In this thread you can post what you like, but take the time
To make everything, at some point rhyme.
There's no need to keep it clean,
But try not to be too obscene.
There's no rhyming scheme rule
We're not all poets, that would be cruel.
Chat about the weather, football or sports
Or just have a rant and tell us your thoughts.
It can be complete crap or from the heart
Give it a go, I will make a start.
0
Comments
Best final I've seen in years.
Seeing Thornton win like that
It moved me to tears.
(:
I wrote an Epic Poem a year ago. May not be to everyone's taste - see La Chanson de Roland 2014 ....
But I'm afraid your post above, it does not rhyme.
Should I use weeding
Or should I use bedding?
A capital letter, the rhyme would ease
Pleasing too, the CL grammar police.
Because of poetic license there's nothing to fear.
Indeed, a grievous oversight
Must be more careful what I write
So once again, just one more time
I'll mention my forgotten rhyme
Its title I've already said
And now I'm going back to bed .....
Who some thought was quite a lady
But little did they know
that she couldn't even sew
and is just a glorified charlady
who let out an enormous fart
the smell was so bad
everyone was sad
So they took him away on a cart
Blast thou lazy poets who confine rhymes to just one line
It's unneat, discrete and petit and shows intelligence of a swine
Duchatelet and Katrien
Their Comms are inept
But we have to accept
So don't groan at the owner, old bean
Sparrows Lane's to receive costly scrub
As we aim for a Category 1 hub
It's the ultimate dream
For producing the cream
And then flogging them off, that's the rub
And whilst floundering online for your tickets
A black hole swallows prized season tickets
As an inconvenienced group on
The promise of a coupon
Delays in their grub threatens rickets
As we aimlessly wander for programmes
And rue sofas and cheerleaders and flim flam
Jumping Jack Flash
Squats and leaps with panache
And ponders his injury logjam
Is a pain in the arse.
To avoid using a rake
I might buy fake.
No
Said "move on"
It was of course Sir Chris
I can't do poetry
Fuck this
Without you where would I be
Not at The Den that's for sure
Or Selhurst with all that ultra furore
Nor Arsenal Spurs or Chelsea
Glory hunting is not for me
Not the 'ammers daggers or Os with their East End lingo.
Rather spend Saturday afternoon with me mum at bingo
Nor Fulham Brentford or QPR
To watch shit football West London's too far
So I'm thankful for my Charlton
We belong together
And no matter what happens I'll support them forever
bottom line should read
so fuck all to this.
How we raise the 30 mill, I really do not know.
Violets are blue
Poor hub is down
You're mums Facebook will do
Who has a plan
On which he'd like to bet
Just hates the way
We try to say
"Ro-land Du-chat-e-let"
The Euros that he swaps
For European flops
Mean that fans, they like him not
But for every Loic Nego
Or other massive ego
There's a gem like Tony Watt
A few times in each season
He chooses without reason
To change the football boss
One week he'll back
The next he'll sack
Whether win or draw or loss
To some's disbelief
His Executive Chief
Is his female Belgian gopher
But to be quite fair
Without Miss Meire
We wouldn't have "the sofa"
We booed and hissed
And some got pissed
When Diego went, then Joe
But when Liverpool bid
Three million quid
It's really time to go
The grass in SE7
Makes the playing surface heaven
And helps to make the football played look neat
And at Sparrows Lane
Where the players train
The future's looking virtually complete
Investment's made
We'll make the grade
And creep up the football table
The pitch is sound
And the Training Ground
Are making our club stable
His politics are flaky
And his recruitment's often shaky
But one thing sees him right
No player's signed
Without bearing in mind
The CL Test Of Height
Our Father who art in heaven
Please save our motley crew
We don't need to win every match by seven
A single goal will do
Hallowed be thy name
Help us into the Premiership to play the beautiful game
And when we're up and have won the Cup
We'd like the same again (please)
Lead us not into relegation
Keep us out of the bottom three
From Bondi Beach to Bexleyheath
We'll be very grateful to thee
Give us this day our daily bread
Crumbs of inspiration
Forgive us our sins with plenty of wins
And goals that will rock the nation
Return to us our passion
And our Addicks pride
And when in triumph we parade
You can come on for the ride
We'd give anything for a few more points
To keep our heads above water
The house, the yacht, you can have the lot
And my wife and daughter
Remind our players of glory days
When they said that men were men
With grunt up front and steel in midfield
For ever and ever, amen
but my partner's surname is Gorringe?
I wondered what to do,
You are obviously lovely people,
But for poetry you haven't a clue !
But to be fair, neither do you.