PETER CARROL
HE ENJOYS BAD HEALTH
Is it just me, or is it cold today?
I can't bear days like these
My old bones ache my muscles too
And now I've got a wheeze,
The man who tells of every twinge and catalogues each ailment
One course is clear in every case, it's hanging or impalement!
There is a kind of woman too whose style of conversation
Lists every nuance of ill-health and every sick sensation.
It matters not the time or place, though dinner time is favoured,
To discuss each scabby sore, puss, lesion - more until one's food is flavoured.
You dare not ask her how she is; you know what she will tell you,
Each doctor's rede half understood proves her life is hell you
Can read her savant's weary eye as he issues medication
She'll follow his prescribed routine with less than dedication,
And when some cream bun comes in sight she'll ignore his admonition;
She knows a tablet will put right her subsequent condition.
BYE BYE SWEET BECKS (on the exile of an hero)
When in the chronicle of red-top rags
Thy worth is sung thy hair and style is praised
I read thy praises e’en in the poshest mags
Thy dress discussed the matter of thy moves raised.
Thou art an hero of an antient kind
Elizabethan in thy grace and bravery
Tho’ papparat may probe and seek to find
In thy sweet household trace of lust and knavery.
Naught can be found save extravagance sublime
A style that is the very model of the age
Thy flashing prowess, great reward, the ringing echo of our time.
Thy every whim sets pattern and young men a rage
Yet great press barons enriched much by praise of thee
May drag you down and take yet again an equal fee.
RHODES
I cannot write about it
Because I've never been,
I've been to lots of places
But Rhodes I've never seen.
I've sailed right round Minorca
And stayed in Pont Hercat,
Right in the nudist village -
But that's enough of that.
I've been to Salamanca,
That glorious golden vill,
I've stayed in old Trujillo
Clinging to its ancient hill.
I've been to Conques' great abbey,
Hanging on its deep ravine,
Its gleaming Saint Foy statue -
The finest I have seen.
I've been to Berchtesgaden
And to the Devil's den,
To ride the lift and see the views
Loved by the wickedest of men.
I've walked the peaceful fields
Above the river they call Somme,
Seeing the graveyards in the cornfields
On the crest of the Mort Homme.
I've seen the fields of destiny,
Saught by the Master of Cobesteny,
Looked for beauty in its many many modes
But I've never seen and never been to bloody Rhodes.
CLIMBING INGLEBOROUGH
The stream runs, noisy down Trow Gill
The trees shake leafless on the slopes
Track bends rises, we see the Hill
Out of the wood the sheep-cropped grass
And narrowing way runs on ‘til
Stone walls give way to limestone pass
Cliffs close and we lose distant sight
Lichened rock, moss and whin and fern
Until clints and then gritstone height.
LOVE
What is love 'tis not hereafter
Present love hath slap and tickle
Love does not give too much laughter
Love does often prove so fickle
The ancients ere blamed Aphiodite
A well built girl in a see-through nightie
She floated ashore in a scallop shell
But when she landed - bloody hell!
She had an accomplice some called Cupid
The tricks he got up to were just plain stupid
He had a little bow and a bunch of arrows
If he shot someone they went like sparrows
They lost all sense of true decorum
Whether in the woods or in the Forum
They had no sense of self control
Just a wiggle of the bum and it was rock and roll
It's been the same throughout the ages
Despite the religious and the sages
The Shakers thought they had it right
But really they were just uptight
Just say no was their only dictum
Then evolution simply stet 'em