"a toast to all things british!"

[goldenrod]

"The British "Banger".

The British "banger",
never loud,
sits on a plate,
well fried, but proud!

Lovingly eaten,
even yet,
in fond memory of a sun,
that never set!

Empires come
and they do go,
and for their being,
what is to show?

Well, in one case,
we surely know,
'tis the British "banger",
in row on row!

How the British "banger",
got its name,
would be slightly risqué,
to explain.

Suffice to say,
it is as yet,
as British as
the British get!

Accompanied by
the common "spud",
in any form that suits
"Me L'ud".

Why, I've even seen it
served as a starter,
this ever faithful,
Chipolata?

There is nothing British
quite so distinct,
as this perfect provender,
once, so distinctly pink!

Extruded into
a hairless skin,
is the 'umble way
it doth begin!

An even grind,
for it is well bread,
pepper and salt,
to anoint its head.

It then looks
a rather pathetic thing,
all twisted up,
into one long string!

But once it reaches
"banger-hood",
its significance
is better understood.

For men of oak,
required its balm,
to strengthen up
a good right arm.

(It is almost twice as good,
of course,
with a tiny blob
of HP sauce!)

Would grimly march
to the trench and war,
carrying the "British banger"
and a "Bangalore"


goldenrod.

[goldenrod]

Shake that Spear!

(seems appropriate for the times!)



Double! Double!
Dow-Jones' in trouble,
I've been burnt!
my dreams are rubble.

The quality of mercy,
full of strain,
As all my wealth,
goes down the drain!

"And, when will we three
meet again,
when we, have to,
Burnham Wood,
in Dunsinane?"

Othello's kin, retracting oil,
will bring all sorts of pots,
off, and to,
the boil!

And we, poor souls,
can only guess,
How much will cost ,
that pound of flesh.

So when our autos
quit the course,
Our cry?,
"My kingdom for a horse!"

A plaintive plea
heard throughout the land,
As at the highway's side,
we stand.

That is the bloody dagger,
I see before,
not dripping crude,
for we have no more!,

Who will supply
this precious balm?
No oil to keep
the "Tempest" calm.

On troubled waters,
none to spread,
Can we spread
Duncan's blood instead?

A fevered cry
"Let's go to war!"
to teach the upstart
Black-a-moor!.

This final act
will not end well,
all actors' fall
into, their own hell!

"Alas!
Poor Yorrick,
I knew him well"!

The skull, no answer,
but a grin!
Now,
too far removed
from mortal sin.

Heavy armor,
weapons' forge,
"Once more,
unto the breach,
dear friends,

for "Dubya" "Exxon"
and "Saint George"!

I see the folly,
all too well.
That,
"All that ends,
may not end well"!!


goldenrod.

[aBIGsheep]

I lol'd. The first poem is really entertaining. It had a real flow to it. I enjoyed it very much.

[goldenrod]

(aBigsheep)

Still miss them! An episode of "Yes Minister" a British TV series had an episode with the "British Banger" under attack from the E.U. From whence came the idea for the piece...#3 in the sequence while now follow!!!

goldenrod.

[goldenrod]

Ain'it all a bleedin' shaim!


It's the rich
wot gets the livin',
all that's wealf,
they do obtain.
It's the poor,
wot ends up shafted!
Ain'it all, a bloomin' shaim!

If made of gold,
then we can't 'ave it!
For themselfes,
all gold they claims.
It's the same
the 'ole "smoke" ovah
ain'it all, a bleedin' shaim!

All those toffs
dahn in the city,
all them blokes
wiv shinny canes,
wiv their "spats"
an' rolled up "brollies"
an' their 'oity-toity names!

Pinch a crum'
an'it's called fevin'!
Into the "slammah",
bloody quick!
As fer them
wot scarfs the billions,
they always gets, away wiv it!

If yer wants
yer share a' plundah,
get heducated bloody fast!
It's only them
wot 'as the learnin'
'oo don't get pitched,
ahgt on their harse!

Nah, if it's the, steady ready,
wot yer be aftah,
an' ye'r not,
"to the mannah born"
speaks like me
an' drops yer haiches
all yer life yer will be scorned!

They'll say yer 'ave been bone-idle,
since the year,
yer first birfday came!
good fer nuffink, ragamuffin!

Ain'it all, a bleedin' shaim!

goldenrod...born within the sound of them there Bells!

(Not transposed into 100% true cockney dialect, let alone, "god forbid," cockney rhyming slang! So that the "hoity-toity" among you, can still figure it out!)

[goldenrod]

London Town


I takes me down to London Town,
when e'er the spirit moves me!
By carriage, down to London Town,
where they diverts and amuse me!

The grog, it is the best around,
the doxies, a right full pleasure!
And being hearty, my fine lads,
I takes me, my full measure!

So here I be in London Town,
a-looking for my fancy!
Be it Polly, Mary, Joan or Meg,
on whatever wind, the chance be!


goldenrod.

[goldenrod]

The first angel
I met in heaven
had a crooked halo
and bedraggled wings

A peace riot,
she explained,
engaged in,
by some newly arrived activists
outside the pearly gates.

It had gotten out of hand
when God refused their petition.
the timing was bad.

They had presented it
at four pm...

And the LORD, was a typical * * * * * * * * Englishman!!!

goldenrod.