Category Archives: Celebrities

Invisible Touch

Invisible Touch

Phil Collins recently announced the exciting news that he is coming out of retirement! He’s promising a new album and even a tour! Needless to say, I was overwhelmed by this news, so I thought it was time to post another poem from the Phil Collins Saga. You can find some others under the ‘Longer Projects’ category. An assassin has been hired by the forces of light who have been forced to resort to cruel methods to end Collins’ reign of terror. However it may seem, this poem is not the end of the story.

Invisible Touch

His feet were silent
Light as air
The river running dark and brown
He crept along
The narrow bank
His task; to take Phil Collins down

So many ways
To do the deed
Shoot, smother, poison, stab, or drown
He slipped into
An alleyway
At dusk to take Phil Collins down

His blue robe trailing
Whispers soft
This figure haunts the old Swiss town
Two velvet gloves
Upon the hands
He’ll use to take Phil Collins down

The house now breached
Phil Collins found
Resplendent in his dressing gown
A shadow looming
Rush of air
He’s here to take Phil Collins down

The job done swiftly
Scarce a scream
The blue assassin stops to frown
For life’s one purpose
All his days
Had been to take Phil Collins down

But now returning
Bringing death
His handiwork of some renown
With vigour now
A righteous goal
His task; take Eric Clapton down

He suspects nothing

He suspects nothing

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Killing The Queen

Killing The Queen

This poem is about somebody trying to assassinate Britain’s longest reigning monarch. I am a big fan of the Queen and I do not, in any way, encourage treason. Please do not kill the Queen.

Killing The Queen

I woke up this morning and felt like some treason
I honestly have no particular reason
The sun shining down, such a beautiful season

Here comes Queen Elizabeth, tiptoeing past
I’ll make sure her very next tiptoe’s her last
The people in Birmingham wake at the blast

A crater where London once gloriously stood
The bomb has a larger effect than it should
A mystery figure crawls out of the wood

And up gets the Queen, she’s a sturdy old bird
Then armies of animals rise at her word
She is carried atop this magnificent herd

She conquers the West with her sheer mass of beast
And then the Queen sets about crushing the East
And no one can rest til her tyranny’s ceased

With terrors and horrors no man’s ever seen
Brave men lose their minds at the heartbreaking scene
Won’t someone, won’t anyone please kill the Queen

But I too survived, in the shadows I wait
I level my gun at the harlot of hate
And undo the evil I helped to create

Her spies have infiltrated all of our wallets and pockets

Her spies have infiltrated all of our wallets and pockets

William McGonagall

William McGonagall

Today is the 113th anniversary of the death of William McGonagall. I marked this date last year as well. William McGonagall is widely remembered as the worst poet ever to have written in English. I mark his death date rather than his birthday because nobody really knows when his birthday is, owing to the fact that he recorded several different dates in his various pieces of autobiographical writing. Each new autobiography he released featured more extravagant fictions than the last including standing ovations, commendations from the queen, and even a very elegant and slick fight with a group of would-be muggers.

He really was a very bad poet and his poetry, which can be found here is very amusing to read. However, as you journey back into his life, a truly tragic figure emerges. William McGonagall worked as a weaver until he was 50 when his family was hit hard by poverty. He claimed to have been suddenly inspired to write poetry and began sending his efforts in to a local paper which turned him into a minor local celebrity owing to how utterly ridiculous and appalling the poems were.

Driven by seemingly psychotic delusions about the quality of his writing and an obliviousness to mockery and criticism, he toured the country, reading to the public. He was met with sarcasm, ridicule, rudeness, and even violence. On one occasion, some particularly cruel pranksters convinced him that a famous poet had written to him expressing a desire to tour together. William McGonagall was extremely gullible and excitedly agreed to a meeting. Upon arrival he was heartlessly strung along until the pranksters could no longer keep straight faces and the penny finally dropped.

He was a poor man fighting to provide for his wife and children and so, while his poetry is hilariously dreadful, I will always have soft spot for McGonagall and remember him with respect for his dedication to his family and his strong morality. Poor, poor mad McGonagall.

I have written another poem, imitating his unique style, in tribute to the late, great poet and tragedian William Topaz McGonagall.

William McGongall

I hope others think it really grand
That I can write this lay by hand
Thanking this Scottish poet, by the name of William McGonagall
For writing poetry for us all
And even when I grow old
My pen will always sing his praise
In many different ways

His wild hair and strange stories
Would greatly please everyone, be they liberals or tories
Observational poetry was his apparent gift
And in his poems, of metaphors there is certainly no thrift
And though one day I will grow old
My pen will always sing his praise
In many different ways

On 29th September, in the city of Edinburgh, in the year of 1902
The world lost a Scottish poet, Yes it’s true
And though 113 years have passed since that tragedy came to have passed
The wounds it left will not be healing very fast
And should, like him, I get to grow old
My pen will always sing his praise
In many different ways

And if, William, others don’t understand
Why I profess that your poetry is really grand
I will tell them to read Poetic Gems for themselves
For joy cannot escape the man who into your poetry delves
Perhaps my hand will tremble, William, when I grow old
But my pen will always sing your praise
In many different ways

This biography is the most beautiful to be seen

This biography is the most beautiful to be seen

Bring Me Phil Collins

Bring Me Phil Collins

‘Bring Me Phil Collins’ began life as a silly stand alone poem about nothing in particular. However, it is the seed from which the idea for the Phil Collins Saga grew. I explained it briefly in the introduction for another poem from the cycle that I posted here. ‘Bring Me Phil Collins’ is the introduction to the cycle of poems in which Death calls for Phil Collins to be brought to him.

