Poetry Blog by John Coopey


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(A little belated.  He died in 1982.  But never forgotten.)


This elergy marks t’sad decline o’ Barnsley’s market ‘all

Epitomised by t’absence of one vacant butcher’s stall.

Its loss a cause o’ lamentation, keening an’ far worse

Purveyor ‘ere par excellence of pies – owd Albert ‘irst.


They mun speak o’ Melton Mowbray but owd Albert ‘ad ‘em beat

Not least because ‘is grow...

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The fashion today’s

For Free Verse, I’d say

But I find the discipline neater

To write poetry


The soul of the work is The Metre.


I’m not autocratic

Nor even dogmatic

And occasionally I might complete a

Piece without form,

Which isn’t my norm,

But then I return to The Metre.


Sometimes there’s a price

For being precise

You’ll need, now ...

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(A song stolen from me by Hot Chocolate when they titled their plagiarised cover version, "Emma, Emma Emmeline". At least they had the good grace to nod in my direction by calling themselves Hot Chocolate.  A certainty for Poem of the Week.)


I saw your business card and photo in the booth;

It said that you were 21 and that’s the truth;

Your legs were long, your boobs were firm, bum l...

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It started with a kiss,

Never thought it would come to this;

I’m labelled as it is

A predator misogynist;

You and I had danced all night

Beneath the strobe light’s glow,

So when we reached the dance floor’s edge

Underneath the mistletoe

Your cheek was resting on my chest;

I lifted up your head

And kissed your forehead gently then;

I must have been misled;

But ho...

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(A poem written for my son-in-law to read at the funeral of his mate who was killed by a hit-and-run driver recently. He didn't want anything mawkish)


I know this bloke – a friend of mine

We’ve shared some laughs, some special times

He liked a beer, he liked a wine;

Yep, that’s Michael.


I knew him well as you did too

If you don’t mind then what I’ll do

Is share my me...

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How Many Words Must Dolphins Have For "Sea"?

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…and here’s another thing.  This occurred to me after ruminating that eskimos have over 30 words for “snow”.  Likewise, and equally apocryphally, Bedouin Arabs have huggins of words for “sand”.

It comes from the fact that if snow and sand is all you’ve got to look at all day, you’ll rabbit on about it in fine distinctions, rather like the numpties who can discern differences between Coronation ...

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...but lost to Huddersfield

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We praised the God of Yorkshire that October afternoon

It’s not a day we’ll be forgetting sometime very soon;

The scoreboard told the story – it had ended 2 to 1

We sang songs to their glory – the Terriers had won!

They blamed the pitch; they blamed the ref. Oh, how United squealed!

They might have beat Benfica…

                        …but they lost to Huddersfield!


We s...

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I'm intrigued by the recent "Me Too" movement which is born from the revelations about Harvey Wallbanger, movie mogul, cinema tsar, casting couch Cassanova et al.

Let me say from the off that I have no truck whatsoever with men who do not know that "No" means "No". Beyond "No" it is rape, pure and simple. But I am a bit perplexed by posts I have read which lump unwanted sexual advances into the...

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I’ve seen many movies that starred Vincent Price

Or Karloff or Christopher Lee

I’ve watched at the cinema or on the box

Where I’ve peeped from behind the settee.

I saw Captain Quint get clean bit in half

By a fish we just knew as Jaws

The Exorcist too made me sweat at what next

They’d find behind those bedroom doors.

The genre I fear most of all of these, though,


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Cammie called George when he got the word

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

George rushed to the telly, put the news on live

He could hardly believe his eyes

There was Treeza with her P45

And Boris.


They weren’t little children who played at their school

They weren’t teenage sweethearts love made into fools

But for several years she’s been sitting next doo...

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(Sometimes you try to write and nothing comes. Sometimes the Gods of Parody drop one in your lap)


Treeza chancin’                her luck at the scene

Treeza hopin’                    to recapture her dream

Lead the Party                   restore some control

Then some pillock            says Treez on the dole.


A Party gate-crasher with her P45

A Party gate-crasher wit...

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I‘ve fallen for another man

A man that I would marry;

And though I know I never can

I’ve lost my heart to Harry.


Hats off to Harry; he’ll break your heart

He’ll take your best defence and tear it apart

Our home-grown guy will make you others cry cry cry

Hat-trick Harry’s hit the net again.


In Autumn and in Springtime too

Or winter when it’s raining

You know ...

