Poetry Blog by John Coopey

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John Coopey on "OLD, RACIST AND THICK" (8 hours ago)

Greg Freeman on "OLD, RACIST AND THICK" (10 hours ago)

John Coopey on "OLD, RACIST AND THICK" (11 hours ago)

Greg Freeman on "OLD, RACIST AND THICK" (11 hours ago)

John Coopey on "OLD, RACIST AND THICK" (11 hours ago)

Martin Brenchley on "OLD, RACIST AND THICK" (21 hours ago)

John Coopey on "OLD, RACIST AND THICK" (22 hours ago)

kJ Walker on Cat Nap (5 days ago)

John Coopey on WHEN HITLER BROUGHT THE HOUSE DOWN (14 days ago)

Devon Brock on Cat Nap (14 days ago)


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(An oldie from my back catalogue.  Mondays are doubly enjoyable when it's the first day back at school)


The replacement hip Gives me some jip

And my Tens just overflowed

I need Deep Heat For arthritic feet

In winter when it’s snowed

And drivers reprimand me

For shuffling across the road

But I still have reason To enjoy each season

For the rest of the time I’m owed.


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(First he asked the President to dissolve the Reichstag. Then he banned opposition parties.  Finally he introduced the Enabling Act to allow him to by-pass the Reichstag)


The crowds they cheered him joyously

“With one great leap we will be free”

It was the start of things to be

When Hitler brought the House down.


“Let’s end all this procrastination”

Spake the volk of ha...

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We trudged round Designer Outlet

A day full of dull misery

I’d sampled a few cups of coffee

Which meant that I needed a pee.

I nipped to the public convenience

And read all the ads on the wall

Avoiding the one on Viagra

(A bloke was in the next stall).

But then as I left the urinals

I heard from the Ladies next door

The sound of a Dyson Airblade

Making its motorise...

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So like I was telling you, I’ve always considered myself as something of a MOTW but recent events have shown that even I can always find something new to learn.

Take Ben.  He’s just started working on a cow farm and he was telling us about how the cows were inseminated. 

“By the bull” I hear you say; and, strictly speaking, you’d be right.  But not normally by the farmer’s bull.

See, he b...

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We all know the sketch, of course – a scene in the Nag’s Head where Trig is extolling the virtues of his depot broom.  “This old broom has had 17 new heads and 14 new handles in its time”.

Oh, how we laughed.

What is less obvious is the profound metaphysical point he was making.

It’s reckoned that every cell in the human body dies and is replaced within a seven year period.

So just lik...

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(I'm in!)


Born too late to get a pension

It’s postponed and in suspension

Till 68

Why were you born too late?


Born too late for rock n roll n jive

It won’t be paid at 65

Just great!

Why were you born too late?


Born too late unlike this lucky sod

I’ll get my OAP, thank God

I can’t wait

I wasn’t born too late.


I’m born in time to get a pensi...

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(Been thinking)


It came to me in a flash. Or rather, a slash.

How old men seem inexorably drawn towards wearing beige and then how unsuitable that is, given their lack of equipment control and subsequent piss stains down their front.

So (PATENT PENDING) The Slash Apron.

Made of pliable and washable but impervious plastic, when not in use it tucks neatly inside your kecks where it ...

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I’d always associated these with youth, mostly as a milestone marking the transition from child to adult.  Menstruation in girls, boys’ voices croaking.  Or it might be drinking your first pint or your first kiss.

But not exclusively so.  Further along the ageing path would come the menopause or wearing beige.

But it had always been a source of pride for me that I had got to the age of 67 an...

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(Four years ago there was a news story about a young Palestinian boy who was snatched from a protest and beaten to death by Israeli police. Shocking as that is, they also smashed the phones of witnesses who tried to call an ambulance and sipped coffee while he died.  A re-post)


We snatched this dirty Arab boy when he was throwing stones;

He looked so fucking funny making all his moans a...

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If she isn’t dead by now she’ll certainly be redundant.  Who’d pay 2/6d to see her at Goose Fair when you can stroll down Donny High Street every sunny day of the week and see any number of that fine town’s sisterhood showing off their disfigurements.

Of course, whether a doxy chooses to blight her body with permanent ink or supernumerary orifi is entirely her ownership; as is the right to call...

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(A re-post from 2013.  Prompted by a line from the Edward Rutherfurd novel "London" and set in the Bronze Age)


“For these” said the father, “are the things a boy should know.


