poetrywall

There are bad times just around the corner,

The horizon’s gloomy as can be;

There are black birds over

The greyish cliffs of Dover,

And the rats are preparing to leave the BBC.

We’re an unhappy breed

And very bored indeed

When reminded of something that Nelson said,

And while the press and the politicians nag, nag, nag

We’ll wait until we drop down dead.

To hear the song go to

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCZCv98XKFs

R L Stevenson     To Any Reader

To Any Reader       Robert Louis Stevenson

As from the house your mother sees

You playing round the garden trees,

So you may see, if you will look

Through the windows of this book,

Another child, far, far away,

And in another garden, play.

But do not think you can at all,

By knocking on the window, call

That child to hear you. He intent

Is all on his play-business bent.

He does not hear; he will not look,

Nor yet be lured out of this book.

For, long ago, the truth to say,

He has grown up and gone away,

And it is but a child of air

That lingers in the garden there.

Seaside Golf                                         John Betjeman

How straight it flew, how long it flew,

It cleared the rutty track

And soaring, disappeared from view

Beyond the bunker’s back –

A glorious, sailing, bounding drive

That made me glad I was alive.

And down the fairway, far along

It glowed a lonely white;

I played an iron sure and strong

And clipp’d it out of sight

And spite of grassy banks between

I knew I’d find it on the green.

And so I did. It lay content

Two paces from the pin;

A steady putt and then it went

Oh, most securely in.

The very turf rejoiced to see

That quite unprecedented three.

Ah! seaweed smells from sandy caves

And thyme and wind in whiffs.

In-coming tide and North Sea waves

Slapping the sunny cliffs,

Lark song and sea sounds in the air

And splendour, splendour eveywhere.

There are bad times just around the corner Noel Coward

There are bad times just around the corner,

There are dark clouds hurtling through the sky,

And its no good whining

About a silver lining

For what we know from experience that they won’t

Roll by.

With a scowl and a frown

We’ll keep our peckers down,

And prepare for depression and doom and dread,

We’re going to unpack our troubles from our old kitbag,

And wait until we drop down dead.

From John O’ Groats to the Solway Firth

They’re sobbing themselves to sleep;

The shrieks and wails

In the glens and dales

Have even depressed the sheep.

Green Energy’s a source of mirth,

The future of oil is blurred,

Turbines are stilled

For lack of wind

And Solar’s a dirty word.

The fat-cat bankers tell it

Like greedy ways are gone,

But if we ask for credit,

They say, ‘Never, nix, there’s none.

Hurray-hurray-hurray!

Suffering and dismay.

There are bad times just around the corner,

And the outlooks’s absolutely vile;

There are Home Fires smoking

From Windermere to Woking,

And we’re not going to tighten our belts and smile, smile, smile.

At the sound of a shot

We’d just as soon as not

Take a hot-water bottle and go to bed:

We’re going to untense our muscles till they sag, sag, sag

And wait until we drop down dead.

to hear the Master sing this click on:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lCZCv98XKFs

The Twa Corbies        Anonymous

As I was walking all alane,

I heard twa corbies makin’ a mane:

The tane unto tither did say,

‘Whar sall we gang and dine the day?’

‘In behint yon auld fail dyke

I wot there lies a new-slain knight:

And naebody kens that he lies there

But his hawk, his hound and his lady fair.

His hound is to the hunting gane

His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame,

His lady’s ta’en anither mate,

So we may mak’ our dinner sweet.

Ye’ll sit on his white hause-bane,

And I’ll pike out his bonny blue e’en:

Wi’ ae lock o’ his gowden hair

We’ll theek our nest when it grows bare.

Many a one for him maks mane,

But nane shall ken whar he is gane:

O’er his white banes, when they are bare,

The wind sall blaw for evermair.’

Corbies-crows: fail-turf: hause-bane-

Collar-bone: theek-thatch

There are bad times just around the corner Noel Coward

There are bad times just around the corner,

There are dark clouds hurtling through the sky,

And its no good whining

About a silver lining

For what we know from experience that they won’t

Roll by.

With a scowl and a frown

We’ll keep our peckers down,

And prepare for depression and doom and dread,

We’re going to unpack our troubles from our old kitbag,

And wait until we drop down dead.