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The newly married man of today faces challenges unknown to his father and grandfather.  Sexual equality has pushed him towards the domain of housework, previously the preserve of his wife; interestingly, without reciprocity in the fields of car washing and mowing the lawns.

But not to despair.  The keynote here is “Managing Expectations”.

A rookie will be tempted to...

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(A re-post from 5 years ago but you can't get enough of culture.  Laughing Lenny stole this from me).


I remember it well, “The Crossroads Motel”

Your acting consistently shite,

Giving my head through the script being read

A migraine that lasted all night;

But those were the days; I rode BSAs;

We watched on our screens black and white;

Your actors were poor, the walls and ...

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Well, me hear folks tellin’ me them Biskit Blues ‘in’t bad

Yeah, me hear folks tellin’ me them Biskit Blues ‘in’t bad

Bad Biskit Blues most worse me ever had.


Well, me told mi bitch to make me cup o’ tea

Milk, two sugars in mi Yorkshire tea

“You make your own and one for me,” says she.


Now you know me, me top dog gangsta man

Haddlesey Massive Boss is what me am


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As worldwide fans will know, besides my literary prowess in the field of poetry, I also do folk open mics. I am acutely aware however that I am a poor singer and feel the need to apologise for this. I also explain that I am far from the best guitarist. But I add that I am, however, the best looking.

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Besides, why the bloody hell do they feel the need to look so miserable? Do they imagine if they looked more happy-go-lucky that I'd be less likely to part with my 2p? Well they're regally wrong.

Now don't misunderstand me. I never pass a busker or street entertainer without chucking them a few bob. They enrich my day. But I'll be buggered if I'm going to subsidise some scuzzie's fags or Kennom...

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He put some hours in at the Abbey, did Luuk.  Just as a volunteer, you understand.  Mostly in the café but he’d lend a hand humping and shoving if heavier work needed it.

He was Dutch and spoke good English with that clipped precision of his countrymen.  His biggest giveaway were “S’s” which, like many other Dutch people he pronounced “Sh”.  He was a big bloke and always eating and I remember h...

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I noticed just the other day my trousers wouldn’t fit

The waistband button wouldn’t meet the eyelet opposite

Our Gert took in this sorry sight and then got in a huff

“You’re going on a diet with me” she said. “Enough’s enough”.


She brought a Slimming World plan home and said I’d have to try it

Courgette and sweet potato bake – what a fucking diet!


There’s green tea and ...

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They reckon a man needs an ‘obby

To balance ‘is work, rest and play;

An’ also there’s summat about Idle ‘Ands

And keeping the devil at bay.


Meself, I’ve tried some pastimes and games

But just when I get in the groove

Our Gert makes ‘er views abundantly plain;

It’s clear – Our Gert don’t approve!


I ought to provide some examples

To substantiate just what I mean,


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(It's our 37th wedding anniversary shortly)


I splashed out on this greetings card,

It cost me 50p,

I thought that you were worth it,

For putting up with me.


But yours, I know, will cost far more,

(Perhaps a quid or two),

But that’s because I’m worth far more,

For putting up with you.

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(They really could be a right set of bastards.  And the thing that's "warm and wet" might be described as a form of aural sex).


A collier's to be found

A mile underground

And not in the sunlight like other hominids

Though he loves his mates and wife

His would cut them like a knife

There's no humour crueller than colliers and kids.


A fat kid hears the cries

Of “Who...

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(Inspired by the current World Athletics Championships to re-post this.  It pulls together two important threads of drug abuse in athletics with one of my many puerile sexual fetishes.  For younger viewers the GDR was the ironically named German Democratic Republic - East Germany).


Those hotties from the GDR

Who putt the shot or cleared the bar

Or sprinted for a 100 metres

Were tr...

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(An old song from after the 2012 Olympic Games.  I never got round to posting it)


Hey Mo!

What you doing with that gold in your hand, now?

Hey Mo!

What you doing with more gold in your other hand, now?

“I’ll show the world this gold from the rostrum stand, now.”


Hey Mo!

No-one alive can run the way that you ran, now

Hey Mo!

No-one alive can run the way that you...

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(A re-post.  But you can't have enough culture, I say)


I thought I’d address my wobbly gut

And give liposuction a try

Cos slimming alone wouldn’t do what I want

And this is my main reason why.

It’s not that I want to lower my weight

I’m perfectly happy to stick

I just want to redistribute some of my fat

By having it pumped in my prick.

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When my dad was in his failing years my sister, Linda, and I used to visit him in his sheltered accommodation at Worksop (she, I confess, much more frequently than me).

