I hadn’t seen.
“I have two eyes but cannot see, but have two ears and hear.
And what I hear but cannot see, it caused me some great fear.
I fart a lot but am no Trump” as he shifted side to side
“But I didn’t vote for Brexit so have no cause to hide”.
I watched another passer-by throw coins into his hat,
Bend down to mutter something and give his dog a pat.
He continued with his song again, he pitched it high and low
And rocking gently with his dog he swayed both to and fro.
“When I came up to Scotland almost 50 years ago
I harboured bonnie notions of deep, white glistening snow.
But Climate Change has come along and taken all of that
And going out in winter now I seldom need a hat.
Brexiteers and all their ilk are at fault, it must be said,
Like the man slouched in his deckchair, tattooed and off his head.
With greasy lips stuffed full of chips – the classic Brexteer.
A national affront, are those that grunt and swill back fizzy beer.
With double chin and paunch, with that southern English drawl.
Perish the thought of voters like him that hold us all in thrall.
Then there’s that skinny Tory that lounges on the benches
And every word he utters there, you know it **** stenches!
From a lobster to a langoustine, a cockle or a clam,
For the fishermen who wished to leave their votes are now a sham.
And what about the farmers and the price of export lamb?
Poor souls and how confused they were, could not tell pig from ram.
From cul-de-sac characters who voted to leave,
To families and friends still waiting to grieve
My music plays loudly but grates on my soul
They will never see fruit from their sterile goal.
From large down to small you’ve seen nothing yet.
From the land that provides and the seas that are wet.
The price of goods will rise and rise – that’s all your food and wine.
Delays with deliveries, if they come at all – I’m glad if you think it’s all fine.
From the food on your plates to the wine in your hand,
From the humblest of homes to estates of the grand.
The reeking stench of the bold Brexiteer
Is worse than the horse **** that they sell us as beer.
And as for continentals and peoples from afar
They still don’t eat your babies or boil them in black tar.
And never mind those that serve you in far more ways than one.
You’ll wish that they were back again when each of them has gone.
And when you’re lying dying and dying with your lies
Remember all those foreign friends you treated worse than flies.
The cost to us all will quickly get worse
And I know just fine well who will winge, wine and curse.
Food from France now harder to get, from any cross channel store.
That’s how they voted those idiot **** – well they’ve got it all and some more!
From two quid on a gallon or a pound on a loaf
You need no introductions to the Brexiteer Oaf.
And who’s going to build all those hospitals too, promised by the score?
A new one put up every day, who could ask for anything more?
Look at those people all scraping the floor
It’s the gold on the pavements - be quick there’s lots more!
For freedom comes and freedom goes though I find it lifts my bile,
For each and every one of us is a prisoner on this isle.
So if ever you holiday again it’ll cost you through the nose,
A long weekend, a month, a year they’ll hang you by your toes.
And if you ever get away it’s the start of yet more woes.
With extra tax on your plastic cards and all the rest, who knows?
What did you expect from minds full of holes
With their right wing agendas and simpleton’s goals?
With four points to starboard the vote was too close
With far reaching consequence things will get gross.
Names like Farage come eas’ly to mind, Rees-Mog and all their kind
You don’t have to grope to widen the scope and know what they all have in mind.
You know them by their plummy twang, rich with high disdain.
The stench is always hovering there, those bastard sons of Cain.
You know them by their shaven heads, with tattoos on hand and arm
It’s a L.O.V.E. and H.A.T.E relationship that’s sure to do you harm.
There’s nothing ‘Bold Boyish’ about Brexiteers, they’re a bunch of ignorant thugs,
But you’ve got their measure, you saw them a-coming, they took you for a load of daft mugs.
You know them by their accent where ‘mate’ sounds like ‘mite’
And you know by the drivel they speak, it’s a load of utter shite.
Forgive me if you think, I’m being sexist when,
I dwell upon the Brexit male for not all **** are men.
But they’re still a bunch of jerk-offs and you knew that from day one
And I for one won’t rest at night till every one is gone.
Just wait till the dust has had time to get settled.
As ‘For’ or ‘Against’, that’s all of us fettled!”
Don’t blame me!” I heard him then cry. “Don’t blame me, I say!
But know you this for certain, we all will rue the day!”
And after listening to his song, I thought, can he be right?
