Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Archive for the ‘parodies’ Category

(The spin doctor responsible for the famous “Labour isn’t working” poster during Margaret Thatcher’s general election campaign has died aged 77. ‘For Whom the Bell Tolls’ Sorry Metallica, -benny)

 

For whom the bell tolls:
Tim had his line.
For whom the bell tolls
Tim had his word.
‘Labor isn’t working’ got Thatcher her plum role
The lie well told did the trick:
let Marge lead ‘er barge up the Brexit; what now?
Benny
Advertisements

Read Full Post »

Perfidious Albion

 

No deal, oh not much time! Either way Brexit

Whether we settle in the end  a back stop

Or hard,- where the border takes us, I wonder-

A border is a border for disaster

I shall dump Irish question straightway-

EU can have Dublin solve this one

So my promise I keep to do or die:

Brexit is over with! -’tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wished! To speak one thing,

And do another is Prime Ministerial

So easy with no conscience prick

I do but dying is for another.

Benny

 

Read Full Post »

Out of the blue these lines came into my mind “What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?
Turn thee, Benvolio. Look upon thy death. (Ac.1sc.1)”
Writing a whole play is not worth my while. You cannot improve upon a rose any more than a play of the bard.
So I shall do a sketch; what if Benvolio had put up a fight?
B:
Shears of hell thy blade be-
But what fear hold I,
you wretched Tybalt?
(Drawing a stiletto from the folds of cloak),
This short but nasty
steel knows no fear;
nor my wrist hurt of insults
hurled at me.
(Lungest at Tybalt and wounds him)
Caught you in midst of
sins unconfessed
Didn’t I?
And begone!
Hounds of hell yelp at the gate.
At the gate already!
You shall sup with  worms tonight “
Benny
Afterall the BBC 2 program ‘Pointless’ has a point. This evening I watched the contestants having to fill the blanks of the lines from the Bard. It set me thinking.

Read Full Post »

Sleep is nature’s cure when body has run
His weary rounds, a bed is just the thing;
Still is the body but his soul moves on; 30

Between being and un-being sleep holds something
A balancing act where a starry heaven
To the measure o’ man, but is this soul thing? 33

Death must with sleep settle in dimension
Altogether new for which leave my soul
To know worth and reckon the best bargain. 36

Soul must arbiter for all who their goal,
Being bonded for life and beyond, serves man
A pole star, to lift man out of his hole. 39

Thus it was with me one night when sleep had
Taken ease, I suspect my soul sent the three
Fates of Attic shape who before me stood, 42

The dream with Sibyls set my confines free
As though I lay beneath the vault of Sistine
And the three had stepped out on a spree! 45

(To be continued)
Benny

Read Full Post »

Stroll down the colonnade of life, mosaic
Of days lend youth its Byzantine color;
But my soul would loath it as life prosaic. 12

Thus assail’d by doubts and misspent choler
Of youth as ashes when fire has died out
Of his blood, and leave nothing but pother: 15

By the midst o’ my woeful days I struck out
Past my depths, my route on impulse ringed
My soul might yet redeem entire past rout. 18

A walk simple into the woods where hope winged
Alternate with pitfalls along the ground
must give man pause, his purpose unhinged 21

Perhaps my soul would read my tracks and sound
Alarm or set escape route in case of need
Oh no! with my own will I come this round. 24

Long onslaught with Fates and Furies’ full rede
Did unravel much of my confusion,
And yet loath I was let my soul aside. 27

Benny

Read Full Post »

Somewhere on the loom of life what I wove
I found design with each shuttle vary
Till its overall sign with my soul strove; 3

Ah me! how hard a thing it is for me
Admit my own hand my own pattern should
Prove a lie and cast it back,-Oh fie 6

Such a life of bitter toil weave its shroud,
Plodding hands with eye for long set in peace
But nothing what my soul’s design had show’d. 9

benny

Read Full Post »

Little Lamb, I fancy
A rack o’ lamb come easy
If I had my way with you.
Little Lamb I’ll tell thee,
 Little Lamb I’ll tell thee
You are on today’s menu.
‘A little lamb  you provide,’
Says my chef,  ‘on my side
carré d’agneau is sure thing:
Gave thee life & bid thee feed.
By the stream & o’er the mead;
Fail me now you shall howl,’
I dread him and his blackest scowl.
Little Lamb I’ll tell thee,
 Little Lamb I’ll tell thee!
We have herbs and fresh garlic
You shall in slop of grease frolic
Think how we shall chomp and gnaw-
Ah you already drool, Enough for now.
Softest clothing wooly bright,
Making vales resound with bleat
Little lamb, you I will carry
The rest as I said is easy.
Benny

Read Full Post »

Older Posts »