Poets' Day

Discussion in 'Diamond Lil's' started by Passed-over_Loggie, Oct 2, 2013.

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  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.
  4. :
    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
    • Like Like x 1
  5. 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
  6. Roses are red
    No doubt of that
    But violets are violet
    Not blue, you twat!
    • Like Like x 1
  7. Oh Lord above
    Send down a dove
    With wings as sharp as razzors
    To cut the throats of them there blokes
    Whot sells bad beer
    To sailors
  8. First they are getting this massive FRI, now Petty Officer Engineering Technicians even get their own fucking day.

    What more do they bloody want?
  9. 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.

    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
    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.
    Last edited: Oct 2, 2013
  11. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Roses are red
    Ivy is twisted
    Bend over love
    You gonna get fisted
    • Like Like x 2
  12. exJenny

    exJenny War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Who said romance was dead?

    Posted from the Navy Net mobile app (Android / iOS)
  13. If at first you don't succeed
    Pull your Foreskin o'er your heed
    and whistle doon your cock
  14. Blackrat

    Blackrat War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    Quite. There's nothing better than giving a length of flex, some sniper tape and a butt plug to a lady on Valentines day.
  15. Behold! For TODAY is the true meaning of POETS day!


    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:
  16. exJenny

    exJenny War Hero Moderator Book Reviewer

    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)
  17. I bet it does
  18. 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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