John Whitworth: Two Poems

God’s Bounty

Rig the gratings, Mr Christian.

We are going to flog a banker.

Call the ratings, Mr Christian,

Now my soul begins to hanker

For the backbone of a banker.

Furl the sails and drop the anchor,

Mr Christian.

Raise the yardarm, Mr Christian.

We will hang a politician.

There’s no pardon, Mr Christian

For a man of his condition.

When you hang a politician

It improves with repetition,

Mr Christian.

Roll the guns out, Mr Christian.

We can terminate the scumbags.

See, the sun’s out, Mr Christian!

Let our bellies be our rumbags

When we terminate the scumbags.

Stuff their heads into our bumbags,

Mr Christian.

The Ballad of Lady Mondegreen
“They have slain the Earl of Murray and Lady Mondegreen”

Now our sight is rather blurry,

And our speech is getting slurry,

From the Western Isles to Surrey,

We are less than we have been.

Do we worry? Never worry.

Though our tongues be fat and furry,

Drink a lager, eat a curry,

Greet the bonny Earl of Murray.

We have greeted Bonny Murray

    And Lady Mondegreen.

Everybody in a flurry,

Sniff a whiff of pure pot-pourri,

Very frankincense and murry,

Fit to grace a Royal Queen.

Here and there we hurry-hurry,

Up and down and scurry-scurry,

Like a work of L.S. Lurry,

Toast the ghost of Bonny Murray.

We have toasted Bonny Murray

    And Lady Mondegreen

We’re the judge and we’re the jurry,

Fancy free and volunturry

Neither slack nor dilaturry,

We can say just what we mean.

Like a plane, propellers whurry,

Like a fox intent on quurry,

Like a gee that feels the spurry,

We will cheer the Earl of Murray.

We have feted Bonny Murray

    And Lady Mondegreen.

John Whitworth