Share   Print  Save   Become a Fan

Well poetry of a sort anyway! I have always been a fan of Hilaire Belloc who did things better, but I had to have a try.

The days are passed when a lucky few
Had really nothing much to do
And passed the time in ways mundane
That would drive the modern man insane
Fresh sparks were vital to their life
To slice the boredom as a knife
So though their lamps were not electric
Their lives were lit by the eccentric
Those precious few with minds bemused
Who kept the others sane amused


The Host


One kept tigers in his hall
Which in the middle of a ball
Ignoring miles of cold buffet
With varied meats upon display
Elected on the local priest
To knock about and later feast
The Host who loved fresh bread and cakes
And thought most vicars pompous fakes
Dismissed the poor man's dying screams
While polishing off a plate of creams
Then begged his guests to thank their Maker
For the continued safety of his baker
And further toast the man with wine
Despite his absence at the time

The Lady

Another lady famed for jewels
And multi painted herds of mules
All luminous in colours bright
For she liked to see them glow at night
Rode one round to friends to dine
Shimmering like a diamond mine
The fact that she wore nothing else
Her hosts put down to being Welsh

The Peer


A peer with a dismissive cry
Disputed only birds could fly
Saying surely it must be sheer fluke
That he the forty second duke
Who owned East England and Kings Lynne
And all the birds that lived therein
A friend of Regal heads all crowned
Was deemed to stay upon the ground
This cannot be he told his son
And I shall prove it can be done
Then with a jaunty casual wave
A gesture common to the brave
Ascended to his highest tower
To demonstrate this new found power
And eager for his flight of bliss
Cast himself in the abyss
A brave brave man observed his heir
As his parent tumbled through the air
Though not I fear a great success
But then he always lacked finesse



The Rajah


An ageing Eastern potentate
Misliking English foods he ate
Dispatched some of his retinue
To bring him back some python stew
Swim fast you lazy bunch of knaves
Or end your idle days in graves
With carcasses of rotting pigs
He smiled and munched some sugared figs
The unhappy men set off in haste
With not a minute left to waste
For though aquatically the best
None had risked so tough a test
Though swimming well the course was long
And soon they all were set upon
Out of the ocean depths so dark
By rabid starved man eating shark
Yet one survived the journey back
Though he had lost most limbs alack
One legged with dish placed on his head
He hopped towards his master's bed
I have it Lord he cried prostrate
Forgive this worm for being late
It matters not replied the Rajah
My tastes have changed and now I'd rather
Have a decent plate of fish
In paper so forget the dish
Now hasten ere I call for whips
And bring me back some fish and chips



The Miser


Lord Harry d'Ersby Milton Downs
Inherited five million pounds
There was a further codicil
Within this not ungenerous will
Assuring should he not catch dropsy
Or some disease from any popsy
Before the age of twenty one
He stood to gain an equal sum
Lord Harry who was then eighteen
And already famed for being mean
Removed himself to the nursery wing
A place where no one had a fling
To play with toys and pass the time
Until his twentieth Auld lang Syne
For weeks Lord Harry curbed his zest
Dividing days tween play and rest
Till bored he finally hit the port
And though his lustful urges fought
He took poor Nanny unawares
And ravished her upon the stairs
Although now old and past her prime
For many years when flushed with wine
She had bedded all that came to hand
If they were old enough to stand
This paragon with greying locks
In truth was riddled with the pox
Lord Harry slowly passed away
Unwilling even then to pay
The small fee from his hoarded wealth
That would have brought him back to health
And so these millions left alone
Were deeded to a canine home