Poets' Day

#1
I didn't realise until I was informed by Radio 4 that today is National Poets' Day; National Poetry Day | Forward Arts Foundation .

That surprised me as it's only Wednesday. What Jack type poems would you chaps nominate?

The only one I could think of was;

The boy stood on the burning deck,
his feet were covered in blisters.

His pants were frilly round the bottom.
for they were his sister's.

Boom, boom; I thank you.
 
#2
The boy stood on the burning deck,
The crew were playing cricket,
The captain swung and missed the ball,
And it hit his middle wicket.

I fang yew
 
#3
PO Loggie:

There is no way
It's Poets' Day today.
As Sarah was forced to avow,
It's actually tomorrow!

P.S. This year's theme is 'water' (link) so you have 24 hours to 'clean up' your act and produce something appropriate.
 
#5
:
:
Poem? Water?

IMHO You'd have to travel a looong way to better this classic:

Gunga Din




You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
"You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
"Hi! Slippy hitherao!
"Water, get it! Panee lao
"You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."
The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted " Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
"You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
"You put some juldee in it
"Or I'll marrow you this minute
"If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is mussick' on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire,"
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-ranks shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I sha'n't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled, An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water green.
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
"'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen"
"'E's chawin' up the ground,
"An' 'e's kickin' all around:
"For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink" sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone
Where it's always double drill and no canteen.
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!


RUDYARD KIPLING 1865-1936
 
#6
She stood on the bridge at midnight
picking blackheads from her crutch
she said Jack I've never had it
he said no, no f*****g much

She stood on the bridge at midnight
throwing snowballs at the moon
she said Jack I've never had it
but she spoke to f*****g soon

Jack stood in the bay at mid day
he had fallen for her trap
she had said she'd never had it
now he's got the f*****g clap
 
#9
First they are getting this massive FRI, now Petty Officer Engineering Technicians even get their own fucking day.

What more do they bloody want?
 
#10
First they are getting this massive FRI, now Petty Officer Engineering Technicians even get their own ****ing day.

What more do they bloody want?
We want recognition for all the rack time served. Like bombers get their own pin. WE's should have a pin in the shape of a rack.
 
#12
THE CURSE OF TULULA JOHNSON-BLACK.

There is a dirty stinking piss house to the north of Waterloo,
And another one for ladies further down,
They are owned by Sally Tucker, for a shilling you can **** her,
You can sleep with her for only half a crown.

Though she is known as Sally Tucker by those who used
to ****er,
Her real name was Tulula Johnson-Black.
She handled many a tool, since the day that she left school
And she'd made a darn fine living on her back.

One night she had a rattle by a sailor from Seattle,
And she wondered why he held her long and close,
But when he finished screwing, she knew what he was doing,
He'd left her with a cruel and proper dose of Clap.
Now she gave it to her brother, who gave it to their mother,
who gave it to Reverend Percy Brown, who gave it to his cousin,
who gave it to a dozen, and now it's half way around the bleeding
town.
At last, it came to pass,
It reached sailor's arse,
And travelled half way up his bleeding back,
It rotted and it festered, his very life it pestered
And he`s a better man than I` am Gunga Din.
 
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#17
Behold! For TODAY is the true meaning of POETS day!

Piss-Off-Early-Tomorrows-Saturday.

Yesterday was SHIT day. So-Happy-Its-Thursday. Why? Because it is the day before POETS day.

Hate Fridays. The thought that there are two whole days before I can get back to the solitude of work is depressing . . . . :angel12:
 

exJenny

War Hero
Moderator
Book Reviewer
#18
Behold! For TODAY is the true meaning of POETS day!

Piss-Off-Early-Tomorrows-Saturday.

Yesterday was SHIT day. So-Happy-Its-Thursday. Why? Because it is the day before POETS day.

Hate Fridays. The thought that there are two whole days before I can get back to the solitude of work is depressing . . . . :angel12:
Hump day is a nice to have but much improved if SHIT day is leading into ELWE and knocking POETS day into next week.


Posted from the Navy Net mobile app (Android / iOS)
 
#20
Oh dear what can the matter be, by Victoria Wood makes I larf, it isnt Jack, but it reminds me of runs ashore and the grollies you'd meet therin.
 

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