David Bourke

Anagrammy Awards > Literary Archives > David Bourke

Original text in yellow, anagram in pink.

THIS OLE HOUSE

This ole house once knew his children
This ole house once knew his wife
This ole house was home and comfort
As they fought the storms of life
This old house once rang with laughter
This old house heard many shouts
Now he trembles in the darkness
When the lightnin' walks about

CHORUS
Ain't a-gonna need this house no longer
Ain't a-gonna need this house no more
Ain't got time to fix the shingles
Ain't got time to fix the floor
Ain't got time to oil the hinges
Nor to mend the windowpane
Ain't a-gonna need this house no longer
He's a-gettin' ready to meet the saints

This ole house is a-gettin' shaky
This ole house is a-gettin' old
This ole house lets in the rain
This ole house lets in the cold
On his knees I'm gettin' chilly
But he feel no fear nor pain
'Cause he see an angel peekin'
Through a broken windowpane

CHORUS

This ole house is afraid of thunder
This ole house is afraid of storms
This ole house just groans and trembles
When the night wind flings its arms
This ole house is gettin' feeble
This old house is needin' paint
Just like him it's tuckered out
But he's a-gettin' ready to meet the saints

CHORUS

This ole house dog lies a-sleepin'
He don't know I'm gonna leave
Else he'd wake up by the fireplace
And he'd sit there and howl and grieve
But my huntin' days are over
Ain't gonna hunt the coon no more
Gabriel done brought in my chariot
When the wind blew down the door

CHORUS

THIS OLE HOUSE OF COMMONS

This whole house is full of shysters,
The house is such a load of crooks.
In the house are endless papers,
That get shredded, and burned books.
The house sold England out to Europe,
Oh no! In this we had no say!
In this ole house, it set the rules,
Then the house set its own pay.

I ain't gonna stand for it no longer,
I'm gonna vote 'em on their arse.
I ain't got no time to buy no whitewash,
No time to think about no class.
Gonna line the lot against the wall,
These right dishonourable twats,
Then I'm gonna get in Rentokil,
Just free London of these rats.

This house sends your British soldier,
Into wars with pee-poor kit.
The whole house is run by traitors,
The whole house is full of it.
The whole house is haemorrhaging,
The whole nation's income tax.
Oh, the house, its days are numbered,
Oh, the house is gonna face the axe.

In this ole house hide social rejects,
All racketeering, on the take.
Nigh-on seven-hundred idiots,
Wheeling, dealing, on the make.
The house, with thieves contaminated,
Both red commie and blue toff,
The house is full of useless, greedy pigs,
Swilling fees (oink!) in their trough.

I'm gonna make them walk the plank,
I'm gonna finish their criminal waste,
And then, with one dose of strychnine,
The house tea, it shall be laced.
Gonna end indulgence, moonlighting,
Then I'd change their attitudes.
When the noose is tightening, sunshine,
Time then you were abolished, dudes!

Return to David Bourke Index

You were Spain (by Nicki Ward)

You were Spain
You were the switch back curves
From the mountain to the sea
Hairpins holding back the olive groves

You were Spain
And we flew through you
Noise some witches
Riding our motorbikes
Riding our broomstick Vespas Like virgins
- Knees pressed firmly to hold our place

You were Spain
And your words made sense
Ananas y Naranjas Fruits made real by closeness to their roots
And your villages
Clung to the mountain by their high mountain names
Binaraitx, Andratx, Fornalutx
Or lapped low and lovely to the sea of Soller
- Puerto de Soller

You were Spain
And we rode the San Franciscan tram
Along the beachfront
- And everyone smoked
The black tabac
The cheap filterless Fundadors
More foul than French
Burning our nostrils with their gunpowder stench

And someone young
- Played guitar
And someone young clapped
And someone young clapped
And someone young clapped
And we knew that this was perfect
And we knew that every other flamenco
Would be spoiled forever
We knew that every other flamenco would always be somehow wrong
Painted on velvet

Y sonri— Todos sonri— salvajemente
And we smiled
We all smiled wildly
- And we saw their
Tears streaming down cheeks that were clenched with joy
And we smiled at their simple sentimentality
And then we tasted the surprising salt on our own lips
And we smiled again in our community
And we Were Spain

This was England (by David Bourke)

This was England
Our green, pleasant land
Full of meadows, woodland views,
Steeples, swallows,
Countryside picnics,
Shakespeare, Dickens,
Winston Churchill, Vera Lynn...
By jove! Jolly hockey sticks, and all that!

Weep, as a country,
Although never perfect...ah no, far from it!
But dignified, mannered, cultured,
Has then metamorphosised
Into an honourless, violated new nation.

Ruined by materialism,
Instant gratification,
And celebrity worship.

Slowly downward,
Weakened, withered, wasted,
Overpopulated.

Lament, as we unthinkingly sleepwalk into
A communist-fascist tyranny,
A Euro police state.

Men and women, in the World Wars
Heroes and heroines,
Who gave their lives.
For what?

For drunken, promiscuous, vulgar scum,
Hooded vermin, encouraged by the Welfare State,
To reproduce, breed, spawn,
In notorious, rundown sink estates.

Everywhere, shame,
More of the same.
Simply deadwood,
Third-generation unemployed.
Degenerate, with a deep sense of entitlement.

The overpowering stench of decay,
Apathy,
A nation in terminal decline.

Big Brother looks out,
His anonymous digital eye,
Sweeping across a desperate grey landscape,
Snooping on us all.
Conform, you automatons!

Meanwhile 'honourable' members wallow in luxury,
Corrupt, greedy bloodsuckers
'Expenses' paid by the taxpayer
- The working man.

Oh, joy!
Eyes heavenwards,
How we mourn for tomorrow
In what was England.

Return to David Bourke Index

It goes in dry, and it comes out wet,
The longer it's in, the stronger it gets.
It comes out dripping, and starts to sag,
It's not what you think, for it's just a teabag!

Getting a thirst? I am making a brew,
I do trust it isn't too strong for you!
PG Tips, Tetley, Twinings, etc,
Just choose one...no haste,
I'd add sugar (then stir) to taste!

Return to David Bourke Index

Christmas time
Mistletoe and wine
Children singing Christian rhyme
With logs on the fire and gifts on the tree
A time for rejoicing in all that we see

The snow's gone clear white
Cliff Richard is shite
Infantile games the whole night
Merriment, jesting, inanity
A domestic tradition:
Three girls on me!

Return to David Bourke Index

Return to Poem Page


Updated: May 10, 2016


Home

 | The Anagrammy Awards | Enter the Forum | Facebook | The Team

Information

 | Awards Rules | Forum FAQ | Anagrams FAQ | History | Articles

Resources

 | Anagram Artist Software | Generators | On-line | Books | Websites

Archives

 | Winners | Nominations | Hall of Fame | Anagrammasia | Literary | Specials

Competition

 | Vote | Current Nominations | Leader Board | Latest Results | Old Results | Rankings

Miscellaneous

 | Tribute Page | Records | Sitemap | Search | Anagram Checker | Email Us | Donate

Anagrammy Awards

  © 1998-2024