Contents:

·         Cat

·         Caterpillar

·         Christmas When

·         Frankie Wankie

·         Junira Nations

·         Approaching Twenty

·         Mná

·         Joan Maguire

·         My Love Bites

·         Lily White Breast

·         Alan Mullally’s Song (Now I’m Leaving)

·         The Hero

·         Kim Bassinger’s Diet

·         Statue

·         The Great God Pan

·         Worms

·         Spare a Thought

·         Resolution

·         Jimmy Loves Mary

·         Books

·         In Slattery’s

·         Krunchy and Milady

·         The Da

·         The Great Six-O

·         My Garden

·         Female Modes of Dress (or The Miniskirt)

·         Good Morning

·         The Dance in the Village Hall

·         Typing Section

·         Vacant Mood

·         Do You Yen for a Feel

·         Obsessed

·         Silver Wedding

·         Corrakit

·         The Civil Servant

·         The New Daughter of Houlihan

·         Mayo in July

·         Home Computers

·         Lewinsky

·         Jacussy

·         Tit Shaking

·         Paddy Macaroni

·         Hour on a Bean

The Outrageous Poems of Krunchie Killeen:

IN SLATTERY'S

(Where, in the late 1960s, I ran a folk club at which The Pavees were the resident group)

It's been some weeks since I've been here:

You may have wondered where I'd gone.

Well, I've been to London town,

A place renowned for crack and song.

A place renowned for pleasures, too,

Of another nature,

Like the blond I met in Soho,

A really glorious creature.

Her eyes were like two bright full moons;

Her lips were red as fire;

She said that for a ten-pound note

I could have my heart's desire.

I replied to her most gratefully,

And here's what I dared say:

"O, to be back home in Slattery's

And to hear the Pavees play."

They have these pubs in London town

That people call Beer Kellers,

Where the girls drink quarts of German beer

And literally throw themselves at the fellers.

And they sing those good old folksy songs

Like "Knees up, Mother Brown,"

And they stand up on the tables

And fling their legs around.

Well, I sang out like any man,

And here's what I did sing:

"O, to be back home in Slattery's,

Where the Pavees do their thing."

They have these shows in London town,

Where admission is not cheap,

Where the dancing girls take off their clothes

And throw them in a heap.

And sometimes they pretend they’re shy,

And that they won't take off their drawers,

And the bowsies in the audience

Shout, "Off, off, get them off!"

Well, I shouted out like any man,

But this is what I roared:

"O, to be back home in Slattery's,

Where I wouldn't be so bored."

Copyright

You may copy the poems for your own amusement, but you may not distribute or perform any poem publicly or for reward until you have obtained my consent.

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