Welcome to the Burlesque poetry section of my portfolio. By definition, Burlesque is a literary form which includes parody and satire. The intention of the form is to Caricaturize or ‘make light’ of something that ought be serious. Parody is probably the most popular extension of this form but the terms ‘black humour’ and ‘gallows humour’ have been used to describe Burlesque too. With that in mind the following poems will fit that idea in spirit so a few may be difficult to read.
There are no specific rules about structure. It is a relatively free form to write to. The following poems are my examples.
I want my Mummy.
On the battlefield of two clashing empires, hard men wept.
Some lost and eye, some lost a leg.
A shocked Sir Hopalong bled.
Cannons fired across the open pasture.
Like a game of skittles, Strike!!!!
Congratulations old boy
That’s quite a score.
Sudden death, we’ll throw one more.
Trumpets sound and the cavalry charge.
Turum turun turah.
Oh look old boy,
Damned sporting of them.
They offer a beautiful death.
The general slapped his steward,
A backhander across the face.
Why are we losing this battle
I ought to bash your head.
Ah war games.
Pride and greed meet the epitome of dread.
While father’s slay.
Young men are put eternally to bed.
Moaner Lisa (a parody)
Only one other woman ever smiled at me this way.
A suppressed smile,
A prudent glare that wracks me with guilt for a crime I have yet to commit.
Her name was also Lisa.
I wonder why I have to sit at night,
Contemplate how to shut you up.
“Do this, do that” you neigh
With that horrid half smile that say’s,
“Get to work my dear domestic slave”
I reflect intently on my lost youth.
Consider how to end this dilemma.
Something more radical?
How can I wipe that smirk off your face?
Who am I fooling?
I will still take your smile to my grave.
The suicide letter (warning – the following poem may cause offence)
Dear Sir/Madam (probably madam)
It is with regret that I choose to terminate my contract with Life LTD. I have had some very memorable experiences within your company, most of them unpleasant. After years of begging and pleading with the powers that be I feel I have received little support. I could list hundreds of situations that re-enforce this matter though I believe this letter is best left succinct. I realise you are very busy.
I feel that you believe bullying, unfairness and inequality to be acceptable for whatever reason. I mean, I can smell you’re bullshit from here and I am at home. You are either a bitter man or a Feminist, I can’t figure out which and that’s fine. Just don’t force your own insecurities on us honest folk. We tire over time.
So it is with immediate effect that I terminate my contract and believe me when I say I’ll see you in hell. Until then, enjoy your dinners for one.
The death sentence
The death sentence is a sentence of the literary kind.
The ‘the’ suggests it is the one and only.
The death carries the meaning of departing this life.
Sentence is followed by a full stop like this one.
It suggests that is it.
Nothing left to say.
The death sentence is a way of saying,
The worlds talks on about discrimination.
Discrimination is truly an abomination.
Racism and sexism feature amongst the many.
Of which, patience I don’t have any.
But we miss the most common kind.
Something, that is always on my mind.
I am of course talking about Tastism
That is just another form of Racism.
Take for example Brussels sprouts
So many people simply spit them out.
Yet they are so good for you.
Regardless, you spit and spew.
Many more rank amongst the poor.
Coffee and eggs lay upon the floor.
Mushrooms and tomatoes fester.
Garlic and cheese don’t impress the taster.
Fruits like bananas and raspberries die.
Onions and peppers don’t get to fry.
Runner beans and leeks you choose to chuck.
Of all the disgrace I have had enough.
So let stand proudly, join together.
Communally banish Tastism forever.
Bring in a future of good for all.
Make a difference, regardless how small.
The noose dangled alone.
No necks to entertain its soul.
It wished to return to the good old days.
Where it would hang, glistening in the sun.
The rope would play its fatal song.
The people would cheer with delight.
Now it hangs in a dingy barn.
Waiting for its chance of glory to come again.
One day, it will find a new friend
It hangs on to that faint hope.
Finally after what seems like eternity.
A man walks into the barn
The gang war.
Outside the solicitor cried.
For the accountant had parked in his space.
The solicitor called upon his troops.
For this was an act of war.
