Search Me

Herewith a poem from Brian Bilston, entitled Search Me.
It’s made up from a series of auto-completed searches on Google.
Clever.

Regular readers will immediately have noticed why this was forwarded to me.

And the answer is “bloody annoying”.

Bank Holiday DIY

It’s Bank Holiday Monday in the UK – their equivalent of one of our public holidays (specifically the one we had last Tuesday). But this one is the first proper one of Spring there, and is widely regarded as an opportunity to spruce up the house and garden ready for the day they call Summer.

In honour of this, poet Brian Bilston has helpfully rewritten the lyrics to Sheffield band the Arctic Monkeys’ 2006 hit I Bet You Look Good On The Dancefloor with a DIY slant.

Just in case you don’t know the original, here it is:

Legendary sounds.

And here are Brian’s alternative lyrics, delivered in jpeg poetry form:

Very, very, clever, as always.

Happy Holidays, UK readers.

Back to work with Brian Bilston

So… how was your Christmas?

I thought that we’d got a lot done in a couple of weeks, but Brian’s break seems to have been far busier. Gardening and painting, by the sounds of it.
Golly. I’ll bet his wife will love the new look when she gets back from visiting her sister (or wherever he said she’d gone).

Oscar

No. Not that one. Or this one.

These ones.

Yes, yes, hooray for Hollywood and all that, as a lot of (apparently almost exclusively white) very rich people massaged each other’s fragile egos.

Brian Bilston summed it all up perfected with these lines:

bboscar

I didn’t watch (I never watch), but I’m sure that I would have heard if Leo dC had used this poem as he collected his Best (White) Actor statuette.

I think that it’s rather sad that he didn’t.

CV

Brian Bilston’s (you may remember him from such posts as Brian Bilston) CV in poem form might just be one of the best things I’ve ever read…

CURRICULUM VITAE

PROFILE
A selfish, self-centred, self-effacing self-starter.
A team-playing, dragon-slaying, modern-day martyr.
A blue sky thinker whose ideas are a vapour trail.
A proven communicator with a kean eye for detial.

EXPERIENCE
Poet – 2012-present
Duties included: being deluded,
finding myself from parties excluded,
writing sonnets on love and despair,
Netflix, and falling asleep in my chair.

Various positions – 1991-2012
Chartered Accountant. Lawyer. Cashier.
Building Site Lackey. High Grand Vizier.
Inhuman Cannonball. Scullery Maid.
Skilled Chicken Sexer. Guitarist In Suede.
Postman. Dustman. Class A Drug Dealer.
Dog Trainer. Tea Strainer. Carrot And Spud Peeler.
Batman. Batsman. Bowler. Head Chef.
Doing odd jobs for my Uncle Geoff.
Goalkeeper. Zookeeper. Dandelion Tamer.
Pilot. Hotelier. DJ. Boogie Blamer.

EDUCATION
University of Life – 1988-1991
My time at university saw diminishing returns.
Studied Scottish poetry. Got third degree Burns.

School of Hard Knocks – 1981-1988
School for me, I must confess,
proved to be
an unqualified success.

INTERESTS
In my spare time, I like to ponder
the fragility of existence
as it hangs,
like an industrious spider’s
silk-sewn threads
blowing in the late afternoon breeze,
with the delicacy of death.

I also enjoy ten pin bowling and the films of Bruce Lee.

REFERENCES
Sadly, my references
have altered their preferences;
their words are harsh and
abhorrent.

Even mother and father
have said they would rather
not comment.

Clever hidden meanings and opportunities for reading between the lines galore. Here is it on his site, which I have now added to the blogroll.

Poetry, ne? I’m suddenly feeling all cultured, innit.