A Cupid Stunt

The Love God is a feckless thing
It’s arrows it doth’ wildly fling
But each hath curs'ed poison sting
For though the heart when struck may sing
And dreamily to hope may cling
Eftsoons that hope will swiftly wing
And lovelorn care the hands shall wring
T’were better that th’ Amor’ King
Would snap the bow and break the string.

Feasting Folk

Let’s all wet the baby’s head
Uncle Wilf’ and Auntie Sue’
Will be the godparents they said
And Sue’ will make a trifle too.
We’ll get some wine, Australian,
And Cola for the kids.
OJ for Alan and Damien!
Cola blows their lids.

Janine is throwing a tantrum
Because she didn’t get a bike.
And who bought Jim that bloody drum?
Someone that we don’t like!
At least the Turkeys nicely done
You ballsed that up last year.
This Christmas must be a merry one,
I’ve got in gallons of beer.

See Ingrid there, with the curly hair?
Looks like nothing would interest her.
Well that Prof’ who held the Lit’ chair
Fucked her in the first semester.
Some graduation; this is a joke,
Champagne and sausages on sticks!
Let’s piss off and score some coke,
Forget about these gowned clown hicks.

Well many thanks to my old mate Stan’.
In an act of desperation,
He went and picked me to be best man
And give you this oration.
A proper sit down do, as well
Much classier than a buffet’.
The prawn cocktails have a familiar smell
But I suppose we can’t be fussy.

Oh stop it Jean. You’re rid of the louse
You’re free to look around.
You get to keep the kids and house
It couldn’t be more sound.
Stop snivelling for pity’s sake
You’ll soon have a man with tits like those
Here have a piece of chocolate cake
And for God’s sake blow your nose.

Yes give me sunshine any day
Though we have been skiing twice.
Not my idea of a holiday,
Cold and snow and bastard ice.
What’s in this drink the waiter brought
Apart from all the fruit?
Let’s nip down to that nudist beach,
Swap the thong for your birthday suit.

Here have another vol au vent
The dog puke in em’ makes me squirm.
I wouldn’t say they’ve overspent,
How long was Perkins with the firm?
The MD wasn’t too verbose.
Taciturn and to the point.
When I retire I’ll just piss off
And tell them where to stuff this joint.

Go on I’ll have a double gin
Helen’s staying sober so she can drive.
The ham on these sandwiches is a bit thin.
Tim would tell them if he were alive.
I’m glad cremation was their choice
Those graveside jobs can be a pain,
Got a sore throat once and lost my voice,
Standing on mud in the fucking rain.

The Legerdemain Of Legend

The source of a legend is vital,
In determining if it is fact.
The Irishman’s art, is inclined to impart
Some embellishment where it is lacked.
Ogham, survived in the Emerald isle,
Where the Druids, were always book cooking.
What ere’ it may seem, it may be not so green
As much as it is, grassy looking.
Once, beyond the Pale, you will get a tale
For just any question you ask.
Making it fit, by talking auld’ shit,
Will prove to a rustic, no task.
So Bean Sidhe, and Boggart, will people the land,
For those that have ears to listen.
Keep buying the stout, and without a doubt
You’ll see ancient eyes start to glisten.
The fairies of glens, the dark wraiths of fens,
And cartloads of Leprechaun lore,
Will be yours if you are, back and forth to the bar.
Keep em’ coming, and you will get more!
You’ll hear how Druids, of evil design
Put terrible curses on cattle and swine.
The plots they were hatching with Divilish sctratching,
A smouldering demon in evr’y scrawled line.
A small price to pay, as you go on your way
With a head full of Blarney blessed mystery.
And who is to say they are lies, anyway?
Spinning yarns, can’t be messed up with history!