Category Archives: Poetry

Poetry corner revisited

24 Sunday Jul 2016

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Here’s the latest ode from my friend Skimbleshanks…

Chorus:
Ohhhhh! We’re off to see the Wild West Show!
The elephant and the kangaroo–oo-oo-oo!
Never mind the weather, as long as we’re together,
We’re off to see the Wild West Show.

Verse the First
And in the first cage, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have …. the Thinkie-Tankie Bird.
The Thinkie-Tankie Bird? It’s fantastic, it’s incredible! What the Bloody Hell is it … ?
The Thinkie-Tankie Bird, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a marvellous beast whose cognitive activity is firmly in inverse proportion to any actual achievements. So if he Tanks, he Thinks, but when he Thinks, he Tanks!
Chorus

Verse the Second
And in the next cage, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have Andrea Leadsom.
Andrea Leadsom? It’s … etc
Well. I’d like to tell you, Ladies and Gentlemen, but I can’t. Yes you’ve got it, young feller-me-lad – Mum’s the Word!
Chorus

Verse the Third
And in the next cage Ladies and Gentlemen, we have …. HS2 Action Alliance.
HS2 Action Alliance? It’s etc
HS2 Action Alliance, Ladies and Gentlemen, is a most mysterious beast. You might call it two-faced, because you’re never quite sure which end is talking. When it goes to the Select Committee, it’s all serious and authoritative. But at the same time, it spouts nonsense like “£6.3 billion cuts to existing services”, “HS2 will cost £138 billion” and “Rugby will lose all its fast trains to London”. Listen carefully, and you will discern, Ladies and Gentlemen, that it’s HS2AA’s Directors doing a bit of freelancing from the other end. Don’t get too close, Sir, it stinks.
Chorus

Verse the Fourth
And in the next cage, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have …. HSUK.
HSUK? It’s etc
No-one really knows, Ladies and Gentlemen. Some say it’s related to the Chameleon, some say to the Cheshire Cat. The one thing we do know, Ladies and Gentlemen, is that if you ask it a question, it disappears.

Verse the Fifth
And in the next cage, Ladies and Gentlemen, we have …. AGHAST.
AGHAST? It’s fantastic, it’s incredible! What the Bloody Hell is it … ?
Dunno. Haven’t seen it today. Sure it was there yesterday. Or maybe the day before.

Ohhhhh! We’re off to see the Wild West Show!
The elephant and the kangaroo–oo-oo-oo!
Never mind the weather, as long as we’re together,
We’re off to see the Wild West Show.

Poetry corner, c/o ‘Skimbleshanks’

19 Thursday Feb 2015

Posted by in Hs2, Poetry

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My friend ‘Skimbleshanks’ has sent me this gem. Poetry corner is looking like it’s going to be a regular feature!

Windbag Music
With apologies to Louis Macneice

It’s no go the anti-mob, it’s no go the Nimby’s,
Half the time they’ve pants afire, their arguments are flimsy.

Prof McNaughton went to town, spoke to the Committee,
Rukin twisted what he said, just made himself look silly,
Joey tried to spin a tale, of trains per hour at Runcorn,
But even Wharf and Weston know a loser when they see one.

It’s no go Stop HS2, it’s no go the Alliance,
Because of Rukin’s porky-pies they are no more affianced.

Wellings then re-tweeted Joe, had a gipsy’s warning,
Wouldn’t dare another go at tweeting his outpourings.
So he teamed up with Transport Watch, called down the mummy’s curses,
They hate the railways so much they’d turn them into buses.

Tett and Gillan looked at that, didn’t like the answer,
Good enough for you and me, but not their Chiltern manor!
What can we think, when he don’t know,
What’s Current Price or Present Value?

It’s no go for 51M, it’s no go for Stokesy,
‘Cos you can’t add trains at Milton Keynes by adding seats to Glasgow.

It’s no go the IEA, it’s no go B’leeben,
That they’ve no answer to rail growth don’t take much concealing.

It’s no go the Batty Man, it’s no go the brickie,
It’s no go the sour-butt nor the Paper Geordie,
It’s no go the driverless car, it’s no go super Broadband,
If you hang your hat on those you need your head examined.

It’s no go the load factor, it’s no go the PIXC;
Traffic’s growing year on year, HS2 will fix it.
Traffic’s growing day by day, it could go on forever,
Stick your head in the bloody sand but that won’t change the answer.

Skimbleshanks, who is now retiring to sleep on a mailbag by the stove in the Porter’s Room