deepundergroundpoetry.com
England's Dreaming
Sabred spires felled
The sun-streaked staircase
Built by Byron.
It’s The Fear
Which widens cracks in Eton cobbles;
The hand which passes the port
Is nothing but skeletal.
Elegance & etiquette are folded over chairs
When fucking like wild animals in a zoo,
Cracks the whips as Sir! when you bent so low
Caned buttocks opened to receive…..
Surreptitious as a virgin thief in a Nunnery
Slipping the Latin Karma Sutra
Into your underpants at the Bodleian:
fututus et mori in igni.
Tally fucking Ho!
The world’s last fox hunter
Will make a horse his bride.
Shy child, won’t smile,
What became of him?
Granite fingers inked
Southpaw sonnets on
Birmingham’s pub floors:
Carved the names of who-will-be
Into sawdust with my heel.
In England’s green and pleasant land
Dissection of a corpse takes surgical precision,
Take care, he hasn’t slept in decades,
One slip and the colours
Will bleed beneath the skin.
The Art of Love is the only dissertation you need.
The sun-streaked staircase
Built by Byron.
It’s The Fear
Which widens cracks in Eton cobbles;
The hand which passes the port
Is nothing but skeletal.
Elegance & etiquette are folded over chairs
When fucking like wild animals in a zoo,
Cracks the whips as Sir! when you bent so low
Caned buttocks opened to receive…..
Surreptitious as a virgin thief in a Nunnery
Slipping the Latin Karma Sutra
Into your underpants at the Bodleian:
fututus et mori in igni.
Tally fucking Ho!
The world’s last fox hunter
Will make a horse his bride.
Shy child, won’t smile,
What became of him?
Granite fingers inked
Southpaw sonnets on
Birmingham’s pub floors:
Carved the names of who-will-be
Into sawdust with my heel.
In England’s green and pleasant land
Dissection of a corpse takes surgical precision,
Take care, he hasn’t slept in decades,
One slip and the colours
Will bleed beneath the skin.
The Art of Love is the only dissertation you need.
Published 19th Dec 2021
| Edited 25th Feb 2022
Author's Note
ERULGCT 117. Uma xx I sat & passed the Oxbridge exams. Got the required grades, but never took up the offer. I’m so far removed from public school’dom, which stinks all over Oxford & Cambridge. Wasn’t happy to be 1 of their working class “quota” from a rough Comprehensive. I’d have fuckin’ hated it. Went to Birmingham Uni instead & the rest as they say, is the rest. Any clueless cunt have a problem with this poem, have the bollocks to say it to my cyber face. Don't hide behind (not-so) cryptic shit poetry. Coward.
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Anonymous
- Edited 29th Jan 2022 7:45am
20th Dec 2021 8:10pm
<< post removed >>
20th Dec 2021 11:13pm
Thanks Ted. Much appreciated.
Class is a huge thing over here. It has been such for centuries. There is this really ragged romantic notion (particularly amongst Americans for some absurd reason) about Oxbridge. I blame Brideshead Revisited.
It seems to a crime for the working class to be "well read." It truly is a load of pig shit. It was Mum, who passed away last month, who introduced me to words. I'm fucked if I going to be berated for loving books. Mum is still very raw with me. Rob
Class is a huge thing over here. It has been such for centuries. There is this really ragged romantic notion (particularly amongst Americans for some absurd reason) about Oxbridge. I blame Brideshead Revisited.
It seems to a crime for the working class to be "well read." It truly is a load of pig shit. It was Mum, who passed away last month, who introduced me to words. I'm fucked if I going to be berated for loving books. Mum is still very raw with me. Rob
Anonymous
- Edited 29th Jan 2022 7:45am
20th Dec 2021 11:34pm
<< post removed >>
25th Dec 2021 5:46pm
The whole seems a study of the everyday absurd as I call it. When I read Ursula K Leguin, I admire how she creates these alternate societies, such as The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas and The Left Hand of Darkness, where, being contrasted to our own, seem so absurd, but this qualitative comparison awakens us to the fact that what we take for granted everyday in the ways we live is equally absurd. You engage the subject with wit, feeling flowing beneath, it's excellently opined my friend. I don't like the connotation of calling it an opinion but I just like the flow of the phrase, excellently opined lol.
