The Strood Poetical Society

The Strood Poetical Society, a splinter group of the Darnley Road Men of Letters, was formed in the late 60s with the avowed aim to put to verse the great battles between the men of Strood and the men of Chatham. In this respect the SPS can be said to follow the Homeric tradition and have more in common with Robert Graves than the Nancy boy poets so beloved by Radio 4.

A Society of Poetry

The SPS do not usually publish their poetry outside of lavatory cubicles, but have decided, because it is May, that they will, bit by bit, release an anthology on Love.

Our first poem is by Mr. B Ballbag. It is a sympathetic piece, tender and sweet. But don't let the syrupy language put you off. "Spread the Love", has a power underlying metaphor . See if you can find it.

Spread the Love

Looking for a fight,
In the old dock,
I called her a cunt,
She called me a cock.
Kids were screaming,
In a broken pram,
Covered in snot,
Shit and jam.
I said her vag,
Were like the Medway tide,
Wide and wet
Gi-fuckin-normous inside.
She said my cock,
Were like a medway prawn,
Too small to please,
Or appear in porn.
Kids still screaming,
Running about,
I threatened to give her,
A bloody good clout.
This is normal,
In my town,
It's how we spread,
The love around.

"Twat", she said,
With a fag on her lip,
Tits like sails,
Fat shaking on her hip.
Shall we go dear,
To the dss,
Bring the kids,
They'll make a mess.
We'll have another,
Crisis loan,
Call em all cunts,
Spit and moan.
We'll tell a sob tale,
'Bout jumping in the river,
Tell 'em bout your mam,
And her failing liver.
In the pentagon,
She tripped me up,
Stamped on me balls,
Kicked me in the guts.
Kids still screaming,
Stealing from a store,
She called me a cunt,
I called her a whore.
At cash converters,
On Luton hill,
We pawned some condoms,
Bought some pills.
Fat arms waving,
Stretched tattoos,
They wobble at me,
They wobble at you.
Kids still screaming,
Bonsai thugs,
What you pogging at?
Want some drugs?
This is normal,
In my town,
It's how we spread,
The love around...

..............................

Don't Dilly Dally, a popular wartime ditty sung by Australian soldiers when stationed at Cuxton barracks was written by an anonymous Frindsbury Poet.

Don't dilly dally

Don't dilly dally,
Down the Darnley road,
You'll get yer face smashed,
And a broken nose,
It's a long long way from Tipperary,
And ten times as fucking scary,
You'd be better off in canal road,
Don't dilly dally down the Darnley road!

Don't dilly dally,
Down the tug and shovel,
You'll only meet a thug,
And get buried in rubble,
It's a long long way from Tipperary,
And ten times as fucking scary,
You'd be better off by the river,
Don't dilly dally down the tug and shovel.

Hula Fuq Cares