901

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE
A Poem by
Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That Valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the Rocks,
Seeing the Shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow Rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing Madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of Roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of Myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty Lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and Ivy buds,
With Coral clasps and Amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The Shepherds’ Swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me, and be my love.

COME LIVE WIV ME, CLASSY LASS.

(Man)
Come live wiv me and be me babe,
Tell me yer answer, no delays,
I'm not the sort of dude who'll wait,
There's lots of women I could date.

Come live wiv me 'cos I'm the goods,
I've got this swell pad in the woods,
Well - me and all the other chaps,
I know yer'll love them! (well... perhaps).

We'll let yer wash our vests and slacks,
Do all the chores and shave our backs,
I'm all prepared babe, say the word,
Ah, live wiv me and be me bird!

(Classy Lass)
Bird? Gosh, what a horrid term.
Does it suggest I feed on worms?
Or hint that I am rather flighty?
Primp my fluffy feathers nightly?

Well, rest assured, I'm not like this
I have a life of pampered bliss,
The things you offer don't enthral me,
Phrased more harshly - they appal me!

You sound like hapless ruffians,
And I'd be better scoffing tons
Of poisoned apples, than dwell a night,
In your hellish vice-den - Signed, Snow White.

PS: Sod off, sad baldheaded pervs!

902

'I Will Survive' (by Gloria Gaynor)

At first I was afraid, I was petrified
Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side
But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong
And I grew strong, and I learned how to get along

And so you're back from outer space
I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face
I should have changed that stupid lock
I should have made you leave your key
If I'd have known for just one second you'd be back to bother me

Go on now, go. Walk out the door
Just turn around now 'cause you're not welcome anymore
Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye?
Did you think I'd crumble?
Did you think I'd lay down and die?

Oh, no, not I
I will survive
Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
And I'll survive
I will survive, hey, hey

It took all the strength I had not to fall apart
Kept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart
And I spent, oh, so many nights just feeling sorry for myself
I used to cry but now I hold my head up high

And you see me somebody new
I'm not that chained-up little person still in love with you
And so you felt like dropping in
And just expect me to be free
And now I'm saving all my loving for someone who's loving me

Go on now, go. Walk out the door
Just turn around now 'cause you're not welcome anymore
Weren't you the one who tried to break me with goodbye?
Did you think I'd crumble?
Did you think I'd lay down and die?

Oh, no, not I
I will survive
Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
And I'll survive
I will survive

Go on now, go. Walk out the door
Just turn around now 'cause you're not welcome anymore
Weren't you the one who tried to break me with goodbye?
Did you think I'd crumble?
Did you think I'd lay down and die?

Oh, no, not I
I will survive
Oh, as long as I know how to love I know I'll stay alive
I've got all my life to live
I've got all my love to give
And I'll survive
I will survive
I will survive

'I Will Survive The Covid Nineteen Lockdown' (by David Bourke)

At first I was afraid, a little petrified,
No poxy loo roll down in Lidl, I virtually died.
With every bloody day, my downstairs hygiene went awry,
I used to wipe my bottom really thoroughly,
Now I have it just drip-dry.

Run out of shampoo, cotton wool, and soap,
If you think you'll have some vegetables,
You’re wrong, no way...you've no hope.
I would've kept my free-range eggs,
I would've divided out my bread,
If I’d somehow imagined in one moment,
Every furloughed idiot would lose their head.

Go on now, go! Walk out that door!
You knuckleheaded cookbook hoarders,
You're just not welcome anymore!
Ain’t you the simioid numskulls who snaffled Co-Op budget beans?
Behave, you snivelling, thieving little morons!
I hope you get them down your jeans.

I will survive, I did not panic buy!
Long as I drink heavily, I jolly well know I’ll stay alive,
No sauerkraut, Marmite, mushrooms, peas,
It won't have me going on my knees,
I will survive, I will survive, hey hey!

It might need major self-control though, to not fall apart,
With just one individual doughnut in my Tesco trolley cart.
What futile hours, Medway driving round,
(How I felt sorry for myself),
To downtown Aldi outlets, with sod all on every shelf.

No devouring junk now, the whole evening through,
I can't get one vital thing I want, owing to unthinking fools like you.
Tony in Knockholt, Sevenoaks...what an underhanded twit,
Stockpiled his body weight in Velvet loo roll,
Now no-one else can take a shit.

Goodbye! Now go! Walk out that door,
Go, you dimwitted, hoarding gluttons,
Look, you ain't welcome here no more.
You hoovered the digestives up...and ditto, all the cake,
Can’t you make a bloomin' fruit crumble,
You no-good twats, do you not know how to bake?

Oh no, not I! I did not panic buy,
I know long as I have vodka (buried), I will stay alive.
No vinaigrette, virgin olive oil, ravioli, mature cheese,
It will not bring me to my knees,
David will survive, David will survive, hey hey!
David will survive, hey hey!

903

A man strolls out into the street at 9.15am and hails a taxi that's just passing by. He gets in, and the driver says, "Aha! You need a cab at 9.15 and I appear. Perfect timing! Just like Ted O'Keefe."

Passenger: "Who?"

Cabbie: "Ted O'Keefe ... he's this guy who did everything right all the time. Like me coming along right when you needed a taxi; things like that happened to Ted every single time without fail."

Passenger: "Oh, I don't know, there's always the odd rain cloud over everyone."

Cabbie: "Oh no, not our Ted. He was a terrific athlete. He could have won the Grand Slam at tennis, and he could hold his own at golf with the pros. He sang like an operatic tenor and danced like Fred Astaire. And you shoulda heard old Ted play the piano! He was fantastic."

