Imagine a little city farm,
With goats and pigs and hens.
With visitors coming every decade,
And flocking in their tens.
Now have you seen 'Deliverance'?,
With the creepy backwoods folk?
Imagine a cross with Steptoe & Son,
And you'll pretty much get the joke.
Around the edge of the little farm,
Were pens for all the creatures.
A pig, a burnt-out bedstead, and
A cockerel with' special' features.
The only culture at the farm,
Should be grown in a petrie dish.
From the looks of the men, (the women are worse)
They're directly descended from fish.
We wondered where to park our car,
I asked one of the men.
He pulled up his dungarees and said
(At least I think it was) Mhnhnn.
I asked a question, he replied,
With grunts and Mweh's and Hng.
I smiled and nodded - bad idea!
He lunged with a one-tooth grin.
They pointed to a derelict barn,
We parked and locked up tight.
Three folk on rocking chairs looked on,
Five eyes all left and right.
The smell was rank and bilious,
It was a filthy, filthy place.
I wondered if we'd ever get out,
Or if the world even knew of this place.
If we were stuck here, just how long
Would the fuzz stay on the trail?
Sixty years, I reckon they'd take,
By then I'd have grown a tail.
The owner knew some words that
I could clearly understand.
His hobbies included scratching, staring,
Scratching and smelling his hand.
We got out in the end, thank God,
And were not chased out of the place.
But if you go to the city farm,
Leave the engine running, just in case.
This is a little poem about a place I had the misfortune to visit with a group I work with. Scary, scary, scary pants - run away, run away, run awaaaayyyyy!
I've always wanted to visit a city farm, but maybe I'll not bother. Thanks for the warning! Glad you got out safely.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by the author.
ReplyDelete'Around the edge of the little farm,
ReplyDeleteWere pens for all the creatures.
A pig, a burnt-out bedstead, and
A cockerel with' special' features.'
This is mirthilious poeticas splendifitude of the highest order, Auntie. Give yourself a(cow) pat on the back.
If you didn't like our little barbecue 'get-together', nobody SAID you had to stay!! And to think we dressed up tidy and everything! Well, the pig did.
ReplyDeleteTFE really said it best, but this is really funny! I loved: "He pulled up his dungarees and said/(At least I think it was) Mhnhnn." & lots of other bits as well!
ReplyDeleteI must recommend this place to my friend Wayne. His claim to fame is that his grandfather once punched George Formby, and his school trip was to the sewers of Manchester. Seriously! He'd love this place, as a connnoisseur of odd filth. Another winner m'dear.
ReplyDeleteWhat confuses me is....
ReplyDeleteWell, What
What? you say
The word what, so I'm not going to use it
I am confused that why you should have a photo of a Cajun wedding
at the top of your posting
Ma and Pa at either end (Ma is holding the shotgun) with Cleetus and Charlene in the middle
No Charlene is not pregnant, the shotgun is just southern bling
We aren't sure if Cleetus is though
The happy couple had been saving all year for this happy day and had saved enough to afford a whole wit
Surprisingly (BOO!) they immediately chanced upon the theory of natural selection and adopted it most readily
However ma and pa who were poor and couldn't afford to mess with the vagaries of creativity and so decided to ensure that the happy couple would consummate the nuptials even if it meant force with sidearm
The more refined society abhorred weapons and relied on gut rot whisky instead
It would be another century before they heard of beer goggles or developed sufficient brain cells to be damaged by some other form of liquor, so the gut was the best part of the body to attack
Sneaky really as it saved costs on the wedding breakfast that would follow
I once saw a poster outside a cinema with characters similar to those in your photo advertising a film, I think about midwifery
Starring Reynolds, Voight, Beatty and a pig.
I stared and stared but couldn't work out which one was the pig
Tell me, do pigs wear moustaches?
PS Great poetting
I've never felt the exquisite charm
ReplyDeleteOf a so called inner city farm
But now I'm scared
The facts you've bared
Aunt Bernard, thanks, for sounding the alarm
did you stumble round to our house?....hhmmm....? Hello by the way, I've shamelessly blurted my way here from EEjit's place *insert smiley face
ReplyDeleteAh, Feck! Glad your in fine doobrey - have cowpat on back and smiling like a numpty.
ReplyDeleteWeev, your barbecue was a little odd, and the dungarees don't suit you. Bless.
Glad you liked it, John, we've been booked again for next year, so no doubt there'll be a sequel!!
Jehanine, nice to see you! And I'd love to meet Wayne, anyone whose grandfather punched George Formby is a friend here.
Yaff - I see the magic mushroom pasty is working...and yes, pigs do wear moustaches but only as a clever disguise to stop them being barred from pubs during the swine flu scare.
DPS, I like! Many comments I get here is worth a post of it's own, and this is no exception!
Watercats - welcome! I haven't been to your place, I don't think. But if there's a gator tethered to the porch can I come visit??? And bring my pipe and dungarees?
Goodness me, Aunt Bernard, it does sound rather unsavoury!
ReplyDeleteThere's a world of difference between rank and bilious smells and the aroma of freshly exuded sprouts at the AFF Gas plant!
This blog gets funnier by the post.
ReplyDeleteOh, so you went to St Just then ?
ReplyDeleteVery nice too ;-))
Hi Bern! Been away for a while, just got back from the land of the allegedly sane and as ever I'm finding your blog the perfect antidote. Love this piece, bless your warty old chinstrap! Will
ReplyDelete