from PATTAYA TRADER 113 (A)

YES-RISE-UP-OVER-THE-WICKED-WAVES-
TRUE-SONS-AND-DAUGHTERS-OF-PAST-ALBION
"Wicked warlords will have their evil way
while King Arthur sleeps this very day,"
Merlin-the-Magician was overheard to say.
"There is not the magic anymore,
priescraft came and rendered poor
the wizards of old-Albion's lovely-shore.
Long I've been a prisoner in this cave.
Arthur will not rise and the Kingdom save
till Britannia's children ride-above-the-waves."

THE-DREAMY-POET'S-FISHY-
FAIRYSTORY
I lived in Saltburn-by-the-sea.
Lived in York's fairytale city.
Lived in Pattaya and Bangkok.
Now with a merlady upon her rock
I live in a poetic dream,
a sea-port troubadour and she my queen.

KIND-BLAKE-AND-CRUEL-DE-SADE
Troubled I lie awake,
thoughts on life unkind.
I try to think of Blake
but Sade sticks in my mind.

PAST-DAYS-OF-DISORDER-
AND-DEPRAVITY-NO?
Unlace the girl Lovelace.
Remove her bodice.
You were always a one
for a novice,
though never a one
for an orderly nun
in the letcherous company
with which you hung.

Unlace the girl Lovelace,
you renowned debauchee,
and from her bodice
set the young female free.
And when you're done
and she is undone
tell her that sex
is only innocent fun.
Lovelace, Lovelace,
you loved the pure chase.

THE-JUICY-STEW-FIT-FOR-
A-RIGHT-GIANTESS
Fee, fie, fo, fum; fee, fie, fo, fum,
she smells the blood of an Englishman.
His bare-bones and skull from his head
she breaks up to mould her bread.
Sow and cook, cook and sow,
her husband made a big mistake, y'know,
in telling her just what to do.
With the rest of his body she'll make a giant-stew.

IT'S-OOPSY-BOOPSY-BETTY
I once wanted to be Captain Pugwash,
but here's the real scoop:
when I was a titsy bit older
I thought I loved Betty Boop.
And I once wanted to be Popeye,
but here's the real scoop:
I didn't love Olive Oyl,
I thought I loved Betty Boop.
Now a grown man looking back, oops:
I know I don't love Betty, but still like her boops !!

YES-AN-ALBATROSS-LADY
She was an albatross around my neck.
I could not take very much more.
The girl hammered her fists upon my chest
so I pushed her. She fell to the floor.
There she lay down on the deck.
Her arms spread out like a cross,
the girl who was ever round my neck,
the lady albatross, yes the lady albatross.
Oh now she would be a martyr.
Of this I'd not hear the last.
She'd tell her friends for a starter,
and probably with an added twist.
Go tell the world I said, go tell all.
Hammer your fists against my chest
when you arise from the push and fall,
but this relationship is now laid to rest
(I would no longer argue the coin's toss
with she, the lady albatross).