In Flanders Fields
by John McCrae

In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place, and in the sky,
The larks, still bravely singing, fly,
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the dead; short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

John Keats (1795-1821)
WHEN I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high pil`d books, in charact'ry,
Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face, 5
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And feel that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!
That I shall never look upon thee more, 10
Never have relish in the faery power

I think I’m biosexual
But I’m really not too sure
There’s certain things I’d like
That I have never tried before

Friends tell me that it’s normal
And if the chance arises
To grab it with both hands
And I’ll enjoy a few surprises

Although it’s just a fantasy
A dream for which I hope
If it should ever happen
I am certain I could cope

Now I’m sure I’m biosexual
For when all is done and said
I just can’t wait to try it
With two women in my bed

If I could lick my genitals
Just like my neighbours pet
I’d film it with my camera
And I’d put it on the net

I’d soon be rich and famous
Like a real life porno star
I’d buy a great big mansion
And a big expensive car

A swimming pool, Jacuzzi
Naked women by the score
A wall hung with old masters
Persian rugs upon the floor

But that’s really just a dream
And I’d be happy I suppose
If I could lose my belly
And could see my bloody toes

I was travelling to Thursford, one day in the car
And I’d followed directions I’d got in the bar
We were on Caister road, was it left was it right
It was late, we were lost we were losing the light
We spotted a policeman and asked of him “pray,
Thursford my friend, can you tell me the way”
Well, he started to chuckle, he grinned then he laughed
Said “ you’ve listened to John, you’ve been pretty daft
It’s a good forty mile, you’ve had a bum steer
It’ll take you an hour, cos it’s nowhere near here”

It’s the wife; we’ve not spoken for ages
For a while now she’s not moved her lips
But her diet it seems to be working
You can tell by the size of her hips
Ask, if you can, what’s upset her
Was it something I did or forgot?
She sits there and stares at the ceiling
And she hasn’t been eating a lot
See if she wants to go shopping
The food I’ve been eating is junk
Tell her she needs a good shower
She’s beginning to smell like a skunk
Find out where all my clean socks are
I haven’t changed these for a while

David seems to have the knack
Although he thinks he’s cursed
With the gift of tongues
He is exceedingly well versed

No language is a hurdle
To this fellows conversation
He can get his point across
To any man from any nation

But when it comes to ladies
Words are gibberish and random
He is tongue tied and he’s speechless
‘cause he just can’t understand ‘em

The day was bright and sunny
The temperature was high
With skylarks singing sweetly
As they hovered in the sky

The babbling brook was babbling
To the sighing of the trees
The butterflies were coasting
Way up high upon the breeze

I gazed at all the wonders
Mother nature had in store
And I marvelled at her beauty
As I stood outside my door

That life affirming moment
Sent a shiver down my spine
So I went to watch the tele
With another glass of wine

There was a young man from Mauritius
Who found eating pussies nutritious
Roasted boiled or fried
It cannot be denied
That the meat was sublimely delicious

Bound by limitless duality
of passion and desire,
our need was mutually welcomed,
shivered touch an eagerness
unbridled through dark patchwork
hints of empty towns in sleeping country,
haunted by a lowering moon, swift on winding
paths of ancient stars through moonlit clouds
and shadowed stands of ripened corn
whispered with a kiss of breeze
from night's cool sigh of discontent
at the promise of a pale dawn
echoing with distant touch of deity,
hinting breaths unfolding,