The gut for its twine, the yew for the bow

The paths through the woods where the spirits go

To gauge with the eye through their hips and breasts

The choice of a wifeman where the seed will sow



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(A re-post from a couple of years ago. But how fashions come round again! It was prompted by the joker who approached Theresa May at the rostrum of the Tory Party Conference to give her a P45, claiming Boris had sent her.  How Boris must "love it when a plan comes together"!)


Cammie called George when he got the word

He said “ I suppose you’ve heard about Boris?”

George rushed to the...

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It was a much more sophisticated approach than the ancient way but had its roots there.  The druid would only go on the physical appearance of the new-born child before deciding whether to strangle or bless it.  Physical appearance betrayed physical disability – cleft palates, crooked limbs, hunched backs, splayed feet, mishapen heads. 

It was this very provenance, though, which lent the proces...

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(I've always felt this site lacked a poetry and recipe fusion post.  Here's one from the Lumpwood King)


For those of us that barbecue we sometimes find we wish

We might forego the pork or lamb and barbecue some fish;

But this is problematic; you’ll find this once you start

Cos tasty though as most fish is it’s prone to fall apart;

Now remedies are possible; it could be wrapped ...

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Don’t get me wrong, I’m more than comfortable with others enjoying a sexuality different from my own.  Whatever pleasure anyone wants to get out of their willy or their fanny is entirely fine by me.

No.  It’s the silliness of the nomenclature which I ridicule.  How many people would know what “LGBTQIA+” stands for without googling it?  Not many, I bet.

And, I’m told the “Q” stands for “Queer...

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(Hendrix would be envious indeed of these incomparable guitar skills)


Hey Bo! You made your name playing the clown now

But Hey Bo! I heard you shot your rivals down now

So Hey Bo! Like a king you’ll pick up the crown now.


Achieved with nothing, not a bean, in your head now

Hey Bo! You’ve made the dailies centre spread now

Your Party’s shafted Hunt – they’ve gone for you...

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(Spare a thought for us retired old folk in this hot weather)


Bligits. Bligits. Everywhere.

In your ears and in your hair.

In the garden while you doze

Bligits in your ears and nose.

Bligits in each orifice

It isn’t all retirement bliss.

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(Selby Abbey celebrates its 950th anniversary this year.  A tribute)


I know the Abbey well enough; I worked there for a while;

I’ve walked its length a thousand times – the nave, the quire, the aisles.

I know its features through and through; I’ve shown them to our guests;

Each visitor has favourites – the things they like the best.

They come from near, they come from far, from...

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(I cannot, in truth, blame Boris.  He is a liar.  Everyone knows he lies.  He lied about Brexit.  Everyone knows he lied about Brexit.  But no-one who voted for Brexit accepts they were lied to.  Or, if they do, they don't care.  And that is far worse).


I am Boris Johnson; now my story shall be told;

I have plundered an existence, positioning myself to my advantage;

“All lies and jes...

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(A competition poem submitted on the theme of "Who Wrote Shakespeare?" run by the Shakespeare Oxford Fellowship.  I thought they could do with a bit of culture.  Worldwide fans will recognise this as a tired old re-post, topped and tailed for the occasion).


While this debate is at its height

I offer you a scoop tonight;

I shine a fresh revealing light

(Think me not knave nor jeste...

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In a land of immigration

Paul Revere and Liberty

Welcoming with open arms

Land of Opportunity.

Once a fair and moral nation

Looked upon with admiration

Hands held out with open palms

Welcoming with open arms

Not clenched fists but open palms

Greeted us from o’er the sea

And offered opportunity.


Marches that won integration

Rosa Parks, the Kennedys

Dream ...

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(We have one in Selby although I patronise other cafes in preference)


There’s no more boring chore in life

Than to wait behind your wife

While she’s looking for a handbag or a dress

Our Gert had thought I’d lost her

But I’d slipped away to Costa

For a coffee while she shopped at M & S.


Since they use a stronger bean

Their Flat White always seems

A tasty and inv...

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(A re-post from 2011.  But class is timeless)


As quiet closes end of day

When evening’s calm has gripped us

I set a fire and in it lay

Dried logs of eucalyptus.


A billowing blue smokiness

And flames begin to dance;

The leaves and trees stand motionless,

No breeze to break their trance.


The silence of the setting scene

Occasionally lifts

From traffic ...

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(A re-post.  And a huge debt to the comic genius, Steve Womack, for the joke)


We made our way to bed one night

I pulled down all the blinds

We kissed by filtered moonlight

Passion in our minds.


My wife broke from our close embrace

“I won’t be long.  Don’t go”

And headed for the bathroom door

Then cruelly stubbed her toe.


