In case you didn’t realise (and didn’t see the title), today is National Poetry Day! Hooray! So in honour of this, we took a selection of poems from our member’s who have a poetic leaning.
Epitaph for a loved one by Joss Bates
I wake.
I wake and stare at your side of the bed.
It’s an empty space, which is empty because you’re not in it.
Indeed it is a space that you have never occupied and probably never will.
For you are Princess Diana
And my bed is no place for you,
Because you are dead.
But for now it is still your side
As, for now, I am still yours,
And whilst this is still true,
All i own, also belongs to you.
The Prettiest Bird in the World by Ben Harcourt
Two doves together is a universal symbol of everlasting love, so what better way to tell Ali upstairs how I really felt than to evoke this age-old symbol of two things who are meant for each other. Romance was never something I was any good at.
There many ways to describe
How you are like a dove,
So many traits and qualities
Which fit you like a glove.
A dove is pretty and fragile
And can be sighted in meadows,
A dove has a stalk and petals
…wait I’m thinking of a rose.
A dove is good and precious
And was the subject of fine art,
A dove pumps blood round the body
…wait I’m thinking of a heart.
A dove is white and silky
And in the sky can form a crowd,
A dove is made from condensation
…wait I’m thinking of a cloud.
Alright, maybe you’re not like a dove,
Now that I’ve thought it through
The point I am trying to make is,
I bloody fancy you.
A Limerick by Luke Jackson
My voice is bone dry, and my throat rather quite horse
The blame lies at my door, its all my fault of course
My skin is on fire
My hearbeat gets higher
Wanking with salt and barbed wire, tosser’s remorse.
A love poem by Joe Bowley
Love is the hardest thing anyone can go through
Science, History and Art can’t define you
There is also geography, entertainment and sports
Love should be unconditional, regardless of warts
Love taught me the Capital of Lebanon is Beirut
Wait I’ve confused love and trivial pursuit.
Another Limerick by Luke Jackson
I met a man called Horatio
He asked me of my talents you know
Well you charming young scrumpet
Not one to blow my trumpet,
But I’m great at self-felatio.
Oh, I Wish I’d Looked After My Kitchen (A poem about housemates) by Ben Harcourt
This one is a tribute of the Pam Ayres poem ‘Oh, I Wish I’d Looked After My Teeth’. Where that poem encourages children to get in the habit of brushing their teeth, hopefully this poem encourages you to clean up after yourself. If you don’t your most passive aggressive flatmate might start writing poems about you.
Oh, I wish I’d looked after my kitchen.
And listened to all of the bitchin’,
From my tidier mates
Who washed up their plates.
Oh I wish I’d looked after my kitchen.
I wish I had taken the time
To wipe up at least some of the slime
From the food I would chomp,
Then away I would romp
Leaving all of this horrible grime.
When I think of the spoons that I used
Swirling tea-bags until they defused.
Then called everyone picky
When they said “The spoon’s sticky!”,
Just ‘cause my ego was bruised.
My Mother told me no end
In all of the texts that she’d send,
“I know it seems tough
But wash up your stuff
And you will reap much dividend”.
Her words always fell on deaf ears.
I recall in all my student years
Of making an utter mess,
And causing terrible stress,
My crockery had been cleaned by my peers.
If I’d known that some miserable day
My flatmates would all move away,
Then once in my life
I would’ve washed-up; a knife
a bowl or a baking tray.
But now I live on my own
So it’s too late for me to atone.
No clean plates on the shelf,
It’s affecting my health,
I’m withering like an old crone.
Oh, I wish I’d looked after my kitchen.
Because what I had once called bitchin’
Was a simple life lesson
That’s why I’m confessin’.
Oh, I wish I’d looked after my kitchen.
The Operation by Joss Bates
Sweat dripped from John’s brow
Because he sweated when he was nervous.
One false move and it was all over.
He knew it and his kids watching new it.
He plunged the tweezers in with textbook precision.
But his wife still died.
The paramedic had been right.
Surgery was nothing like “operation”.
If you enjoyed these poems give us a share. If you also enjoy writing comedy poems then make sure to join our society and our Facebook group (Warwick Comedy). If you would like to perform them live, then come to one of stand-up sessions on Wednesdays 6-7pm (from week 2) in H1.48 to test out the material and find out more about performing at one of our gigs. Alternatively, you can drop us an email at warwickcomedy@gmail.com and we can publish your poems on our blog.