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Poetry Competition

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In view of the recent enthusiasm for all things poetic I think now is the time to launch the spangly DeathList Poetry Competition.

 

  • Only one entry per person (plus of course unesteemed pseudoguests) so do your very bestest to impress our very own Bardess of the IOM, Yvonne.
  • The poem should have some kind of tenious link to the DL fora, Dunn, squids, Hadron colliders. Significant or otherwise.
  • Any style goes.
  • Deadline, let's say halloween, so Saturday 31st October.
  • The phone lines can then open to put the entries to the public vote or we could just save the bother and get our resident scribe Yvonne to pick.

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There was a DLer from Leeds

Who swallowed a packet of seeds

A tuft of grass

Grew out his arse

And he couldn't get shitting for weeds

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Windy moans, as Devon groans.

Drabble died, a tractor fried.

Banshees folds, his pizzas sold?

honez the pedant or a penile implant. :skull:

Fellatio's c*ckspanner needs bedside manner.

Godot's monkeys or Han's tdonkleys.

Patrick Moore on posting whores.

Funcity Maryport, the northern stalwart.

Lady Grendel, mod who attends to all,

This site's best bits but please no more random plebrity lists.

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Golden brown

 

 

In the kitchen thread of Deathlist

I found my love so sweet,

And many a bloated gravy boat,

Was slathered on our meat,

A fleshy mound of golden skin,

All oven hot and deep within,

With sturdy flanks full flavour sealed

A Yorkshire pud from Huddersfield.

 

The fluffy, spongy inner core,

Swollen with beef's juices

There's nothing more that I adore,

Our pudding has its uses,

A different bowl from which I sup,

Two women share a single cup,

I wouldn't swap my doughy bin,

For all that stains their satin skin.

 

Pouring, flowing, brown as mud,

The gravy gushes from the jug,

Gathering, swamplike in the pud,

A little bit spills on the rug,

Oh hound thy beast beneath my feet,

Licking with your tongue so fleet,

The sauce that dare not speak its name

Is just as good with lamb and game.

 

 

 

With apologies to Betjeman and the Licorice fields at Pontefract

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MC Monkey, what have you done

A thread where you think

Benefits none

A poem or Rhyme

I dont have the time

To think of anything rude

To piss off a prude

To rhyme or not

Ive given it a shot

If I now say Pollocks

I can finish with

Bollocks!!

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I wish it could be christmas everyday

Sang Roy Wood in 1973

With little thought to the consequences of perpetual national holiday

 

Devastated economy

Shuffling armies of the terminally feckless; hopelessly addicted to rewards, unearned

Muttering vaguely about plans, and the injustices of others

 

Hooked like lab rats with their noses pressed against the reward button

Starving for want of direction or a sense of their self-worth

 

Sometimes I look at the domestic policy of successive governments since the 70s

and wonder....

 

Surely, they weren't ALL Roy Wood fans.

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Enjoy!

 

 

A young lass from the town Parramatta

Had a face total darkness can't flatter.

She worked the streets at night,

And via a lack of foresight

A bloke was born, Body Snatcher.

 

The aforementioned Snatcher when pissed

Joined the online forum deathlist.

His posts in large part ignored,

But he does it when he gets bored

And I think I just burst my bad cyst.

 

To each other you guys are so mean

I hope that this poem is seen.

If it isn't that's okay,

It won't keep me at bay

I'll be back with more on Baked Bean.

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John Kettley

Might enjoy a pint of Tetley

He did breakfast TV

In 1993.

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John Kettley

Might enjoy a pint of Tetley

He did breakfast TV

In 1993.

This thread needs locking, this forum is losing all credibility............. :rolleyes:

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Halitosis was the diagnosis

When Banshees asked for the prognosis

From Dr McClaine

Who went on to explain

Why Banshees Scream

Although very keen

Couldnt get his leg over

In New York or Andover

So he shot himself....

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Christmas this year will be like no other

I lost someone very close could have been my brother

 

Patrick Swayze will be in charge of the dancing

having the time of his life while the reindeers are prancing

 

With Patrick McGoohan mooching about

some believe he may have had too much stout

 

Farrah Fawcet is the angel so sweet

waiting by the purly gates for the new members to greet

 

Stephen Gateley is singing the carols round the tree

and later will sit on Al Martino's knee

 

Keith Floyd volunteered to cook the Christmas lunch

it is likely that the pudding will be packed with a good brandy punch

 

Michael Jackson dressed as Santa Clause

Is bound to have a lot of applause

 

But poor Mollie Sugden really misses her pussy cat

and those unkind angels call her a daft old bat

 

So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...

May you and your loved ones, enjoy peace on Earth.

