As true now as it was in 1937:
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.

Sir John Betjeman
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 29 Oct 2009, 13:09, 12 replies)

Great poem this is...
And that other great poet laureate, Larkin, was from my neck of the woods. Aparently people think he's a bit cold, harsh, and bitter. Personally, I don't think so. Compared to anyone else from Cov he's like the fucking Duff Man...
( SpankyHanky, Thu 29 Oct 2009, 13:12, closed)

Ha ha ha, yes!
Larkin had a few choice words on Hull too, but I've exceeded my poetry allowance for the week...
( Sonic James Doom forgetting the date since... umm..., Thu 29 Oct 2009, 13:17, closed)

Someone should put up Sunny Prestatyn...
I'd do it myself, but I'm an incredibly lazy cunt.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 29 Oct 2009, 13:32, closed)

Sunny Prestatyn


Come To Sunny Prestatyn
Laughed the girl on the poster,
Kneeling up on the sand
In tautened white satin.
Behind her, a hunk of coast, a
Hotel with palms
Seemed to expand from her thighs and
Spread breast-lifting arms.

She was slapped up one day in March.
A couple of weeks, and her face
Was snaggle-toothed and boss-eyed;
Huge tits and a fissured crotch
Were scored well in, and the space
Between her legs held scrawls
That set her fairly astride
A tuberous cock and balls

Autographed Titch Thomas, while
Someone had used a knife
Or something to stab right through
The moustached lips of her smile.
She was too good for this life.
Very soon, a great transverse tear
Left only a hand and some blue.
Now Fight Cancer is there.
( TheMattInAHat has a particular... odour..., Thu 29 Oct 2009, 14:28, closed)

Cheers...
.
( SpankyHanky, Thu 29 Oct 2009, 14:47, closed)

This is ace
*click*, for what it's worth.
( Scrumper, Fri 30 Oct 2009, 9:55, closed)

Ah, yes.
The Despond of Slough...
( MisterPunch did it that way on, Thu 29 Oct 2009, 13:18, closed)

Heh
Very good.
( FeralCatMan Unusual disease collector., Thu 29 Oct 2009, 22:45, closed)

If it wasnt for Slough
We wouldnt have Road Wars

ta slough :)
(insomniac-surfer oh go on then, just this once, Thu 29 Oct 2009, 13:20, closed)

Full of win...for the Betjemin
Have a click.
( bane, Thu 29 Oct 2009, 23:28, closed)

Just before I moved away,
they'd started building a massive office complex in the Trading Estate.

They named it Betjeman Place.
(wellgroomedwookiee is a filthy-minded hobgoblin, Fri 30 Oct 2009, 12:39, closed)

-
YAWN.
(Durgama cuddling draggy on, Fri 30 Oct 2009, 13:55, closed)