The Born Again Biker And Other Poems

By Malcolm Whyman

Once more, standing on the shoulder of the giant, Australian folk poet Banjo Paterson. Here with a selection of poems, both light and dark, carry the hope that they may stimulate the readers to a similar extent as the previous volume, The Rat And Other Poems.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Malcolm Whyman
• Release date: Mar 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370606566

Malcolm Whyman

Malcolm Whyman has worked and lived in the Nottingham area for the majority of his life. He was a well known face on the Nottingham folk/session scene for many years, personally organising a Monday night sing and drink for a decade. He began writing his biography in 2008, which is now available for free download. He is currently writing two other fictional works, and is near completing a series of folk poems.

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The Born Again Biker

By Malcolm Whyman

Copyright 2018 Malcolm Whyman

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Table Of Contents

A Day At The Dentist

Albert

Bloody Broxtowe

Everything a Man Should be

In Praise Of Women's Bottoms

McIntyres

More Catterel Than Doggerel

Shipstones Lament or The Death Of Numb Numb

The Bakers Dozen

The Beeston Porker

The Born Again Biker

The Boys from The Boomer Brigade

The Burglar

The Bus Pass Romeo

The Cushion Stuffers Lament

The Groping Ghost Of Little John

The Hoodies Lament

The Kid From Allenbrooke

The Nottingham Virgin

The Plastic Basher

The Pram In The Hall

The Beeston Fire Brigade

The Queen Of The Star

Toad In A Hole

The Source

The Ballard Of Wandering Don

Nimrod

Fred The Silver Surfer

Raymond The Rambler

John Peel

Song For Philip

The Cubicle Clerk

The Great British Bottom

Assorted Limericks

A Day At The Dentist

I stood before his gothic pile and rang the big brass bell,

It was just a dental check-up but only time would tell.

The paper on the walls and the carpets on the floor,

Looked as though they hadn’t changed since the First World War.

An ancient gas fire spluttered, the magazines were old,

And I sat in trepidation feeling desolate and cold.

Judging from the magazines our dentist was a nudist,

So I tried to distract myself leafing through the rudest.

And then a vision struck me, he was standing in the buff,

Bollock naked, drill in hand, poised to do his stuff.

Then the nurse’s footsteps echoed down the tiled and empty hall,

Condemned men must feel the same, when they get the final call.

His chair looked like Old Sparky made of metal wood and hide,

With little tufts of horse hair poking out the sides.

We’re all electric now he said, pointing to a pedal,

I’ve had this drill for forty years it used to be a treadle.

He hit a switch and with a clunk it powered a set of lamps,