Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Ellen Joyce Feb 2014
one, two polished leather shoe set the beat,
marks the grey tone on the broken cobbled street.

three, four silent tears pour down the face
making widows lace of the sullen slaggy place.

five, six, the count fades to mix with the collective sound
of doors unbolting and the sight of chins taking to ground,
and busy hands stilled to lay respect like paving slabs.

The tall terraces stained with iron ore stoop to kiss the head
of another working class warrior fallen to soon to his bed.
Smoke billowing from cooling towers lays low - scent of '64
dousing wreaths in docker's sweat, a local hero's glow.

The final home leaving, with no kiss from his wife,
in the fanciest car he's been in in his life.
He never expected nor asked life for much,
a job in the docks, the works - a trade or such;
four walls and a roof to sit over his head,
a wife to share his heart, his life and his bed;
a family with whom to laugh and to cry,
not striving for riches, just to get by.

Happy and sated through much of his years,
counting his laughter so much more than his tears,
call him unambitious, plain if you will,
but how many die having had their fill?

Top hat and tails, 53 steps taken and checked
one for each year lived, a mark of respect.
neth jones Nov 2021
cloth-ed as clown                               
a spilt generation                        
somnolent                                          
within our moral delirium
                       who would care-claim us now  ?

paint your scrutiny
with our baffling strife of operations
as we lather up and ****** social
in the slaggy loft of our hive
plug uz from our heated terrarium
let's be proper met
examined with manner :
our morbid request

let us claim
meekly
something that is not yours
that we might budge on a generation
of spatty breeding
Extended from missing verse of 'Blemishes'
kirk Jul 2018
Oh Annette Tidy, what have you been up to now
Writings on the bus stop, says you've been a filthy cow
I know it's only hearsay, by the use of your meow
***** ****'s been ****** again, I wish that I knew how

A simple stroll on down the street, the shelter comes in sight
Once a **** always a ****, it seems your ****'s not tight
Poor old Den is not the one, who's getting ****** tonight
An ugly **** you maybe, that's if the text is right

Oh Annette Tidy, are you such an ugly ****
Are you fat and overweight, moist folds that crease and sag
****** ability you seem to have, to make men's *****'s wag
Maybe you are not that bad, when you always get a ****

*** has been displayed, on top of the phone box
That's only if you've been shagged, by some unsavoury *****
I can not really comment, if you've had a guy with pox
A lovely feeling had by all, when getting off your rocks

Oh Annette Tidy, you have been with a new man
You've cheated on Dennis again, just like an old **** can
It could be propaganda, or part of a malicious plan
Slaggy ***** get all the press, and I'm their biggest fan

You'll never change the word is out, for everyone to see
I am not so positive if your diseased, and you have ***
Scribbles suggest your *** is bad, but I'll just let it be
I don't know if it is true, so it doesn't bother me

Oh Annette Tidy, are you such a ***** girl
It doesn't really matter, if your not as white as pearl
Nasty girls I do not mind, with every twist and twirl
Your reputation is exposed, so give my **** a whirl

If your not that kind of girl, somebody has a grudge
Acquaintances have not been met, so who am I to judge
I can be subjective, if you let me try your fudge
Juices squeezed in ecstasy, when I give your fruit a nudge

Oh Annette Tidy, is your ***** all that good
Expose yourself in front of me, to activate my wood
If your as bad as it is said,  I don't know if I should
Your probably like all other girls, beneath your knicker hood

Are you really all that Tidy, if you've messed around so much
Is fleshy ***** still neatly tucked, or dangling on your crouch
I'd **** like a rampant rabbit, if let me in your hutch
If you like it up the ****, two guys can ******* Dutch

Oh Annette Tidy , do you have *** holes that smell
Your supposedly a ***** ****, but that's just kiss and tell
Is plunging deep inside you, equivalent to "******* hell"
Just what exactly is the status, of your *** stained well

If your on your period , then remove your ***** pad
A deep red hole is okay, with everyone you've had
I'm sure your **** is bearable, and really not that bad
**** is a great relief, a nice *** and I am glad

Oh Annette Tidy, does your wet slit really stink
With everything that's said, I don't know what to think
It probably has a **** smell, good *** and creamy pink
Just the way that it should be, a place I'd like to sink

Time has passed since ***** *****, were written on the wall
I think your ****** preferences, are not that bad at all
If what is written supposed to be, set make you fall
Then failure is inevitable, because your *** is on the ball

Oh Annette Tidy , how does your hater know your ****** perks
Is he already ******* you, in between those other jerks
Could he be bedroom stalking, who knows the place he lurks
He's probably ****** jealousy, cos you have a **** that works

Future writings I will seek, I don't know where or when
Your nemesis is bound to strike, with his vindictive pervert pen
One day they'll be more escapades, so I will wait till then
****** **** will be revealed. . .Oh Annette Tidy's back again
In February 2016 I wrote a poem called " oh Annette Tidy " inspired by writings on the wall. . . well writings in a phone box and council sign to be exact,
Anyway I wrote the updated and extended version more recently and I thought that was the last from Annette Tidy.
Recently I discovered more written words about Annette Tidy (over 2 years later) which were the inspiration for this new poem. . . Oh Annette Tidy is well and truly back
Johnson Oyeniran Aug 2020
Slaggy Jane was an attractive chick from the land of hicks,
But like all sinners, her kryptonite was big long thick *****.

Every day she loved filling all her holes with men's thick ***,
She was the **** of her town who took after her late mum.

Now one gloomy day, she woke up with a terrible flu,
So she scurried off to see her local doctor called Sue.

Doctor Sue broke the news to her in a way that was clear,
Poor Jane was *** positive and she died within a year.

— The End —