Recriminations Against The Hideous Nymphet
In olden days, a glimpse of Hockney
From a floating hearse
Would give you boils and acne
But taste just goes; cultural foes!
The pantomime is living suff'ring
Music Hall is worse
Like proferring a duff ring
To those whose woes no-one knows
I paraphrase the sylvan ballad
'Lady of the Silver Wood':
With thoughts forever coloured
By the tincture of my nose
I trip upon the kite's elastic
As I might and surely should;
As one might chase a lost stick
Or massacre one's many foes
In olden days, the smell of thunder
Vanquished foes from all around
Making everybody wonder
Where redundant lightning goes
Does it hover in the aether?
Does it heaven-ward rebound?
I suspect that it does neither
I shan't say what I suppose.
In olden days, the last Picasso
Left us wreathed in smiles
Let's order an espresso
The same as Pablo chose
We'll drink its dregs in French Morocco
Bound for other climes
In search of a scirocco
The Captain cries out "There she blows!"
Contributors: | Apsley, P, fester, MRQ, (Sam), TG, Grayman, Beefy, hamish, Roland. |
Poem finished: | 25th October 2000. |