Homework WE 14/3/16 - The Bloke's Mental Block
Posted: Thu Mar 10, 2016 8:08 pm
Just in time - the fortnight has nearly run out - in the absence of anything sensible I drew once again from the fertile ground of my beloved "Den" ...
THE BLOKE'S MENTAL BLOCK
(c) Shelley Hansen 10/3/16
I dunno wot ter rite about. Me thorts ’as done a bunk.
I’ve kicked the tin aroun’ me ’ole backyard.
I’ve rimed me lines reel carefully – and thunk, and thunk, and thunk,
and come ter the conclooshun it’s too ’ard
ter find a tale o’ Jacky Howe wot shore a lot o’ sheep
an’ then ’oos moniker became a vest;
or make a punchered tyre become a ditty ov me Jeep,
or rite an ode ter birdies in the nest.
I could ’a’ tole a story ’bout me cobber, Ginger Mick –
that broken mouth ’e copped down Little Lon
when ’e was in a stoush – an’ ’ow ’e scampered orf reel quick –
so when the cops turned up … he’d up and gone!
’E staggered ’ome ter Rosie. Strike! Yer should ’a’ ’eard ’er yell!
It fairly cracked the cups ter ’ear ’er screech!
But then ov corse she softened an’ they made up. Jist as well
they’re ’appy like Doreen an’ me (the peach!)
But struth! The state is terrible when poitry don’t flow,
when all yer ponderin’ is empty space.
I’ve seen a competition an’ I’d like ter ’ave a go
But winnin’? Blimey, I ain’t in the race!
THE BLOKE'S MENTAL BLOCK
(c) Shelley Hansen 10/3/16
I dunno wot ter rite about. Me thorts ’as done a bunk.
I’ve kicked the tin aroun’ me ’ole backyard.
I’ve rimed me lines reel carefully – and thunk, and thunk, and thunk,
and come ter the conclooshun it’s too ’ard
ter find a tale o’ Jacky Howe wot shore a lot o’ sheep
an’ then ’oos moniker became a vest;
or make a punchered tyre become a ditty ov me Jeep,
or rite an ode ter birdies in the nest.
I could ’a’ tole a story ’bout me cobber, Ginger Mick –
that broken mouth ’e copped down Little Lon
when ’e was in a stoush – an’ ’ow ’e scampered orf reel quick –
so when the cops turned up … he’d up and gone!
’E staggered ’ome ter Rosie. Strike! Yer should ’a’ ’eard ’er yell!
It fairly cracked the cups ter ’ear ’er screech!
But then ov corse she softened an’ they made up. Jist as well
they’re ’appy like Doreen an’ me (the peach!)
But struth! The state is terrible when poitry don’t flow,
when all yer ponderin’ is empty space.
I’ve seen a competition an’ I’d like ter ’ave a go
But winnin’? Blimey, I ain’t in the race!