Passenger: "Well, it sounds like he was really special."

Cabbie: "Oh, yes. And that's not all - there's more! He had a memory like a computer. He remembered everyone's address and birthday. He knew all about the finest wines, which foods to order, and which forks to eat them with. And he could repair anything. Not like me - I change a fuse, and the whole damned street's blacked out. But Ted, he could do everything right."

Passenger: "He sounds like some man!"

Cabbie: "And that's not the half of it. He knew all the fastest routes to take to miss the traffic jams. Not me, I always seem to get caught in the traffic. But Ted didn't make mistakes. And he really knew how to treat a woman and make her feel good. He wouldn't argue with her, even if she was in the wrong; and his dress sense was always immaculate, shoes highly polished, the lot. He was truly perfect! I never knew him to make a single error. Ah, no one could measure up to the Ted."

Passenger: "That Ted fellow's indeed a one-off! How did you meet him?"

Cabbie: "Well... I never actually met Ted. He died 7 years ago, and I married his soddin' wife!"

A travelling salesman stepped off of a bus in a small, unexciting Midwestern town. He had some time to kill so he asked the ticket counter clerk what there was to do in the area.

The clerk replied that the bars were shut because it was Sunday, but if he just walked down to the end of the main road there was an old Indian chief who had the greatest memory in the world.

The salesman was grouchy about not getting a drink after his long bus ride but shrugged, 'okay, why not?' and set out to see the old guy who supposedly remembered everything.

When he got to the end of the main road, he looked over and saw a teepee in a field just across the way. He walked over and stuck his head inside.

There sat an ancient man wearing traditional Indian clothing, and looking like he'd stepped straight from a history book. The elder looked up and said: "How".

"How," replied the salesman. "Do you really remember everything?" to which the ancient chief replied only: "Yes".

The salesman thought about it for a minute and finally asked, "OK... what did you have for breakfast on September 9th, 1957?"

The chief thought for a second and said: "Eggs."

Bored already, the salesman laughed and left the teepee to return to his hotel.

About 15 years later the very same commercial salesman happened to be in the very same town, visiting a customer.

He remembered the old Indian guy and wondered if he was still alive. Walking to the end of town, just as he had all those years earlier, he saw the teepee was still there.

He walked across and again stuck his head in to see the Indian chief sitting exactly as he was a decade-and-a-half ago! In an attempt to mimic the chief's previous greeting, the salesman politely smiled and said: "How."

After a few seconds the chief looked up at him with knowing eyes and replied: "Scrambled.”

904

[Claude McKay's sonnet 'America' is anagrammed into a split poem about various comments from both sides of the political aisle - which also contains a visual contraint]

America (A poem written by Claude McKay)

Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Stealing my breath of life, I will confess
I love this cultured hell that tests my youth.
Her vigor flows like tides into my blood,
Giving me strength erect against her hate.
Her bigness sweeps my being like a flood.
Yet as a rebel fronts a king in state,
I stand within her walls with not a shred
Of terror, malice, not a word of jeer.
Darkly I gaze into the days ahead,
And see her might and granite wonders there,
Beneath the touch of Time's unerring hand,
Like priceless treasures sinking in the sand.

                    The Trite Retorts

"That Arab's got no wit"     "No, it's a lie! Beware"
"I hate chai-drinking twits" "Their kids are everywhere"
"I hate consenting mugs"     "Koreans here drive awful"
"That icy Dem seems smug"    "Drunk, noisy and unlawful"
"They'd regulate my time"    "I'm meant for greater things!"
"No freak'll get my dime"    "These snobs control the King"
"Cage all those immigrants"  "J. Biden's son's an ass"
"Behold their foolish rant"  "That Don In Charge was crass"
 Beliefs and hackneyed oaths  rolled in from either clan,
 Yet I'll be asking both      if they forgot the plan;
 See, this bizarre divide     needs no proof to dispel:
 We fight the 'other side' -  yet they are us as well.

[In the constrained portion, the first letters of the 50 U.S. States were placed (in alphabetical order) in both sides of the poem in such a way that draws a U and an S - which are also exact reflections of each other]


                    The Trite Retorts

"That Arab's got no wit"     "No, it's a lie! Beware"
"I hate chai-drinking twits" "Their kids are everywhere"
"I hate consenting mugs"     "Koreans here drive awful"
"That icy Dem seems smug"    "Drunk, noisy and unlawful"
"They'd regulate my time"    "I'm meant for greater things"
"No freak'll get my dime"    "These snobs control the King"
"Cage all those immigrants"  "J. Biden's son's an ass"
"Behold their foolish rant"  "That Don In Charge was crass"
 Beliefs and hackneyed oaths  rolled in from either clan,
 Yet I'll be asking both      if they forgot the plan;
 See, this bizarre divide     needs no proof to dispel:
 We fight the 'other side' -  yet they are us as well.

905

The Twelve Days of Christmas
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love sent to me:
Twelve Drummers Drumming
Eleven Pipers Piping
Ten Lords a-Leaping
Nine Ladies Dancing
Eight Maids a-Milking
Seven Swans a-Swimming
Six Geese a-Laying
Five Golden Rings
Four Calling Birds
Three French Hens
Two Turtle Doves
and a Partridge in a Pear Tree.

In twelve months of this year, a pandemic gave a town:
Twelve Wishes Canceled
Eleven Gloomy Children
Ten Parents Arguing
Nine Feverish Grandmas
Eight Fuming Landlords
Seven Bewildered Hairdressers
Six Farm Nightmares
Five Immigrants Deported
Four Gyms in Peril
Three Empty Stadiums
Two Toilets Plugging
and a Lack in Essential TP.