What poem do you want read at your funeral?

[Venod]

Around the block – against the clock
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock
Running out of breath – running out of socks
Rubber on the road… flippety flop
Non-skid agility… chop chop
No time to hang about
Work out health fanatic… work out!

The crack of dawn he’s lifting weights
His tell-tale heart reverberates
He’s high in polyunsaturates…
Low in polysaturates…
The Duke of Edinburgh’s award awaits
It’s a man’s life
He’s a health fanatic… so was his wife

A one-man war against decay
Enjoys himself the hard way
Allows himself a mars a day
How old am I – what do I weigh
Punch me there… does it hurt… no way
Running on the spot don’t get too hot
He’s a health fanatic, that’s why not

Running through the traffic jam – taking in the lead
Hyperactivity keeps him out of bed
Deep down he’d like to kick it in the head
They’ll regret it when they’re dead
There’s more to life than fun
He’s a health fanatic – he’s got to run

Beans greens and tangerines
And low cholestrol margarines
His limbs are loose, his teeth are clean
He’s a high-octane fresh-air fiend
You’ve got to admit he’s keen
What can you do but be impressed
He’s a health fanatic… give it a rest

Shadow boxing – punch the wall
One-a-side football… what’s the score… one-all
Could have been a copper… too small
Could have been a jockey… too tall
Knees up, knees up… head the ball
Nervous energy makes him tick
He’s a health fanatic… he makes you sick

 

[Drago]

There was a young man named Enus...

 

[Twinks]

It's hard to lose old friends
It's hard to lose all hope
But it's harder still to find the towel
When your eyes are full of soap.

Sorry but there really is a reason why this means a lot to me

 

[Archie_tect]

Don't look so vexed,
You're next.

 

[Tin Pot]

No stop signs
Speed limit
Nobody's gonna slow me down
Like a wheel
Gonna spin it
Nobody's gonna mess me around
Hey satan
Payin' my dues
Playin' in a rockin' band
Hey mumma
Look at me
I'm on the way to the promised land

 

[Shut Up Legs]

 

[Crackle]

Fox in socks. Read without a stumble at speed or they have to start again.

 

[Slioch]

She stood on the bridge at midnight
Her lips were all a'quiver
She gave a cough
Her leg fell off
And floated down the river

 

[Levo-Lon]

No idea...I honestly cant think of one poem...it will be Comfortably Numb as I go through the curtain..

some of the above are good tho..

 

[Venod]

PART ONE……….

This disc concerns those those pouting prima-donnas
Found within the swelling J. Arthur Ranks of the sexational psycle sluts
Those nubile nihilists of the North Circular
The lean leonine leatherette lovelies of the Leeds intersection
Luftwaffe angels locked in a pagan paradise

No cash
A passion for trash
The tough madonna whose cro-magnon face and crab nebular curves haunt the highways of the UK
Whose harsh credo captures the collective libido like lariats
Their lips pushed in a neon-arc of dodgems
Delightfully disciplined, dumb but deluxe
Deliciously deliciously deranged

Twin-wheeled existentialists steeped in the sterile excrements of a doomed democracy
Whose post-nietzschean sensibilities reject the bovine gregariousness of a senile oligarchy
Whose god is below zero, whose hero is a dead boy
Condemned to drift like forgotten sputniks in the fool’s orbit bound for a victim’s future
In the pleasure dromes and ersatz bodega bars of the free world
The mechanics of love grind like organs of iron to a standstill

Hands behind your backs
In a noxious gas of cheek to cheek totalitarianism
Hail the psycle sluts

Go go the gland gringos
For the gonad a-go-go age of compulsory cunnilingusa



PART TWO………..

The dirty thirty
The naughty forty
The shifty fifty
Tthe filthy five
Zips, clips, whips and chains
Wait for you to arrive
Hell’s Angels by the busload
Stoned stupid, how they strut
Smoked woodbines till they’re banjoed
And smirk at the Swedish smut

Life on the straight and narrow path
Drives you off your nut
By day you are psycopath
By night you’re a psycle slut

On a BSA with two bald tires
You drove a million miles
You cut your hair with rusty pliers
And you suffer with the pillion piles
You got built in obsolescence
Oh you got guts
But you don’t reach adolescence
Slow down psycle sluts

Motor cycle Michael
Wants to buy a tank
Only twenty-nine years old
And he’s learning how to fiddle
Yesterday he was in the groove
Today he’s in a rut
My how the moments move
Brut fun psycle sluts

He cacks on your originals
He peepees on his boots
He makes love like a footballer
He dribbles before he shoots
The goings on at the gang-bang ball
Made the citizen’s tut-tut-tut
But, what do you care, piss all
You tell ‘em psycle sluts

Now your boyfriend burned his jacket
Ticket expired
Tyres are knackered
Knackers are tired

You can tell your tale to the gutter press
Get paid to peddle smut
Now you’ve ridden the road of excess
That leads to the psycle sluts

Or you can dine and whine on stuff that’s bound to give you boils
Hot dogs direct from cruft’s
Done in diesel oil
Or the burger joint around the bend
Where the meals thank christ are skimpy
For you that’s how the world could end
Not with a bang but a Wimpy.

 

[Smokin Joe]

The was a young lady from Lunt...

 

[subaqua]

Fox in socks. Read without a stumble at speed or they have to start again.

or Green Eggs and ham , Sam i am

but in all reality if i had to choose poetry it would be

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light


or

And death shall have no dominion.
Dead man naked they shall be one
With the man in the wind and the west moon;
When their bones are picked clean and the clean bones gone,
They shall have stars at elbow and foot;
Though they go mad they shall be sane,
Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;
Though lovers be lost love shall not;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
Under the windings of the sea
They lying long shall not die windily;
Twisting on racks when sinews give way,
Strapped to a wheel, yet they shall not break;
Faith in their hands shall snap in two,
And the unicorn evils run them through;
Split all ends up they shan't crack;
And death shall have no dominion.

And death shall have no dominion.
No more may gulls cry at their ears
Or waves break loud on the seashores;
Where blew a flower may a flower no more
Lift its head to the blows of the rain;
Though they be mad and dead as nails,
Heads of the characters hammer through daisies;
Break in the sun till the sun breaks down,
And death shall have no dominion


No prizes for guessing who the writer was , and certainly no googling for the answer

 

[threebikesmcginty]

Some of these long poems are likely to cause more deaths - I'd be on the phone to The Samaritans or Dignitas if I had to sit through that lot...

 

[Slioch]

Is this the real life
Is this just fantasy
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality..................

 

[subaqua]

Some of these long poems are likely to cause more deaths - I'd be on the phone to The Samaritans or Dignitas if I had to sit through that lot...

mine are not long at all.

there is a famously long one about plant and nadolig