Once more unto the car park dear Blades, once more...

[Jon Bon]

..Or fill the Lane up with the walking dead.
In promotion there’s nothing so becomes a Blade
As modest stillness and humility;
But when the blast of failure blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the striking miner;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favoured rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;
Let it pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o’erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth the Bramall Lane upper
O’erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Filled with the laughing and jeering away fans.
Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath, and hold up every shoe
To its fullest height.
Out! Out! you no good Wilson.
Dishonour not the Lane; now attest
That those whom you called fathers did first bring you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to demonstrate.
And you, good Bladesman,
Whose limbs were made in Sheffield, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your season ticket, which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base
That hath not a Brian Deane mug somewhere in your kitchen.
I see you stand like pig fans in the woodwork,
Straining upon a big match.
The game’s afoot!
Follow your spirit; and upon this day
cry
“OUT WITH DANNY
WILSON
AND McCABE!

 

[KenMcnaughtsNuts]

there once was a girl from peru
she was bored and had nothing to do
she dreamed of peen
whilst flickin her bean
and tickled her bum with her shoe

 

[TwoHeadedSexBeast]

A man stood on a bridge one night,
His lips were all a-quiver,
He gave a cough,
His legs fell off,
And floated down the river.

Wilson out.

 

[TwoHeadedSexBeast]

There was a young man from Leeds,
He was a cunt.

Splash.

 

[TwoHeadedSexBeast]

I hate you,
Haiku,
You are too hard,
To do.

Wilson out.

 

[Staffs_Blade]

My contribution to poets corner, courtesy of the great John Keats - whilst shit happens on the pitch, we'll always have the Blades:

A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
With the green world they live in; and clear rills
That for themselves a cooling covert make
'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink

 

[TwoHeadedSexBeast]

Smells like fish,
Tastes like chicken,
You dont know what youve been a-lickin oh boy

 

[Crosstownrebel]

Rudyard Kipling - If

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 on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe 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!

 

[Ballinpigpubs13]

The boy stood on the burning deck
eating chips and scollops
one fell down his trouser leg and burnt him
on the knee.....

 

[shorehamview]

The boy stood on the burning deck
eating chips and scollops
one fell down his trouser leg and burnt him
on the knee.....

Missed his bollocks completely.

 

[Billyblade]

Not a lot of people know the difference between poetry and prose.
Allow me to illustrate:-

"There was a young man from Ollocks, who went out in the sea to his knees"

That was prose. Another 10 yards, it'd have been a poem.

 

[Ballinpigpubs13]

Is that a prose between two thorns?

 

[gavtheblade]

There once was a lad called doyle,
and he hardly scored a goyle,
our captain he was,
he huffed and he puffed,
and all he kicked was soil.

 

[chesblade]

Wilson in for me. Some of the crap manager's out there not wanted at bdbl.The really good ones are too expensive and we have no money. We are still in playoff position and when following and hill back, who knows what may happen

 

[TwoHeadedSexBeast]

Wilson in for me. Some of the crap manager's out there not wanted at bdbl.The really good ones are too expensive and we have no money. We are still in playoff position and when following and hill back, who knows what may happen

Free verse, like it.

 

[alcoblade]

When I'm pissed
I like to wallow
But the only question
Is does she spit
Or swallow?

UTB