She cried in pain and anguish


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(Confessions of a man with little honour.  But you get it while you can)


I used to turn up on them marches

Arms linked with the Trotskyist host

But now I tune in to the Archers

“Them as lives longest learns most”.


I wore all my badges and labels

The shouts and the slogans and words

I learned them just like my times tables

But really I went for the birds.



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(Hey ho. One man's poison's another man's meat)


My money wasn’t made through skill,

My bank of knowledge almost Nil

But, rather, I would wait until

The time was ripe, I’d guess,

To make my brass through stress.


On my network I might learn

Some manager in some such firm

Had chucked a sickie while infirm

And under some duress

Had gone off sick with stress.


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There were a lot of things we needed to get used to on a cruise ship; which decks the various restaurants and theatres were on, the best places to sunbathe or find shade and, not least, which was front and back.  One corridor looks pretty much the same as the next whichever deck you’re on or whether it’s on the Port Said or the Starman; and any of them looks the same whether you face the sharp end...

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(I seem to recollect he posted a couple of things on WOL a few years ago but I couldn't find them)


I knew Andrew.  But not well.

I’d not seen him for six or more years, since he’d moved away from the York area to deepest West Yorkshire.  But we kept in touch through Facebook.

Those who knew him will recall a character warm with wit and charm. He came from Essex, the son of a clergyma...

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(Inspired by this wonderful advertisement for Lux.  I needed to change it to Camay for the rhythm.  A racing cert for Poem of the Week)


Freshen up your flaps with Camay

Fol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol la

It’s the soap for whiffy fanny

Fol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol la

Banish thoughts of Aldi salmon

Fol lol lol lol lol lol lol lol la

If you’re hoping for a gamming.


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Isn’t that Boris there over there in the spotlight?  (Uh uh)

Didn’t you used to have a thing for him (Uh uh)

By the way, where’d you meet him


“I saw him on the telly with unruly hair

I thought him a cutie and a cuddly bear

I never saw him as Leader of the Pack".


You folks were always putting him down

(Down down down)

You said he’s just a daft harmless clown


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(A true story told to me by Wilf, cut down a bit as she's got more rattle than a can of marbles).


The tribe had gone from Barnsley to America for a fortnight’s holiday – grown-ups, kids, grandparents aunties and uncles.  After arriving at JFK Airport they went off in search of the bus they’d hired.  It was big enough to take them all and was the sort that had a sliding side door as well as...

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(A re-post from a few years ago and a photo from many years ago when I was young and beautiful)


I miss the man that I used to be

That athletic man that used to be me

For when I was young

I was tireless and strong

I miss the man that I used to be


The man I see in the photos of him

I tall and muscular, dark and slim

But this was a past

Forbidden to last

I miss...

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The name she should have taken at birth had been long forgotten except by her mother, and she had been known since as Pen Alahn, Quiet Death.

She had not been expected to live long, cursed as she was by the gods with her limp.  She had not spoken until her third summer, interrupting the Elders at the Feast of Thanks, screaming simply, “They Come”.  The other women giggled and her father had sla...

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(A re-post about immigration.  Timely, given the EU elections this week. And a reminder of when immigration was less benign)


Those crazy Normans brought a notion

To Pevensey Bay

It involved our demotion

And I don’t mean pay;

If your hairdo is flaxen

It’s a give-away

Then you must be Saxon -

Serfin’s here to stay.


You might have lorded the Manor

Been an Earl ...

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(A Facebook chum of mine, Richard Harries, saw this photo of abandoned golf clubs at his local recycling centre and described at "unutterably sad".  I concur)


Just one hook

That’s all it took, yeah,

Just one hook

That’s all it took, yeah,


Just one hook

And I knew-ew-ew

That golf

And me were through-ough-ough


Just one hook

With a wood –oo-ood

And I kn...

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I’ve been reading a lot about this lately.  It seems today’s youngsters are beset from every corner with trauma.  Not the small stuff our forebears experienced, blitzkrieg, the Great Depression, the trenches et al but far more damaging daemons.

But let a sufferer tell you first hand.

Rhian, aged 28, (a little old to be a millennial I felt) explained that she couldn’t remember the last time s...

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Americans are quick to forget (or embarrassed to remenber) that during The War of Independence, whole cities remained loyal to the British Crown.  "Murrain" is (literally) a disease of livestock but came to mean a more general malady, as might "pox" these days.


They fled from the murrain that fell on East Ham

By Plymouth and Boston they brought us

And on to this place they called New...