For our Government wishes well for us and would not feed us shite!
And the fact that so many have died this year of COVID, be it said,
One hundred thousand going up – that’s the number of the dead.
Our government wishes well for us and takes us by the hand
And leads our faltering steps again to our new and promised land.
When I was on the Strip Road not many days ago
Looking up and looking down the road, where did that beggar go?
And as I passed the play-park known as Jefferton Green
Did I catch that lilt again of the man I hadn’t seen?
“I fear I am no prophet but a vision fills my blind eyes,
And when you think what they have done, it comes as no surprise.
They’ll hang them in their dozens, they’ll hang them in their scores.
They’ll chop off all their willies and nail them to their doors.
They’ll tear their tongues from out their mouths, those sons of **** ****,
But that they’ll hang so few of them will be a bloody shame
For they’d turned their coats to inside out when the day of judgement came…”
Jeff Erton
February/March 2021
Fore note:
These verses are not intended to reflect the views of the author who wishes to make it clear that he has no political views on the matter whatsoever and is simply reporting what he overheard.
When I was on the Strip Road not many weeks ago,
Looking in the hedgerows to pick the blackthorn sloe,
I passed the village play-park known as Jefferton Green
And heard a plaintive singing voice of a man I hadn’t seen.
“I have two eyes but cannot see, but have two ears and hear.
And what I hear but cannot see, it caused me some great fear.
I fart a lot but am no Trump” as he shifted side to side
“But I didn’t vote for Brexit so have no cause to hide”.
I watched another passer-by throw coins into his hat,
Bend down to mutter something and give his dog a pat.
He continued with his song again, he pitched it high and low
And rocking gently with his dog he swayed both to and fro.
“When I came up to Scotland almost 50 years ago
I harboured bonnie notions of deep, white glistening snow.
But Climate Change has come along and taken all of that
And going out in winter now I seldom need a hat.
Brexiteers and all their ilk are at fault, it must be said,
Like the man slouched in his deckchair, tattooed and off his head.
With greasy lips stuffed full of chips – the classic Brexteer.
A national affront, are those that grunt and swill back fizzy beer.
With double chin and paunch, with that southern English drawl.
Perish the thought of voters like him that hold us all in thrall.
Then there’s that skinny Tory that lounges on the benches
And every word he utters there, you know it **** stenches!
From a lobster to a langoustine, a cockle or a clam,
For the fishermen who wished to leave their votes are now a sham.
And what about the farmers and the price of export lamb?
Poor souls and how confused they were, could not tell pig from ram.
From cul-de-sac characters who voted to leave,
To families and friends still waiting to grieve
My music plays loudly but grates on my soul
They will never see fruit from their sterile goal.
From large down to small you’ve seen nothing yet.
From the land that provides and the seas that are wet.
The price of goods will rise and rise – that’s all your food and wine.
Delays with deliveries, if they come at all – I’m glad if you think it’s all fine.
From the food on your plates to the wine in your hand,
From the humblest of homes to estates of the grand.
The reeking stench of the bold Brexiteer
Is worse than the horse **** that they sell us as beer.
And as for continentals and peoples from afar
They still don’t eat your babies or boil them in black tar.
And never mind those that serve you in far more ways than one.
You’ll wish that they were back again when each of them has gone.
And when you’re lying dying and dying with your lies
Remember all those foreign friends you treated worse than flies.
The cost to us all will quickly get worse
And I know just fine well who will winge, wine and curse.
Food from France now harder to get, from any cross channel store.
That’s how they voted those idiot **** – well they’ve got it all and some more!
From two quid on a gallon or a pound on a loaf
You need no introductions to the Brexiteer Oaf.
And who’s going to build all those hospitals too, promised by the score?
A new one put up every day, who could ask for anything more?
Look at those people all scraping the floor
It’s the gold on the pavements - be quick there’s lots more!
For freedom comes and freedom goes though I find it lifts my bile,
For each and every one of us is a prisoner on this isle.
So if ever you holiday again it’ll cost you through the nose,
A long weekend, a month, a year they’ll hang you by your toes.
And if you ever get away it’s the start of yet more woes.
With extra tax on your plastic cards and all the rest, who knows?
What did you expect from minds full of holes
With their right wing agendas and simpleton’s goals?
With four points to starboard the vote was too close
With far reaching consequence things will get gross.