She tells me the tale about one of her visits.

They’d talked for an hour or more when she asked him out of the blue,

“Do you have any regrets about your life, dad; anything you’d do differently if you had your time again?”...

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I’ve been thinking a lot about my grandad recently. He died almost 60 years ago when I was about seven (I think).

He’d been a miner and had been blacked by the coalowners from the pits of Nottinghamshire for striking.  My grandmother, with six kids to feed, threw him out and told him not to come back until he had found work.  So he walked to Doncaster (around 40 miles away) and got a job at Ben...

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You will know, my friend, that these rings plot the age of the tree. Count them and you will find its age. Few, however, can read their individual story – a story as unique as the snail’s shell or the lines on your own hand.  Pull closer and watch.

This outermost ring differs in colour slightly from the rest.  It is the oldest and makes the start of ageing decay, when the wood is said to become...

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Now de Party was nice and de Party was thumpin’

( Hup, hup, hup, Yippi-i-o)

Treez she de boss – no hassle at all

( Hup, hup, hup, Yippi-i-o)

But now it’s not so Treeza weeza dumpin’


So who’ll be next? Who ye gonna call?


Who let Rees-Mogg out (woof, woof, woof, woof, woof)

Who let Rees-Mogg out (woof, woof, woof, woof, woof)

Who let Rees-Mogg out (woof, w...

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I hear it said Theresa needs to go, quick and clean

“She’s got no right to govern with seats of just 318”;

But does it ever occur unto you,

How come that Jezza does with 262?


I know that I’m no Mastermind nor am I entirely green;

It baffles me a little though why it is May’s 318

Is thought to be a number too few

Compared with Jezza’s fewer 262.


They say she has no...

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(Yer tiz. Not really a "Part 2" but a re-post of a recent one but with added audio for the delectation and delight of my worldwide fans)


Never thought I’d see you look so weak and wobbly tonight

As Champion of the Right

And so unstable;

Never thought I’d see your Party in such disarray

They’re after you Mrs May

A Tower of Babel.

You have never seemed so desperate

And i...

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I am aware that many of my WOL chums see me as a little hard-hearted. Perhaps an incident that happened the other day will mollify this somewhat.

It was in Brighton and it was stonking hot. Our Gert and me decided to get an ice cream. But on the prom these could cost you £2.50 or more! So we found a Sainsbury's where we got a pack of three Soleros for £1.50. Result.

We were eating them when ...

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( Chopped this one into little lines to make it a proper poem)


There were four or maybe five of them.

He couldn't quite make out.

And obviously the one holding the phone.

And her


There was laughing

And screaming

Then the laughing stopped

But not the screaming


After a few minutes that stopped too.

The only sounds left were solitary voices

Brave voices


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I've always been disgusted to see old blokes who'd pissed down their fronts.  Well, I suppose that age has now granted me some wisdom into this phenomenon, which I ascribe to a number of factors.

1.  As a man gets older his waistline thickens so he pulls his trousers up ever higher to his narrowest girth, usually just under his tits. (The significance of this will soon be apparent).

2.  This...

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(Unable to post an audio or pic on the iPad as I am on holiwags.  But it seemed there was an urgency to post this before she went!)


Never thought I'd see you look so weak and wobbly tonight,

Champion of the Right;

You look unstable.

Never thought I'd see your Party in disarray,

At odds with you, Mrs May -

A Tower of Babel;

You have never seemed so desperate

And in need...

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It’s a matter of some pride to me that I am one of the few remaining people to retain a measure of admiration for Tony Blair.  It’s always seemed to me that his reputation has been blighted by his biggest mistake.

What is largely overlooked these days about him and his governments is that he

Introduced the National Minimum Wage Increased it Saved the monarchy from itself at the time of D...

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Despite attaining most seats

The Tories don’t cheer in the streets;

There’s no horsey din

For they barely scraped in

With a Win that feels like Defeat.


It’s Labour who gortle and grin,

Delighting in rubbing it in;

They preen with conceit

In blogs and in tweets

With Defeat that feels like a Win.

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(Commissioned to write some poems for a Poetry Garden.  I thought, "What a cracking idea!  I'll do one for myself").


The Rockery

Profusive colour you will see

Amid this floodbank rockery;

There’s primrose and geranium

And shy mesembryanthemum;

Bright marigolds bob and wink

Dianthus add a splash of pink;

And never have I had a failure

When I’ve planted pompom dahlias...