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Christmas this year will be like no other

I lost someone very close could have been my brother

 

Patrick Swayze will be in charge of the dancing

having the time of his life while the reindeers are prancing

 

With Patrick McGoohan mooching about

some believe he may have had too much stout

 

Farrah Fawcet is the angel so sweet

waiting by the purly gates for the new members to greet

 

Stephen Gateley is singing the carols round the tree

and later will sit on Al Martino's knee

 

Keith Floyd volunteered to cook the Christmas lunch

it is likely that the pudding will be packed with a good brandy punch

 

Michael Jackson dressed as Santa Clause

Is bound to have a lot of applause

 

But poor Mollie Sugden really misses her pussy cat

and those unkind angels call her a daft old bat

 

So here is that gift, it's price beyond worth...

May you and your loved ones, enjoy peace on Earth.

F'ucking brilliant.

Sheer genius

You are the finest "character" to enter any forum, anywhere.

You are playing an absolute blinder.

Keep up the good work.

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Farrah Fawcet is the angel so sweet

waiting by the purly gates for the new members to greet

 

I didn't know she knitted.

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A Childhood Trauma

 

 

Schnicketty Schnacketty,

Banshees (the screaming one)'s

nanny said, "Joseph don't

play with that knife!"

 

Joe, disobedient,

incontrovertibly

lessened his chances of

getting a wife.

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I know I've already posted my entry into the competition; but I feel that the following needs to be included.

 

It's done by an English video game critic called Yahtzee and he is reviewing the game Wolfenstein - I don't know if you guys are fans? hopefully you will be after watching this.

 

Enjoy!

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Who will be next, they ask

At DeathList Headquarters

One had a tumour,

Another a fall

 

Never despair, even

Nonagenarians

Find that eventually

Death conquers all

 

 

regards,

Hein

 

Certainly the most original entry to date.....respect!

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PORTSMOUTH & BRUSSELS

 

To be sung to the tune of Cockles and Mussels*

 

 

In London's fair city

The Deathlist Committee

chose fifty most likely to turn up their toes.

 

There's lovers and haters

And tin pot dictators

Who will be next not to be alive-O?

 

Alive alive-O, Alive, Alive - O, there's 38 bodies alive, alive-O.

Alive alive-O, Alive, alive - O, there's 38 bodies alive, alive-O.

 

From Sidney to Dover

We're thinking it over,

and everyone's guessing but nobody knows,

 

Could be Al Megrahi

Or Comotose Ari

And Ronnie looks pale but that might be a pose.

 

Alive alive-O, Alive, Alive - O, there's 38 bodies alive, alive-O.

Alive alive-O, Alive, alive - O, there's 38 bodies alive, alive-O.

 

Oh look ! There's my brother

With Lard Bazaar's mother

Crying 'Portsmouth and Brussels are waiting , lets go!'

 

 

 

etc...

 

Original song and guitar chords here.

 

Updated 11/2/09 to reflect the carkage of Claude Levi Strauss.

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Guest Robert Books

The Deserter

 

IF I should leave, think only this of me;

That there's a corner of some other forum

That is forever Godot's. There shall be

A fine new site to which our vanished squid fan will come;

The DeathList that got Godot bored, forgotten, gone for ever

Well, now, a new forum to love, to call his home

Memories of Godot fade, a new platform for him to be clever

Threads washed out by gravy, blest by his tendancy to moan

 

And to think, this site, such a pleasant place to stay

A harmless forum, no more or less

Perhaps somewhere in the back of Godot's mind

He will remember us and wonder why he chose to go away

From Deathlist, but it was his choice, let us digress

In hearts at peace, those Godot forever left behind.

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Looks like Yvonne is going to have her work cut out, there are some great adaptations there.

 

Just to remind you that the closing date is midnight, Halloween, i.e today. You'd do well to get a wriggle on those who want to be critiqued by our resident poet. Oh and to avoid arguments let's go with GMT.

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PORTSMOUTH & BRUSSELS

 

To be sung to the tune of Cockles and Mussels*

 

 

In London's fair city

The Deathlist Committee

chose fifty most likely to turn up their toes.

 

There's lovers and haters

And tin pot dictators

Who will be next not to be alive-O?

 

Alive alive-O, Alive, Alive - O, there's 39 bodies alive, alive-O.

Alive alive-O, Alive, alive - O, there's 39 bodies alive, alive-O.

 

From Sidney to Dover

We're thinking it over,

and everyone's guessing but nobody knows,

 

Could be Al Megrahi

Or Comotose Ari

And Ronnie looks pale but that might be a pose.

 

Alive alive-O, Alive, Alive - O, there's 39 bodies alive, alive-O.

Alive alive-O, Alive, alive - O, there's 39 bodies alive, alive-O.

 

Oh look ! There's my brother

With Lard Bazaar's mother

Crying 'Portsmouth and Brussels are waiting , lets go!'

 

 

 

etc...

 

Original song and guitar chords here.

 

Post of the year candidate. :(

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Are there any favourites here amongst you now that the deadline has past and dare I ask should there be a prize for the winner?

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Should we create a poll, perhaps with a deadline?

 

Or should we just let Yvonne decide?

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Yes please can you create a poll with a deadline then everybody can vote

 

thanks

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So there it is.

At the moment Mono is in the lead.

 

Saturday at midnight GMT all right as a deadline?

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