Names like Farage come eas’ly to mind, Rees-Mog and all their kind
You don’t have to grope to widen the scope and know what they all have in mind.
You know them by their plummy twang, rich with high disdain.
The stench is always hovering there, those bastard sons of Cain.
You know them by their shaven heads, with tattoos on hand and arm
It’s a L.O.V.E. and H.A.T.E relationship that’s sure to do you harm.
There’s nothing ‘Bold Boyish’ about Brexiteers, they’re a bunch of ignorant thugs,
But you’ve got their measure, you saw them a-coming, they took you for a load of daft mugs.
You know them by their accent where ‘mate’ sounds like ‘mite’
And you know by the drivel they speak, it’s a load of utter shite.
Forgive me if you think, I’m being sexist when,
I dwell upon the Brexit male for not all **** are men.
But they’re still a bunch of jerk-offs and you knew that from day one
And I for one won’t rest at night till every one is gone.
Just wait till the dust has had time to get settled.
As ‘For’ or ‘Against’, that’s all of us fettled!”
Don’t blame me!” I heard him then cry. “Don’t blame me, I say!
But know you this for certain, we all will rue the day!”
And after listening to his song, I thought, can he be right?
For our Government wishes well for us and would not feed us shite!
And the fact that so many have died this year of COVID, be it said,
One hundred thousand going up – that’s the number of the dead.
Our government wishes well for us and takes us by the hand
And leads our faltering steps again to our new and promised land.
When I was on the Strip Road not many days ago
Looking up and looking down the road, where did that beggar go?
And as I passed the play-park known as Jefferton Green
Did I catch that lilt again of the man I hadn’t seen?
“I fear I am no prophet but a vision fills my blind eyes,
And when you think what they have done, it comes as no surprise.
They’ll hang them in their dozens, they’ll hang them in their scores.
They’ll chop off all their willies and nail them to their doors.
They’ll tear their tongues from out their mouths, those sons of **** ****,
But that they’ll hang so few of them will be a bloody shame
For they’d turned their coats to inside out when the day of judgement came…”
Jeff Erton
February/March 2021
3
General Discussion / Rest in Peace - (100 word cliche)
« Last post by Neil Brooks on March 06, 2021, 08:39:15 am »‘One for the road?’
‘You’ll regret it tomorrow.’
‘Go on, take a drink.’
‘I think you’ve had one too many.’
‘I’m as sober as a judge.’
‘Drunk as a skunk more like.’
‘Look who’s talking.’
‘You’re a pig.’
‘Look who’s talking.’
‘It’ll be the death of you.’
‘One more’ll not do any harm.’
‘You’ve already got one foot in the grave.’
‘Me? I’m as fit as a fiddle.’
‘Just don’t come crying to me then.’
‘Strong as a horse I am.’
‘More like weak as a baby.’
‘Pfft! Always have to have the last word.’
‘May you rest in peace.’
‘You’ll regret it tomorrow.’
‘Go on, take a drink.’
‘I think you’ve had one too many.’
‘I’m as sober as a judge.’
‘Drunk as a skunk more like.’
‘Look who’s talking.’
‘You’re a pig.’
‘Look who’s talking.’
‘It’ll be the death of you.’
‘One more’ll not do any harm.’
‘You’ve already got one foot in the grave.’
‘Me? I’m as fit as a fiddle.’
‘Just don’t come crying to me then.’
‘Strong as a horse I am.’
‘More like weak as a baby.’
‘Pfft! Always have to have the last word.’
‘May you rest in peace.’
4
General Discussion / 100 Word Cliche Challenge
« Last post by Neil Brooks on March 05, 2021, 05:20:42 pm »Time flies when you’re having fun. It may be rose tinted spectacles, but it seems like yesterday that I was in the first flush of youth. ‘Make hay while the sun shines’, they said. ‘Sow your wild oats’, they encouraged. 'But if you get a nice young girl into trouble, you should do the decent thing and make an honest woman of her.' That fell on deaf ears and I popped many a cherry without a backward glance. Mark my words though, I’m not one to hide from my responsibilities. A happily married man! Nah! You’ve got to be joking.
5
General Discussion / New Start
« Last post by Neil Brooks on January 31, 2021, 03:37:12 pm »500 to 1500 words
6
General Discussion / Welcome to CreateaForum.com
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