Waiting for Barnacle Bill

[dedalus]

Here on the crest of this pleasant hill

where larks and bluebirds sing their fill,

I sit on this bench all tense and still,

and wait for a chap called Barnacle Bill.

 

I doubt that was his name at birth,

not a mother’s choice when he sprang to earth,

but a name flat-chosen, of little worth,

applied amid grins and drunken mirth.

 

BOOM BOOM BOOM.

Naturally.

O hear the words I sing:

war is a very horrible thing,

tingalingaling. Mother.

(Baldrick, “Blackadder”)

 

I was just going to walk across

this barrier. A mere step or two,

but then came a shot close-by, ,

a warning, no-one trying to hit you.

 

I remember how I sold my old boss

a shaky MG Harrier. This much is true,

and after we shared a shot of rye, we

waved and said good bye, good bye. I would not shit you

 

much, and such is the clear (if edited) story

with nothing near, nor even close to glory,

yet I shudder on the bench in the evening chill,

waiting for a thug called Barnacle Bill.

 

[dcmarti1]

I really like putting this across stanzas:

 

.....I would not shit you

 

much

 

Brilliant.

[Benjamin]

The profane nature of the old song works well as metaphor for human nature. I recall fondly the old Fleischer Popeye cartoon that introduced the villain Bluto..."Who's that knocking on my door?" sang Olive Oyl... "It's Barnacle Bill the sailor," he growled, lustily. Also your subtle "goodbye, goodbye" tickled up other memories of Peter Cook and Dudley Moore singing the old WW1 song. B.

[dr_con]

The internal rhythm of this is pitch perfect, and the tale well told.

 

Very enjoyable!

 

Juris