Tuesday, 15 March 2016

A Brief History of England

A Brief History of England
From 871 to the Present
(To be sung, by those with stamina, to “While shepherds watched their flocks by night”)
By The Darn-Poor Rhymer

King Alfred first did codify
The English common law,
Which does to everyone apply;
To rich as well as poor.

The men of Wessex ruled the lands,
The forests and the plains.
But then, along came raiding-bands;
So next, we tried the Danes.

Wise King Canute said to his moot,
While sitting by the sea,
“My friends, you may give me the boot
If one wave touches me.”

But English history has a tide
That’s predisposed to tangles;
Canute’s descendants were off-side.
So next, we tried the Angles.

King Harry nearly did manage
To stave off relegation;
He won away at Stamford Bridge!
But then he lost the nation.

That bastard William fought his way
Through ditch, and bog, and trench;
An arrow ended Harry’s day.
So next, we tried the French.

The Domesday Tax, the Rufus Stone,
Are Norman monuments;
King Henry, too, made people moan,
All at their own expense.

King Stephen’s reign was anarchy,
And monstrous were his debts;
We needed change, as all could see.
We tried Plantagenets.

To John, the barons would not cede;
Submission? A non-starter.
They forced him, thus, to Runnymede,
To sign the Magna Carta.

King Edward did expel the Jew,
And taxed haves and have-nots.
The Welshmen first he did subdue,
Then hammered the poor Scots.

At Crécy did the longbows twang,
Poitiers and Agincourt.
Again, again, the arrows sang
For England; ’twas fine sport.

Alas! The century long fight
Was by mad Henry lost.
And soon the Red Rose and the White
Were warring, at great cost.

Bad Richard’s hopes of governing
In Bosworth’s mud did squelch;
No nail, no shoe, no horse, no King.
So next, we tried the Welsh.

King Henry Eight six wives did wed;
Divorced, beheaded, passed
Away, dismissed, gave up her head,
But one did him outlast.

Soon Bloody Mary did the land
With martyrs’ gore bespot;
And Good Queen Bess remained unmanned,
So next, we tried a Scot.

King Charlie’s reign was full of tears,
The people up were fed;
So Henry Burton lost his ears,
But Charlie lost his head.

An Interregnum then ensued;
Our lives got rather gnarly.
So, as the military argued,
We tried another Charlie.

The new king tolerance avowed;
Our hopes had ne’er been higher.
But Protestants and Catholics rowed,
And we had plague and fire.

When James came king, ’twas quite a jolt.
We didn’t like it much;
There was rebellion and revolt.
So then, we tried the Dutch.

King William bred no Orange men;
Beset by many doubts,
We briefly tried the Danes again,
And then we tried the Krauts.

But England was no more. Alas!
In 1707,
An “Act of Union” they did pass,
Abolishing our heaven.

Three centuries we’ve had since then;
Mixed fortunes, hopes and fears.
Yet, more and more, we Englishmen
Have been reduced to tears.

Now Silly Lizzie sits astride
A throne that’s but a token,
There’s no more justice, no more pride;
Society is broken.

King Dave, King Tony, Drongo too,
Have given us no quarter;
They’d like to flush us down the loo,
Had they sufficient water.

King Alfred, if he came again,
Would likely douse the floor
With tears, at seeing evil men
Corrupt his common law.

Yet honest Englishmen, I know,
On England’s soil still roam.
And Alfred would be pleased, I trow,
That England’s still our home.

Monday, 4 January 2016

On Nigel Farage's Mishap

By The Darn-Poor Rhymer

A hater of Farage,
Went to his garage,
And unscrewed four wheels, some say;
Intending his Volvo
To do a re-volv-o,
And that would be his last day.

I no more like UKIP
Than I enjoy puke dip
Commingled with turds and hay;
But I hope Froggie Plod
Gets the murderous sod,
And the magistrats put him away.

Monday, 21 December 2015

A Christmas Carol - music by the Tippling Philosopher

The Tippling Philosopher has been hard at work in the run-up to Christmas. He's composed the tune for a Christmas carol and entered it into BBC Radio 3's carol competition. As the Darn-Poor Rhymer was on holiday, poet Roger McGough stepped in to write the words.

Unfortunately, the Philosopher's entry didn't quite make it into the short list of 6 (though he thinks it's better than two of those that did).

Click here to listen to a MIDI file of the Philosopher's tune.

Click here to see the words and listen to the six shortlisted entries.

Merry Christmas to all.

Sunday, 22 November 2015

Pipsqueak Pope

(Neil's Note: The Rhymer is at it again).

There was a boy called Philip Pope,
Who had a voice that never broke.
Sometimes he’d warble, sometimes croak;
And so, we called him Pipsqueak Pope.

Pope Francis now, that climate dipstick,
He makes demands that “the world acts”
In plain denial of the facts.
And so, I call the pope the Pipsqueak.

Tuesday, 20 October 2015

But What If It Isn't True?

(I found this one in the Rhymer's archives. It comes from June 2009 - pre-Climategate. But, with a certain gab-fest coming up in Paris, it's very relevant today.)

They tell us there’s global warming,
They tell us that we’re to blame.
They tell us to cut emissions,
They want us to give up wealth.
But, power is habit-forming,
And lies are a route to fame.
So, why should we trust Green visions?
They don’t care about our health.

We all have already suffered,
Bad green laws, and taxes too.
They’re taking away our birthright!
They don’t want us to be free.
Yet one thought comes through, unbuffered:
“But what if it isn’t true?”
Of course it ain’t. So, be forthright,
And speak truth and honesty.

Friday, 18 September 2015

A Conquest

The Rhymer once wrote a sonnet about a woman he loved. Ah, those were the days. But here it is.

I run my hands along her curves. I feel
A subtle sinuosity; complex, but real.
I put my arms around her waist, and hold
A warm, sweet, beautiful sixteen-year-old.
I hold her tight; I take a comfy rest,
As I enjoy the softness of her breast.
I hold her tighter; my nose finds afresh
The subtle perfume of young female flesh.
Next, my desire is for the perfect kiss;
Her lips are quite impossible to miss.
I lure her to my car’s back seat; that done,
We ride to a hotel, and have some fun.
But afterwards, I think: Why was I blind?
I didn’t bother to explore her mind.

Saturday, 22 August 2015

What shall we do with the climate-change fraudsters?

To be sung (in case anyone asks) to the tune of “What shall we do with the drunken sailor”.

What shall we do with the climate-change fraudsters,
What shall we do with the climate-change fraudsters,
What shall we do with the climate-change fraudsters,
When they’re brought to justice?

1. Stop them polluting our mental atmosphere,

2. Call them nasty names like “reality deniers,”

3. Make them pay back the green taxes they’ve stolen,

4. Stop them driving and stop them flying,

5. Stop them using energy, turn off their heating,

6. Make them wear muzzles to sequester their emissions,

7. Send them to Yamal and let them freeze.