The Friday Poetry Thread

So. Farewell then
Penz and GOB,
Mods extraordinaire.

It appears
You are gone
No more to share

Your wisdom with us.

We are bereft.

And yet life goes on
A little
Emptier
Than before.
And tomorrow?
What will be the score?
And does it matter
Any more?

Peggy wrote:

Accrington Stanley
What a name
To conjure up images
Of the beautiful game

Back from the ashes
They're doing quite well
But we're going to beat them
Aren't we? Like hell

So were going to lose
And you know this for sure
Constant negativity
Is really a bore

Remember resurgam
It's where we begin
They call you a witch
So magic a win.

In the name of Aviva,
The highwayman rode in.
Full of Forza Verde,
He made such a din !

As a gentleman,
He clearly lacks poise.
But then Avivas don't know,
Empty vessels, make most noise !

Turpin was a highwayman.
Up with your hands, he said, stick!
He was also a thief
And a Richard.

(Welcome Mr Highwayman )

Tringreen wrote:

In the name of Aviva,
The highwayman rode in.
Full of Forza Verde,
He made such a din !

As a gentleman,
He clearly lacks poise.
But then Avivas don't know,
Empty vessels, make most noise !

knecht wrote:

Turpin was a highwayman.
Up with your hands, he said, stick!
He was also a thief
And a Richard.

(Welcome Mr Highwayman )

Thank you kind sir
I quite like it on here
The site is amusing
But lacking in cheer.

You speak of Richard
Is that Richard the 3rd
But Tring you are wrong
I'm no Aviva you turd.

A happy, clappy Highwayman,
So full of Aviva cheer.
Have you come to stand and deliver,
Or have you been on the beer ?

Poor old tring the ding-a-ling
Our hearts must show him sorrow
He's just a shadow of former self
Proberbly drinking gut rot Keo.

[quote="Highwayman"]Poor old tring the ding-a-ling
Our hearts must show him sorrow
He's just a shadow of former self
Proberbly drinking gut rot Keo.[/quote

Ha ha ! Friday prose has come and gone and rhyming's no longer the game. See you next week, where you lurk in the shadows ,you Richard !

I see them here
I see them there
I see bloody avivas everywhere
Oh my god I'm at the fanfest

Now I'm home,
No time to waste,
too much home made beer,
to taste!

Dagenham. Where cars were made for Ford,
but now they've gone abroad.

Who needs a Homebase or Dixons, or an online voucher code,
when you have everything you need, at the side of the road?

You're this land that time forgot,
a no-go area, and a landscape blot.

With dodgy pubs and lads, you are West Ham in disguise,
with your hoodies, bookies, Staffies, and your 60s high-rise.

With Dag and Red, you have your nice bits too
but if they lose tomorrow, they'll be in the poo.

Last Friday of the month................. it must be Limerick Friday !

City Gent

Our saviour's a real gent named Brent.

To the Avivas he's truly heaven sent.

ATD must dare not decry,

For we've looked him in the eye,

Now turn up and pay the rent !

Grovey asks, Clarkey replies
Thus exposing Brenty's guise
Saviour he's not, hardfaced he is
Time for me to give Argo a miss

Highlight links?
God this admin stinks
Got it fixed, now everything's green
Put it back?
Nah, it's an Aviva's dream!

The fonts have changed
Links are green
My headache's worse than it's ever been
C'mon Cerbs, change it back
It's easier to read when it's all in black

Fonts ain't changed
C'mon you greens!
Get with it Symons
Stop being so mean.

I went to Home Park and followed the crowd
that flowed in hordes cross roads and park.
When all at once I saw a cloud -
A host of scarfs of black and green.
Beside the stands beneath the trees
Waving and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Argyle's pitch,
Their goals seemed in never-ending line
In both halfs of our wondrous game;
Ten I saw scored
In the ground that day.

Oh, well, you can but dream.

Fridays here, dizzy head
Almost forgot 'bout the poetry thread
The missus' arse is getting wider
I'll commiserate with another cider...

Another week over,
The weekend is here,
Rugby and football,
And plenty of beer.

It's Friday again,
Poetry time.
I'd make this poem longer
If I could think of a rhyme.

If I could make poems
I wouldn't try to make them rhyme -
There's no reason.
A bit like supporting Argyle -
Neither rhyme nor reason
Nor poetry.

Friday again,
Time goes so fast,
Argyle are on a one game winning streak,
Will it last?

Chicken, Toast, Dog
Mist is also called fog

Jam, Sand, Rice
A win tomorrow would be nice

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?

NO.

Just because it's been quite mild and sunny, there's no excuse for the amount of flab on display.