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(If you don't know what this is about it is safe to say you lead an impoverished life)


Mine eyes have seen the golden goals of Greavsie and of Smith

The silky skills of Hoddle, Gazza and those they played with

But now we add another to the pantheon of myth

As the Spurs go marching on.


Glory, Glory Hallelujah

Glory, Glory Hail to Moura

He was Tottenham’s hat-trick sco...

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(A re-post evidencing my provenance in support of the sisterhood on this issue)


I’m fully with the sisterhood on this, I have to say –

Breast feeding in a public place at any time of day;

So I was most surprised the lady made a big to-do

When I pulled up a comfy chair to get a better view.


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We’re limping along on the crest of a trough

As we make the Champions League;

Where once we were cruising

We now can’t stop losing

In end-of-term fatigue.

We’ve shit on United

And Arsenal;

We’re delighted

We’re limping along on the crest of a trough

As we make the Champions League.


We’ve lost six out of eight of the last games we played

But have still made The...

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“The Rebel and the Yankee

The Blue and the Grey

Could never happen here with us”

Is what I hear you say.


But society is broken

And simply needs a spark

A beating at a demo

A brick thrown from the dark.


The Hutu and the Tutsi

Who one another slay

Could never happen here with us”

Is what I hear you say.


And then the retribution

Mixed with to...

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(Please forgive the singing, for which I should be shot)


Me and my bladder’s

Always full and needs the loo;

But then what’s badder

It’s just a dribble shooting out askew.

So at 12 o’clock’s my first golden shower

The next’s at one, then every hour.

My lousy bladder

Won’t let me sleep one whole night through.


Me and my bladder’s

Hostage to the prostate gland;


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(It seems it is my fate to improve works of inferior poets.  In this case I have taken that dose of dross by that WC Fields bloke and given it a make-over.  No need to thank me).


I’m being followed by a wheelbarrow

Wheelbarrow, wheelbarrow.

Pulling my chickens in a wheelbarrow,

Wheelbarrow, wheelbarrow.


And if tha wond’rin’ “Is it red?”

Please thissen. I’ve not said.


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(A re-post from a few years ago, but seeing as the great man is back I thought it worthwhile to revisit.  AfficiaNandos may recognise my debt to George Formby's "Fanlight Fanny").


You can tell he

Loves the telly

For his chance to smarm

He would give an arm

And a leg;

Aimed to prove he

Was a smoothie

On our TV set

As he got the better

Of Nick Clegg;

Charming an...

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(Every year on the occasion of my birthday my daughter and I take on a challenge in support of Candlelighters, a charity which supports kids with cancer.  We have abseiled, cycled and rowed a marathon.  This year, because she says I am knocking on a bit, she has set us an easy one - a 20 mile walk along the old railway line from Selby Abbey to York Minster.  If anyone would like to contribute to t...

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The time was running out I’m feeling low

We’re 4-2 down cos of Aguerro

Then it turns round with Llorente’s goal

But will the goal be disallowed

A deathly hush falls upon the ground

The verdict waited by the silent crowd


But there’s VAR Man watching from the stand

He sees that it’s come off his hip and didn’t hit his hand

And the VAR Man says it’s not Handball

The re...

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(A tired old re-post.  But it pays to advertise)


I want a WriteOutLoud woman to do anything in the world for me

I want a WriteOutLoud woman to do anything in the world for me

She could lick my piece into shape; I mean my poetry.


I’d take down her pantoums and jiggle her spondees for fun

She’d mouth both my rondels and my phaleucian

We’d make the two-backed couplet until...

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(A play for two players. This may not make too much sense without the audio)


“You keep up with the brushing,

At least twice a day?

And have you done your flossin?”

“Wergly wergly werg”


“You keep good teeth“, he said to me

“But your gums recede.

How hard is your toothbrush?”

“Wergly wergly werg”


“You look well tanned for wintertime;

Have you been away?


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(Of course, if any of you ladies on WOL would like to widen my fallibilities....)


It takes many forms, I suppose.  Adultery.  You’re probably expecting a ‘Tales-of-my-Prick’ post.  Unfortunately, to date, I have not been able to introduce it to the prickly pear.

No.  My adultery involves unfaithfulness of a different kind.  I have, for instance, been conducting an extra-marital love aff...

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(For the use of that final quote I am indebted to the unlikey source of literature, Iron Mike Tyson.  For the rest of it, to Paul Simon of course.)


Slip Sliding Away, Slip Sliding Away

You know the nearer your destination

The more you Slip Sliding Away.


Il y a une femme, elle habite dans mon pays

She told the country that she lived in fear

If I can’t get what I’m wantin...

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