This is excellent, yes? Like Pablo and Tony are VERY Romantic, yeah? I like to say, Tony Broke, I kinda remember the prize was really bestowed by URW or was it Dobbo, now, I'm stuggling to recall...?

Well Tony, it was really nothing on my part but maybe I should give Maczysz Dziedyszycki a bell? But I was thinking if MD posted, then that donut Big Charlie would start a fight or at least be...antagonistic...?

Valentine by Fuller is a favourite of mine and can be heard on YouTube - Spoken by Tom O'Bedlam

http://youtu.be/hv3Pz_o1DQk

HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W.B. **** (1865–1939)....

****

****.

That is Bizarre. (Dual winner 1824, 25)

Why is **** banned? ?

****** heck!

Bring on the Rosy Cheeked Girls by Mike Harding

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_qMpJGM2s3Y

Bring on the rosy-cheeked girls
The smiling ones, the light-footed dancers,
Those that sing with their eyes,
Those with the warm breasts and soft hands,
Those that look deep in the eyes,
Not at the garbage of garb.
Bring on the dark, the fair, the brown as a berry,
Bring them all on with their wet laughing mouths,
The fat, the thin, the short, and the lanky,
But let them be filled of life as a pod with peas,
Let them feel as company comfortable as an old friendly jacket,
young or old,
And most of all... let them be merry.

And then take all the others,
All the tight-lipped, crab-faced, mewling, mithering,
Niggardly, sour-faced, crab-mouthed,
Cold-titted, tight-arced, moaning,
Sullen, frozen-legs-together,
Money-grubbing bitches, and
Take them and heap them together
On some blear and dreary moor
In the howling sleet
And moaning drizzle of November. . . and leave them there,
For it deserves them And they each other.

Then bring on the lads,
The smiling lads,
The open-handed, shoulder-to-the-wheel lads,
Lame dogs helped over stiles lads,
Take a pint, stand a corner lads,
Good laughing lads,
Lads with a quart of life in their hands
And eyes that look straight . . .
Bring on the tall, the short, the long,
The runners, the walkers,
Those that can hammer, those that can turn out a song
Bring on the fat, the thin, the bald and the hairy,
Young or old,
So long as they sup life by the gallon . . .
So long as they’re merry.

Then take all the others,
The sly-eyed, twisty-mouthed grabbers and fumblers,
The shifty-faced, two-tongued, leadswinging lizards,
The snotty-nosed, mardy-arsed bullies
And false friends...
And stick them up to their necks
In the foulest stink-pot of an old bog
You can find... head down...
And leave them there.

But for God’s sake not too near
That moor with all the old ****s...
If they meet up and breed
We’re all buggered.

Horace

Much to his Mum and Dad's dismay
Horace ate himself one day.
He didn't stop to say his grace,
He just sat down and ate his face.
"We can't have this his Dad declared,
"If that lad's ate, he should be shared."
But even as he spoke they saw
Horace eating more and more:
First his legs and then his thighs,
His arms, his nose, his hair, his eyes...
"Stop him someone!" Mother cried
"Those eyeballs would be better fried!"
But all too late, for they were gone,
And he had started on his dong...
"Oh! foolish child!" the father mourns
"You could have deep-fried that with prawns,
Some parsley and some tartar sauce..."
But H. was on his second course:
His liver and his lights and lung,
His ears, his neck, his chin, his tongue;
"To think I raised him from the cot
And now he's going to scoff the lot!"
His Mother cried: "What shall we do?
What's left won't even make a stew..."
And as she wept, her son was seen
To eat his head, his heart, his spleen.
And there he lay: a boy no more,
Just a stomach, on the floor...
None the less, since it was his
They ate it – that's what haggis is.

Havent heard that for ages Cobblaz. Was it one of Spikes?

My favourite toilet wall poem

I wish I was a ring
Upon a ladies hand
So every time she wiped her @rse
Id see the promised land

Life is  he riddle.

Life is the riddle
We are stuck in the middle
To get a medal
Pedal,paddle and saddle up
There will be time for cuddle
And time to ride tidal wave

Don't remain idle
Attack some hurdle
Grapple swaddle raddle life
Pickle tickle tackle life.

Spring is sprung the grass is ris
I wonder where the birdies is
some say the bird is on the wing
but that's absurd
the wing is on the bird

The Shark by Lander Mazeiros.

Now! It is a big shark
It is a giant shark and
It's in the water, in the water
Ya better watch ya step!

"The most important wave he'll ever catch: Surfer frantically paddles to escape the jaws of a huge shark as it comes for him in the pristine waters off Western Australia..."

Fookin' 'eck, like - Headline story and pics on Daily Mail website...!!

Check post at 12 OCT...!

Baldrick:
'Hear the words I sing,
War's a horrid thing,
But still I sing, sing, sing,
Ding a ling a ling.'

There's a Ted Hughes poetry trail in a local Country Park that I often walk round, he's got some good ones.

Not as good as Baldrick's though

Anatole France......a cat named Hamilcar.

It finished

5th line. (referring to Clay's fight with Enery) But there it was that nasty cut

Velasquez
Did that at school for the O Grade.


eh? They've deleted my post of Owen's DULCE ET DECORUM EST.
Why? And so close to Remembrance Day...