Bring Me Phil Collins

Bring me Phil Collins he cried
Place him at my feet
With saucy tales his talent is belied
This is a man I would meet

Yes, bring me Phil Collins he cried
Throw him to the ground
Forgotten now by popular tide
When once he was renowned

So, bring me Phil Collins he cried
Bear him to my throne
Too long has my patience been tried
Too long have I sat here alone

Now, bring me Phil Collins he cried
Stand him in the court
For this is the place he’ll forever reside
As a bean of burden ought

It's no good trying to hide Phil. Everyone can see you.

It’s no good trying to hide, Phil. Everyone can see you.

The Queen is Sometimes Naked

The Queen is Sometimes Naked

I wouldn’t call myself a royalist. Most of the royal family can bog off for all I care. I’m certainly not interested in the next royal baby. I do, however, like the Queen. I can’t really explain why I like the Queen so much. She just seems so nice and regal in a granny kind of way.

What you have to remember about the royal family though, is that they’re just normal people born into a very different life. Just like us, they wee and poo and occasionally puke. If that’s not enough to blow your mind then picture this, sometimes the Queen is naked. Actually, don’t picture that. But you get the point.

The Queen is Sometimes Naked

A gentle soul, by whom we’re blessed
But even she might be undressed
Beneath her cool, British exterior
Lies a wrinkly old posterior

Once a day she takes a shower
Her clothes come off for half an hour
She stands there bare, though none shall see
Just the way our Queen should be

God Save the Queen('s blushes)

God Save the Queen(‘s blushes)

Bright Eyes

Bright Eyes

Art Garfunkel has one of the most recognisable voices (and names) in music. He has, or had in his younger days, an incredible range and boy does/did he know how to use it. Most will know him for his time with Paul Simon as Simon & Garfunkel (clever name eh?) and that song from that film about rabbits. He’s pretty old now, but hey! This poem is about a fictional version of Art Garfunkel. A fictional version of Art Garfunkel who uses his voice, not for the entertainment of others, but for evil and destructive deeds.

Bright Eyes

Well, I’ll be a monkey’s uncle
If it isn’t Art Garfunkel
He opened his mouth and he sang so high
That the dogs six miles distant all started to cry

The windows were breaking, the glasses were cracked
The old man next door screamed, ‘I’m being attacked!’
The noise still pours forth from the strangely shaped head
And never will stop til Garfunkel lies dead

Though many attempted to silence the man
He carries the notes like no other man can
For many more years will the the voice ring out strong
So long, so long, so long, so long

Go on! Try to sing along. I dare you.

Go on! Try to sing along. I dare you.

William McGonagall

William McGonagall

Apologies for the poor banner on this post. My scanner is knackered so I had to upload it as a photo. I’ll replace it as soon as I can!

Today is the 112th anniversary of the death of a man who is generally considered to be the worst poet ever to have written in the English language. That man was William Topaz McGonagall. McGonagall was really quite abysmal as a poet and, as such, is unbelievably entertaining to read. If you don’t believe me, read The Tay Bridge Disaster which is one of his most famous poems. While you’re on his website, do take a look around. Another personal favourite of mine is The Ancient Town of Leith. He was wonderfully genuine and sincere but just lacked any poetic skill. As an aspiring awful poet, I have come to consider William McGonagall as a bit of a hero.

Not only was he a naff poet, but he was a true Scottish eccentric. He once walked about 60 miles from Dundee to Balmoral to visit Queen Victoria who had sent him a letter. Upon arriving, he was told she wouldn’t see him so he immediately turned around and walked straight back! He also famously wrote ‘The first man who threw peas at me was a publican’.

He named the published collection of his poetry ‘Poetic Gems’. What an amazingly brilliant man!

I wanted to mark this occasion with a tribute to McGonagall written in his own style. Merry Deathday Willliam McGonagall! May you be remember’d for a very long time indeed!

William McGonagall

William McGonagall, most amusing to read
I’m sure many intelligent men will concede
Your beautiful lyrics have earned you remembrance to this day
As an example, I name your telling of the rail bridge disaster over the silvery Tay

Your first poem appeared in News Weekly in July of 1877
Your unique ignorance of form or rhythm must have sent the readers to Heaven
And since then, at least most people do declare
Your writing remained similarly graceful and fair

William McGonagall, most eccentric in the land
You were a very prolific poet which is really grand
And today of all days, I have heard many people shout
‘Oh what a pity we don’t have William Topaz McGonagall about!’

You walked for many miles to perform
And you were far too strange ever to want to conform
You walked to a palace and saw Queen Victoria wave her beautiful hand
And felt inspired because the way she waved was really grand

You sadly passed away on 29th September in the year of 1902 in Edinburgh
And the world was plunged into deep sorrow
And since that day, in solemn tones it is often said
‘I’m sad that William McGonagall is dead’

All the looks and talent of Bob Dylan

All the looks and talent of Bob Dylan