Poetry, Uncategorized


Excuse us, Mr Grey,

We’d like to have a word.

All this ‘Mummy Porn’ you’ve spawned,

Is really quite absurd.

Fifty Shades of fear –

There’s no need to domineer.


Since when was bruising girls alright?

Bed partners should be equal.

What a load of literary shite:

Won’t bother with the sequel.

Fifty Shades of bin the whips –

There’s other ways to get your kicks.


This craze for sub-dom sex

Is really just insanity.

It makes our bottoms sore,

And causes expletive profanity.

Fifty Shades of erotica –

Leaves us needing arnica.


Despite the cash & private jets,

Egoistic bondage is bestial & mean.

Nipple clamps do nothing for us:

You can keep your sado’ dream.

Fifty Shades of all f***ed up,

We’d make you tear that contract up.


A man that makes us laugh

Is all it takes to get it right.

Loving arms and honest eyes,

Massage oil and candle-light.

Fifty Shades of things to gain

You don’t need that Room of Pain


Upon Egyptian cotton sheets

Take us to orgasmic highs;

We’ll give ourselves up willingly,

No need to chain our thighs.

Fifty shades of decent linen

Brings out our inner sex-kitten.


Don’t mind a bit of kinky stuff,

But nothing too extreme.

Like melted chocolate, silken scarves,

Jacuzzis full of steam.

Fifty shades of woven lies

You don’t need those cable ties.


Poetry & integrity

Are vitues we extol.

A man who makes us feel alive,

Who’s got a lot of soul.

Fifty shades of Self Control,

No need to tie us to that pole.


Iron out your issues

Or go to see a shrink.

Loving shouldn’t hurt,

It’s easier than you think.

Fifty Shades of less is more

SM beatings just make us sore.


Sort out your neuroses,

And put away your toys.

What we need is real men,

Not f***ed up little boys.

Fifty Shades & all the hype,

Christian Grey: You’re not our type.

Poetry, Uncategorized


Polish your Docksides and chill the Bolly,

The Yacht Club’s full of mariners  with lolly.

The quayside’s a-buzz with boats getting ready;

Down the slip ways she goes: look out – hold her steady!

Heave Ho! Heave Ho! Hoist the sails up,

We’re going to win the Dragon Gold Cup!


Deckhands in navy with rippling pecs

Coil up the ropes and clear the decks.

Stow the spinnaker, rig and sheets,

Yank up the halyard and fasten the cleats.

Batten the hatches, fenders up.

We’re going to win the Dragon Gold Cup!


Our wind-swept skipper looks tanned and fit,

Dressed head to toe in all the right kit,

Swung over one shoulder his McWilliams bag

Holding his Dubarry Boots and Henri Lloyd cag.

Hold her on course, prepare to luff-up,

We’re going to win the Dragon Gold Cup!


Study the charts, plot a course that is sound.

Ignore the opposition: they’re Russian around.

Don’t judge a man by the cut of his jib –

But millionaire sailors can be charming and glib.

Oysters are on ice, the marquees are up,

We’re going to win the Dragon Gold Cup!


© Alex Barton 2012

Poetry, Uncategorized


There were Nine of Us

In the Big Red Bus

Kids got Left Behind

Dads’ stressed? We Don’t Mind!

Whizzing along the Kerry Way

Wanderhome Cottage is where we’ll stay

Linger over coffee or go for a hike

Two days of freedom to do as we like

Craggy moors tumble down to the shore

Moss covered forests hide fairies and folklore

Dinner and drinks in a beach-bar shack

Back home for chat, giggles and craic

Awoken by sun and sparkling seas

Azure blue sky and a warm summer breeze

Beara Peninsular’s heavenly views

Sprawled on the lawn reading the news

Into the beautiful ocean we dive

The chilly clear water makes you feel so alive

Exploring the fort of yonder year

The horizon reaches to eternity from here

Tasty tapas and copious wine

Lunch at The Boathouse was simply divine

Golden shadows led the way home

See you next year in Barcelona or Rome

(special thanks to SHARON and THE GIRLS!)