More from a couple of my favourite poets for Burns Night

It's that time of year again when we think about poetry and/or eat haggis with tatties and neeps, and even have the odd tipple of whisky for Burns Night. I'll probably indulge in it a bit, given that I've not allowed myself to get drawn into this "dry January" or "Veganuary" fad. 

It's probably the only day of the year I'll bother to eat haggis so why not go the whole hog (or sheep even!) and throw in a bit of rhyme and verse too. 

I did this last year with my family, and my nine-year old nice really got into it. I couldn't believe she even knew some Shakespeare sonnets. Clearly I had a mis-spent childhood just reading Enid Blyton when I was her age. Anyway, here are a couple of verses by poets I like - John Cooper Clarke, and Murray Lachlan Young. Not exactly Shakespeare or even Rabbie Burns. But I think they're fun, and for once they're not even about cycling. Yes, I do think about other stuff outside of two-wheeled things!

ARE YOU THE BUSINESS 

(by john cooper clarke)

Does Superman wear blue tights
And keep away from kryptonite
Do old ladies get mugged at night
Are you the business

Do workers want a living wage
Do rock stars lie about their age
Would a tiger run from an open cage
Are you the business

Are you the fuck off business
Is my first name John
Is strangeways full of prisoners
Am I over twenty-one

Are the royal family really rich
Is Scooby-Doo one son-of-a bitch
Is Wembley stadium a football pitch
Are you the business

Did Noriega knock out coke
Did Bob Marley like the odd smoke
Was Jesus Christ a decent bloke
Are you the business

Does Oliver Reed ever get pissed
Can Chubby Checker do the twist
Was Karl Marx a communist
Are you the business

Was James Dean a cool cat
Was Kennedy a democrat
Do Hacedic men wear hats
Are you the business

Will narcotics get you hooked
Did Dostoyevsky write the odd book
Was Al Capone a bit of a crook
Are you the business

Did Buddy Holly wear horn-rimmed specs
Is czechoslovakia full of czechs
Did Sigmund Freud consider sex
Are you the business

Did Elvis ever rock ‘n roll
Did James Brown have any soul
Will I touch you with a ten-foot barge pole
Are you the business

If ya gonna go Keith (don't do it like that) 
(by Murray Lachlan Young)

What the hell did you think you were doing?
So blind that you just could not see
Not a thought for your legion of worshipping fans
When you shinned up the trunk of that coconut tree

If you’re gonna go Keith go Keith go
If your gonna go Keith go Keith go
If your gonna go Keith go Keith go
Don’t do it like that Keith no Keith no

Go in the middle of a hard blues riff
Go at the end of a smacked up spliff
Speedball death plunge, Lear jet smash
Coked up gunfight, high-speed car crash
Kohl black eyes cracked rock-n-roll skin
With your hand on the fret board, cigarette grin
Do it like a king pin Debauchee
But not falling out of a coconut tree

Keith, man, what goaded you on?
Was it Ronnie Wood? That said you should?
Or was it Elton John that you tried to prove wrong?
When he called you King Kong, did you snag your sarong?
C’mon, C’mon, C’mon C’mawn!
Keith, baby, tell us please what the hell was going on?

Cause if you’re gonna go Keith, go Keith go
If you’re gonna go Keith go Keith go
And if you’re gonna go Keith go Keith go
Don’t do it like that Keith
No Keith
No.

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Burns Night again - so more cycling poetry

Cycling poems for Burns Night

Burns Night again - so more cycling poetry

How about a bit of cycling-related poetry. Every year I say I'd like to get into poetry - along with writing that great novel that gets turned into a film! Once again I haven't got round to it, so here are a couple to celebrate while you enjoy a bit of haggis and whisky.  

The first poem has a moral at the end - if only I could ride a horse! The second poem is an ode to a place that many club cyclists go to for warm weather training, and I imagine for the other delights this Balearic Island has to offer!

Mulga Bill's Bicycle

by Andrew "Banjo" Barton Paterson (1896)

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze; 
He turned away the good old horse that served him many days; 
He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen; 
He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine; 
And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride, 
The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?" 
"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea, 
From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me.
 
I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows, 
Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows.
 
But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight; 
Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight.
 
There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel, 
There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel, 
But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight: 
I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight.
" 

'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode, 
That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road.

He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, 
But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away.
 
It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak, 
It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.
 

It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box: 
The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks, 
The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground, 
As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound.
 
It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree, 
It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be; 
And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek 
It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek.
 

'Twas Mulga Bill from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore: 
He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before; 
I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet, 
But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet.
 
I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; It's shaken all my nerve 
To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve.
 
It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still; 
A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."







John Cooper Clarke-Majorca.
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MAJORCA




By John Cooper Clarke (1976)

Fasten your seatbelts says a voice

Inside the plane you can’t hear no noise 

Engines made by Rolls Royce 

Take your choice 

…make mine Majorca






Check out the parachutes 

Can’t be found 

Alert those passengers 

They’ll be drowned 

A friendly mug says “settle down” 

When i came round i was gagged and bound 

…for Majorca






And the eyes caress 

The neat hostess 

Her unapproachable flip finesse 

I found the meaning of the word excess 

They’ve got little bags if you wanna make a mess 

I fancied Cuba but it cost me less  

…to Majorca






(Whose blonde sand fondly kisses 

the cool fathoms of the blue mediteranean)






They packed us into the white hotel 

You could still smell the polycell 

Wet white paint in the air-conditioned cells 

The waiter smelled of fake Chanel 

Gauloises… garlic as well 

says if i like… i can call him “Miguel” 

…well really






I got drunk with another fella 

Who’d just brought up a previous paella 

He wanted a fight but said they were yella’ 

…in Majorca






The guitars rang and the castinets clicked 

The dancer’s stamped and the dancer’s kicked 

It’s likely if you sang in the street you’d be nicked 

The Double Diamond flowed like sick 

Mother’s Pride, tortilla and chips 

Pneumatic drills when you try to kip 

…in Majorca






A stomach infection put me in the shade 

Must have been something in the lemonade 

But by the balls of Franco i paid 

Had to pawn my bucket and spade 

Next year I’ll take the international brigade 

…to Majorca


























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