Lady Chatterley's Hoover

Lady Chatterley's Hoover

(A bawdy ballad)

Not that kind of girl

Married to a Patrician

But the Lady had lurid longings

For a new and exciting position

She fantasised day and night

 Thrilled by her thoughts of downstairs 

Determined to get down and dirty
To suck in the fluff and the hairs

Uninhibited pulling the cord

Flushed at turning it on
She set about stroking the shagpile 
Not intending to push hard and long

But she pushed and pulled that hoover
Till she broke out in a sweat
And the hoover started whining
But she hadn't finished yet

Ecstatic at feeling so common
For her there was no going back
So she pushed and she pulled that hoover

 Till she came to and emptied the sack

Mike O'Leary - November 2013

ReInterpreting Lawrence's Lady Chatterley,

fantasising about the dignity of labour. 

Some may see it otherwise. So be it.

National Poetry Day - The Rhyme of an Ancient Marinare

The  Rhyme of an Ancient Marinare

Water
 Water 
Everywhere

Desperate
I drink
 

Taste
  A dash 
Too puckery

Not so nice 

As you 
May think

 Thirst 
Not quenched  
Reclined 

In idle
framing
Of the ocean

Bored
Shrinking
In still waters

 Petrel squandered
Canvas primed

Daily brined

Mike O'Leary - October 2013

Apparently...

Apparently...

'Lessons have to be learned...'

Whilst books are discarded and burned

'It's really important that...'

Maybe that one's become old hat

This endless repetition of platitudes

Demonstrates unthinking attitudes

Mike O'Leary - September 2013

Broken

Broken

When my body was broken

You ran on ahead

When my heart was broken

You messed with my head

When my spirit was broken

You left me for dead

Mike O'Leary - May 2013

The Lady is for burning

The Lady is for Burning

We could melt down the Iron Lady

But there's no foundry to be found

 We might find it hard to cremate her

 When the coal is all still in the ground
 

Perhaps we could snatch a milk float

And deliver her on our round

Or put out her funeral to tender

And see if we can save a few pounds

Do you think she'll hear voices of angels

Or the baying of the hounds?

Pandora
 Leaving this place for another

Epimetheus, left unwound   

Mike O'Leary - April 2013