From Bard To Verse

By Darren Bane

Darren Bane adds insult to infamy with this, his little poem book, a comical compilation of ridiculous rhymes, punny poetic (perhaps pathetic?) prose, laughably ludicrous lyrics and pitiful parodies.

This asinine anthology includes a tender, touching tribute to actress Catherine Zeta Jones, verses which feature fairly credible rhymes for the words 'vasectomy' and 'follicles', others which push the boundaries of poetic licence and, of course, the local literary legend - if only in the mind of the author - that is Shiny Table.

More than 30 years worth of witty/witless wordplay has been brought together in the rib-tickling tome that is: From Bard To Verse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: May 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9781447726951

Book preview

Foreword

In 1991 I was recruited by the Bristol Evening Post, a regional daily newspaper, to be part of a two-man team in its ‘district office’ in  Weston-super-Mare.

My colleague, and ‘partner in crime’, was Andrew White. While he was, and forever will be, 20 years my senior chronologically, we seemed to share a similar mental age and defiant refusal to grow up.

He was blessed with a natural gift in witty wordsmithery and was a huge influence on me, which meant that when I discovered he had written many amusing verses, I was inspired to have a go myself.

I had a made a few token efforts at poetry prior to this but it wasn’t until I started working with Whitey that I felt empowered to unleash my full poetic prowess.

This book includes some of my first verses, penned when I was about 16-years-old. But if you can endure these earlier efforts, then you’ll hopefully enjoy what follows. A bit. Maybe.

Some of the pieces in this anthology are accompanied by some brief contextual notes, to help the reader fully recognise and          appreciate their literary worth.

Part Two of this book – ‘Personals’ – contains verses written specifically to mark birthdays or weddings, which feature many ‘in jokes’. However, I’ve included some of them here because I remain quite proud of their poetic and humorous (I use the term advisedly) content. Besides, I reasoned that since I am self-publishing this anthology, then I can afford myself a little ‘self-indulgence’.

In addition to being inspired by my workmate, Whitey, I should also acknowledge the American comedian Steve Martin. In his film, The Man With Two Brains, his character, Dr Hfuhruhurr, and Dolores (played by Kathleen Turner) discuss John Lillison, supposedly      England’s greatest one-armed poet, whose notable works include In Dillman’s Grove and Pointy Birds, which Dr Hfuhruhurr recites. Martin revisits Pointy Birds in his later film LA Story. I was amused by the style of this verse and unashamedly applied it to several of my own shorter pieces.

I have not been as prolific with my poetry as I would like to have been because, unlike Whitey, or other such amusing scribes, such as Pam Ayres and Brian Bilston, the comic writing doesn’t flow naturally from me, it is something I have to work at. But having had some  fairly positive feedback from those I’ve shared some of my works with, and having even raised a few smiles, I’ve been encouraged and      inclined to commit them to print.

Poetry and song lyrics are similar forms of prose, and with one of my first-ever albums being one of comedy parodies by the great  British band The Barron Knights, I also started writing comical songs, some wholly original and some – in the style of the Knights –      parodies of well-known pieces.

Since I hadn’t written enough poetry to fill a sufficient number of pages in this anthology – despite me waiting decades to publish - I decided to throw in some of my silly songs, too, in Part Three. Lucky you, dear reader, for your cup doeth truly run over.

That concludes the mitigation for the defence, your honour.

I live in the hope that there may be at least one or two pieces in here that will prompt a smirk from a majority of readers.

If I can achieve that, then the literary world will, no doubt, be  relieved to know that my work(s) is(are) done. (Unless I live long enough to publish a second collection in another thirty years or so).

Darren Bane, May 2023

Part One: Poetic Injustices

Mountain Man

Mountain Man, we called him.

He led us on a hike.

And, in all my scouting years,

I’d never seen the like.

Mountain Man was quite unique,

Super-fit and daring.

He had no use for an OS map,

Just a compass bearing.

He gripped said compass in his hand,

And led us ‘cross the moor.

Whenever an obstacle stood in our path,

Mountain Man would just ignore.

O’er hills and into valleys,

He walked at quite a pace.

On hands and knees, we crawled through woods,

And even down a sheer rock face.

Mountain Man was fearless,

The true leader of our pack.

Once he set off on his way,

There truly was no going back.

Nor did he know sideways,

He knew just one direction – straight,

In his haste to reach home base.

And still we got there late.

Some Prose For Protoveg

We were on the slopes of Exmoor,

We were living on the edge.

When I first ate the ‘hiker’s meal’,

Which was named Protoveg.

T’was a dehydrated packet food,

Designed to aid survival.

For us there was an awakening rude,

Awaiting our arrival.

This strange food known as ‘Sosmix’,

Was like nothing known to man.

It was unlike any kind of sausage,

Which ever was fried in a pan.

It was made of rusk and soya

When we tasted it, we wept.

But the real tears came much later,

Thanks to its side-effects.

Our tent inflated like a balloon,

With flatulent, foul, air.

When we left that former fertile field,

The land was dead and bare.

I’m quite convinced that Protoveg,

Is the reason the moors look so barren.

Plant life was killed by the resulting gas,

It’s true, or my name isn’t Darren.

But it is.

My Little Dick

Whenever I am lost for words,

And don’t know what to say,

I get ‘My Little Dick’ out,

And it shows me the way.

I trust ‘My Little Dick’,

It is a very useful tool.

I keep it in my pocket,

And it really is no fool.

I like to keep it handy,

I like to whip it out.

‘My Little Dick’ is my best friend,

Of that there is no doubt.

‘My Little Dick’ knows lots of words,

From ‘A’ right through to ‘Z’.

It could help me sweet-talk the ‘birds’,

And charm them into bed!

It’s full of lots of long ones,

That I could use to impress.

I’d charm her with my silver tongue,

While peeling off her dress.

I love ‘My Little Dick’,

It is so very good to me.

Lost for words is what I’d be,

Without my little Dictionary.

Who’d Have Thought It?

Some people believe that Doctor Who

Actually did fight the Daleks.

But those stories are not really true.

They’re all a load of ‘ba-leks’.

Some artistic/poetic licence was used here, in the first of many of my tenuous rhymes, because my quest for poetic perfection would not allow me to settle for using ‘bollocks’. Sadly, with the passing of the years, I was quite willing to forsake such high standards, and allow ‘poetic licence’ to justify a few somewhat ropier rhymes.

Baldy

Baldy Man, baldy, baldy.

Is your head all coldy, coldy?

When it rains on top of you,

Does your bald head go all mouldy?

Bumbly