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myff admin

And I thought Slough was disliked by poets!


The Bloody Orkneys

This bloody town's a bloody cuss
No bloody trains, no bloody bus,
And no one cares for bloody us
In bloody Orkney.

The bloody roads are bloody bad,
The bloody folks are bloody mad,
They'd make the brightest bloody sad,
In bloody Orkney.

All bloody clouds, and bloody rains,
No bloody kerbs, no bloody drains,
The Council's got no bloody brains,
In bloody Orkney.

Everything's so bloody dear,
A bloody bob, for bloody beer,
And is it good? - no bloody fear,
In bloody Orkney.

The bloody 'flicks' are bloody old,
The bloody seats are bloody cold,
You can't get in for bloody gold
In bloody Orkney.

The bloody dances make you smile,
The bloody band is bloody vile,
It only cramps your bloody style,
In bloody Orkney.

No bloody sport, no bloody games,
No bloody fun, the bloody dames
Won't even give their bloody names
In bloody Orkney.

Best bloody place is bloody bed,
With bloody ice on bloody head,
You might as well be bloody dead,
In bloody Orkney

-- Hamish Blair

And Sloughs poetic write up:


Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow
 Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs, and blow to smithereens
Those air-conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans
 Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town --
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week for half-a-crown
 For twenty years,

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
 In women's tears,

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
 And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
 They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
 To Maidenhead

And talk of sports and makes of cars
In various bogus Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
 But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
 And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs, and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
 The earth exhales.

-- John Betjeman


My girlfriend comes from slough and we visit it very often,, i have seen some green grass there,, not much though....

I've never been to Slough . . . but for some reason I always want to pronounce it "Sluff".

I suspect its reputation has preceded it!


Zina2008 wrote:
I've never been to Slough . . . but for some reason I always want to pronounce it "Sluff".

I suspect its reputation has preceded it!

Everyone that doesnt live there calls it sluff lol,,,,, its not to bad a place very cosmopolitan, very industrial and of course with out slough there be no ""office"" lol

But id rather slough than the Orkneys any day ,, drive me mad all that wind and rain all day .

May as well make this a thread to share poems lol.

Fallen by Daniel Bradley wrote:

She's tied up tightly,
Her wrists are bound,
Such cruelty she suffers,
Feet barely touch the ground.

No matter how she stuggles,
No matter how she tries,
She just cannot get free,
She cannot break the ties.

Rope burns begin to show,
As she struggles to get loose,
But the man returns, and tilts her neck,
As he tightens round the noose.

Rope now around her neck,
Feet and arms still bound,
The door beneath her swings open,
She plummets to the ground.

The rope pulls tight around her neck,
And stops her on the way,
The man now filled with regret,
Slowly walks away.

Devil on Earth by Daniel Bradley wrote:

The Devil emerged,
From his crypt down below,
Ready to wreck havoc,
On the world we all know.

Armed with a knife,
He musn't have known,
We're better defended,
Than last time he come.

He didn't have chance,
To go back to hell,
He came to the wrong place,
The Devil he fell.

With a thud to the floor,
He collapsed in a heap,
But after hours in hospital,
The machine's final beep.....

Pronounced dead by the doctor,
And confirmed on Gods part,
When his youngest son Jesus,
Drove a stake through his heart.

The Devil alas,
Was not anymore,
Burried 6ft below,
The cemetry floor.

"Cosmopolitan . . . industrial . . . and The Office"???

Give me Orkney any day! Forum Index -> Off Topic
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