They headed to the accountant’s workplace
They were armed with letters of concern.
The accountant, annoyed to be humiliated in front of his gang lost his cool.
He turned his radio up really loud.
The solicitor pulled the plug from the socket.
His troops congratulated him on a good strategic move.
The accountant in fury offered the solicitor a seat.
The solicitor graciously accepted.
What followed is too severe to write in this poem.
For a war between pen pushers can get very messy.
How many unfortunate incidents can you list in a twenty four hour period?
I can list many.
First I woke up.
I went for a morning coffee.
I walked the dog.
I sent some e-mails
I called my sister.
I accosted someone in the street.
I listened to some rave music on top volume.
I went to the doctor with complaints of haemorrhoids.
I flirted with a girl in the local park.
I went to the cinema.
I spoke on the phone with a friend while in the cinema.
I ate dinner in a busy restaurant.
I went to see a friend.
I called my parents on the phone.
I survived the day.
I will wake up tomorrow.
Push him over the side.
Let that water cleasnse away his stench.
On the plagued ship.
Tempers are frayed.
Chattering with his teeth.
Shivering with his feet.
Push that diseased fellow over the side.
Water will carry this plague away.
One by one they drop.
Dying on the spot.
Push those deceased fellows over the side.
Let the gods of sea reject them.
From a safe old distance.
After praying for repentance.
Turn that ship on its side.
It wont reach ours is swear.
Now they are all dead.
Sinking to the depths.
Mission is accomplished.
The captain sneezes.
The lonely red car
The lonely red car parked against the wall wails in sorrow.
He is parked all alone, no sissy 1.2 about to blow.
What’s the point of revving up with no Clio there to gasp?
Look’s like this bad boy is the racer who finishes last.
The shiny car has alloys to die for and spoilers of fire.
All of this glamour has consequences so dire.
A dainty saloon steadily slides on by.
Recognises the hungry dick and sets to fly.
It is a gas guzzling monster of insane proportions.
Its fiery front creates fear inducing distortions.
It is always hunting for a sporty little number,
That can satisfy its incredible hunger.
Some cars just weren’t made to be paired.
This lonely red car hasn’t quite got the flair.
It sits in the car park, praying to the car god above
Sadly it is destined to age, devoid of all love.
The comedy club
Hello and welcome to all of you fine ladies out there.
Put your hands in the air, lets see some flair.
ha ha ha ha
So great of you guys to come out tonight.
I see some of you brought your dogs along, how nice.
ha ha ha ha
I see a German shepherd out there.
Look, she got the crook and everything.
ha ha ha ha
I’m just playing with you. woof.
ha ha ha ha
Here’s a bone for you.
Look at that beauty.
ha ha ha ha
I would come out and shake your paw but you might bite me.
ha ha ha ha
Sorry guys a little off topic there.
But i had to say hello to my wife.
ha ha ha ha
Yeah, i’m laughing now but after i get home and she gets her revenge i may feel a little bit ruff ruff ruff.
ha ha ha ha
Thankyou very much and goodnight, you’ve been beautiful.
I feel that while I’m sat here is should write something clever.
Say something that speaks volumes about the meaning of life.
Expel wisdom upon the unseeing populous.
Alas, I am distracted by tits.
I feel as though the world could use some of my experience.
Tell an anecdote that sums up the whole human race.
Tell a story that guides us all to a brighter future.
But tits are all I can see.
It’s a pain in the ass.
Of course an ‘ass’ task is a task, I must continue.
And those ‘tits’ bits of advice must be shared.
Like a ‘gangbang’ dab hand who has the sight to predict.
I must ‘fornicate’ concentrate on the ‘pussy in my’ work at hand.
Oooh, I shudder.
I am so angry.
Words cannot describe how angry I am.
It feels like I am about to snap and steam is going to billow out of my ears like a steam trains outburst of steam.
Like I said, words cannot describe how angry I am.
I’m so angry it’s funny.
I can barely hold back the tears of laughter I would shed in my anger for you.
You’d better listen and listen well because you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry.
I’m not going to tell you that you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry again because I would probably shout it at you.
You wouldn’t like me if I shouted at you.
It would probably make you angry.