Rather Than Twiddle Your Thumbs, Write A Poem...


I just realised the only two options here are either to shit on yourself or write a poem. Is this is metaphor for life Mr Cheeks?


Well-Known Forumite
to be honest it was a whimsy...

but i feel that perhaps my interpretation of it would be;

if something gets on your tits,
and makes you rage minor or major,
rather than do a shit,
write about it.

in the context of this little page.

obviously there are more than two choices in life.
how many choices are there; answers on a sprout.


i'm not wholly convinced that all of this is the work of the OP.. too many inconsitencies :raise:


4000th post? Whatever, I'm nonchalant..

He emerged from the bowels of Lady Jane,
With a fair bit of grunting' and a whole lot of pain.
He squeezed through her cheeks with fire and ash,
And into the bowl with one hell of a splash.

Well, he started his life the day before,
As a nice, juicy beefsteak that was medium raw.
Alfalfa and vegetables hung him long,
And two hot cross buns made him awfully strong.

Six glasses of wine lubricated his wake,
With some added propulsion from a chocolate cake,
And the big, lumpy midriff that bumped in the bowl,
Was the seed from a lichee she'd swallowed whole.

It took fourteen flushes to send him away,
But the skid-marks he left clung on ten days.
This wasn't the end of his journey south,
He collected eight tampons and one dead mouse.

This was just the beginning of something' more,
There were curried prawns buried deep in his core,
They brewed that gas they run engines from,
And this floating log became an atom bomb!

Well, he snuck through a valve at the treatment shed,
Where he lurked in the chemicals 'till they ate his head,
Then with a rush of gas and an almighty bang,
The whole plant went up, and the fat lady sang.

Well, there wasn't a whole lot left of the site,
It was leveled to the ground by brown dynamite,
So they inscripted a plaque, and upon it was writ:
"At the bottom of this sewer, lies a big, mean shit...


I'm a Staffooooooordian
May I offer a piece of poetry, not by myself, but one of the midland's best ever and most loved wordsmiths.

Bombs, by Rik.

All around
Sometimes up
Sometimes down
But always



Sofa said:
May I offer a piece of poetry, not by myself, but one of the midland's best ever and most loved wordsmiths.

Bombs, by Rik.

All around
Sometimes up
Sometimes down
But always
we're both on different buses, pollution,
but we're both using petrol..



Forum user & abuser
Think the film I'm thinking of is 'When the wind blows' Song on soundtrack by David Bowie 'Ten minutes to midnight, ten minutes to armageddon. Now that's poetry.


I'm a Staffooooooordian
Thank you for that dirtybobby - my memory is not what it once was!

Right on! I'm so bored I could eat my own ear wax - and we all know how horrid that tastes, right kids?


Well-Known Forumite
thank god for anadin;

Tenshon, you're poems are well right on,
your lyrical skills make mine pong,
yes its true i think you're great,
for another poem i sit and wait!

i have to say my efforts don't scan particularly well, i'm always concerned about an idea or 'message'....i must try harder...'slap' on Mr Cheeks' hand...

are there only two poets on the stafford forum...?

i'm going to kidnap stephen fry and get him to make some contributions...

and perhaps conduct seance to raise spike milligan from the dead...




A few posts under my belt
The Beauty Inside

Its not about the doing, its about the beauty inside.
Do you have sex with the body, or sex with the mind?
I know there's a line there but its getting hard to find,
Am I shagging her thoughts when taking her from behind?

When I first met her was it her charm & wit
that made me think, "yeah, shes gonna get it".
Or was it the fact that she was flashin' quite a bit of tit?
Nah im sure it was her mind that I thought was fit.

She made me smile and she made me laugh,
but was that just because I wanted to get her in the sack?
We talked about politics, philosophy & life,
but the whole time we talked she just kept stroking her thighs!

Nah Im sure it was all the things that she said,
that made me want to get her into bed.
It was her brains that I slept with, that made me scream & shout.
Its a pity really now that I've shagged em all out!


Well-Known Forumite
who dares to take the name of Mr 'Cheeks'...?

a fantastic ditty though...

perhaps you would allow me a squeeze...?

have i found my Mrs Cheeks...?

No, alas he was shagging a lady in his ryhme...
perhaps a change in my orientation is nigh...


A few posts under my belt
Have you ever seen an animated porno?
Have you ever touched the void between the things you know?
Have you ever taken the piss out of a kid whose too slow?
I have!


You knows it
I never knew the people of ford were this poetical! Maybe we should set up a Poetry category in the forum? Or even have a poets corner at the pie fest??


Well-Known Forumite

Decisions, Choices, they dictate who we are,
but if you follow someone else,
you won't get very far.

To do things on your own terms,
to understand your truth,
that's the best that you can hope for,
when you're leaving your youth.

All the things that you believe,
they make no sense to me,
i've only ever thought the way,
the way that's right for me.

So when you're choosing a path,
may it be of authenticity,
living in good faith,
speaking existentially.

There is no right or wrong,
the futures been and gone,
so don't let your ego stop you,
from singing along.

Don't abidicate from choice,
Everyone of us is a star,
There is no competition,
to be just who you are.


Well-Known Forumite
I noticed Mr Cheeks???? mentioned kipling somewhere in this thread...

so i would like if it may to post two poems by this geezer that everybody knows, cos this is the bar for poetry for me...
imagination and realism, romanticism and pragmatism...

farkin' dude...


If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!


You knows it
Aye Great poem that one Dave.

'spec to the kipmeister not only a lyrical maniac but bloody good :pie: 's too :D


Official 1000th poster
I was thinking about posting 'If' on here earlier, Dave. Great minds eh?

I fancy having that poem tattoed on me willy. Hell, I've probably got room for another if anyone fancies writing something. About 1000 words should do it.