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Two of the most popular women at Durham when I was a student there were The Gobbler and Black Dog.  I didn’t know their real names – I wasn’t in their company long enough to find out.

But they were good sports and did their best on the back seat of the rugby coach as we returned from away matches to commiserate with the team if we’d lost or celebrate if we’d won.  The remedy was the same.


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The 'Ostage Situation

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Our Gert went on ‘er holiwags Wi’ ‘er best mate called Jane

Two Girls Aloud to Egypt; It’s peace fo’ me again.


It’s egg n chips fo’ breakfast ‘N’ pie ‘n’ chips fo’ tea

You’re wond’rin’ about me dinner - It’s fish ‘n’ chips fo’ me.

Of course I ‘ad a can or two; Wi’ breakfast it’s Long Life

Then pints o’ lager down the pub (You can, wi’out the wife).

I ‘ad, o’ course, a bet or...

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We’ve basked in the sunshine, we’ve dripped in the rain

We’ve cried tears of joy and we’ve cried tears of pain

We’ve fathomed the depths and ascended the heights

But stayed ever faithful to those Lily Whites

There’s nothing more stirs

The pulse than the Spurs

But now it’s Farewell to the Lane.


I started this love affair when it was with

Blanchflower and Greavsie and bi...

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(We did it!  To commemorate my 65th birthday, my daughter, the intrepid Samantha Coopey, and I did a marathon on a gym rowing machine on Sunday in aid of The Teenage Cancer Trust.  We've raised just shy of a thousand pounds.  This poem is a re-post of an earlier one I did when I was a spring chicken of 58).


We entered for a sponsored run -

Macmillan Cancer Trust;

All four of us deter...

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(Of course, although he was a Pinball Wizard in 1967, he would have married his teenage bride, Elsie, and both would have been a pensioners now)


Ever since I’ve been an old man I’ve rolled those wooden balls

Both indoors and on crown green , I must have played them all

But I ain’t seen nothing like her and doubt I ever could

That big, fat Elsie – sure bowls a mean six wood.



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As worldwide fans will know I have built my literary renown on the twin-axle of rhythm and rhyme.  Finely wrought turns of phrase coupled with lyrical embellishments have been my signature.

More recently however I have been impressed with the views proffered in Discussions that the quintessence of poetry is brevity; that anyone aspiring to the art should learn to edit and purge, edit and purge,...

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For forty four years since I was a lad

I’ve voted for Labour just like my dad;


When Labour was Old and when Labour was New

We voted for Wilson and Callaghan’s crew

For Foot and for Blair and for Miliband too.


For while Labour was proud and once a broad church

It welcomed allcomers which made it so strong;

It’s now more exclusive and leftwards it’s lurched


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There is often a temptation among the more politically naïve of us to deplore our government’s sidling up to countries with questionable human rights records. In the past, Pinochet’s Chile was am example.  Currently I could cite Saudi Arabia or even China.

Well, set yourselves back 70 years to an issue which could have resulted in the world hegemony of German Nazism today.  The story of the KKK...

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There are some scenarios which are just too good to miss for parodying.  I have targeted in the past Sepp Blatter, David Cameron, George Osborne, Boris Johnson, Nigel Farage, Brexiters, Remoaners and (to the disgruntlement of leftie chums who seem to think that their national treasures should be immune) Jezza Corbyn, Diane Abbott and Tony Benn.  The richest vein by far has been Donald Trump.


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(A cardinal sin sometimes committed by a raw recruit was to take your shovel into a narrow seam 'wrong road round'. You didn't do it twice.)


“There’s no bigger, silly bastard undergroun’

A disgrace to thee, ‘is mam an’ ‘is class

‘E took ‘is fuckin’ shovel wrong road roun’.


We’d walked back in once t’shotties fired their roun’

An’dep’ty said as we wa’ clear o’ gas


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On 7th May I shall attempt a Charity Marathon Row along with my daughter, Samantha, in aid of the TEENAGE CANCER TRUST. I do not wish to visit the WOL well too many times, but anyone who would like to support these kids can do so on my Just Giving page https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/John-Coopey?utm_source=facebook&utm_medium=shares-from-email&utm_campaign=page-create-email-share-facebook&u...

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I’ve always considered my body

A shrine or a temple of sorts,

Honed to perfection by exercise

Like snooker and other pub sports.


But lately I’ve noticed a blemish

To mar my immaculate bod,

So I’m starting to look like John Prescott

And less like a Classical God.



Besides being most unsightly

They’re open to much ridicule,

A feature that’s rather less wel...

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