Fings

[Jerrybaldy]

Aroused, I wrote this song,
half asleep you sang along,
laa la lalala la laa.
'Evening Standard', sang the man,
the men in bowlers ran,
chalk scraped on pavement slabs
paint emulsified on taxi cabs,
smokey trains, windrush blacks
meat gristle, work whistle
mince pies, Russian spies.
Mother screams its time for tea.

Greasy spoons, silvery moons,
pie and mash, long afternoons.
Puddles to splash in,
markets crashing,
Sunday itchy best
gravy spilt on an old mans vest.
Kids with noses pressed flat
to see the prices of vanilla slices.
Daddy is gonna kick your a ss
memories linger, but bruises pass.

Mother screams its time for tea,
the princess wont sleep,
my brain is the size of her pea
and fings,
ladies and gentlemen
boys and girls,
fings
aint wot they used to be.

[cacian]

Hehe I really liked the title
Fings.
Very amusing read.
Thank you!

[hillwalker]

Good one.

H

[Sampson]

awesome poem (:

[Haunted]

And I thought only us yankees talk like dat :biggrinjester:

[Hawkman]

Hi JB. there's a really storng rhythm in the first two stanzas which only occasionally trips over itself. Reminds me a bit of the cadence of the list part in Auden's Night mail. I can suggest a couple of edits to kepp the scansion flowing evenly.

"Itchy Sunday best"
&
"memories linger, bruises pass."

I guess you could argue that the collapse of rhythm in S3 echoes the, "Fings ain't what they used to be" but lines 2 & 3 of this stanza don't read as well as they might.

"the princess won't sleep,
my brain is the size of her pea"

"My pea-brain keeps the princess up,
Mother screams it's time for tea"

Might be ok here. You lose the end-rhyme, but this isn't that important because it kind of falls apart anyway. You still have the internal rhyme, and still echo it with the last word. Just a thought.

Live and be well - H

[Bar22do]

Often your poems make me feel as if I'm rushing, this too. And this increasing tempo - your speciality - is very effective here! A nice good poem, Jerry.