Those Who Are About to Graduate: We Salute You

Today sees the graduation of several students with whom I’ve worked for the past three years. It’s been a pleasure and a privilege to study with them all.  I read this poem out at the most recent Pub Poets night in Poulton.  If any of my graduating students are reading this, please be assured that this poem is dedicated specifically to you.

Those Who Are About to Graduate: We Salute You
So, now you’re a graduate – let’s give you three cheers
You’ve completed your studies without stabbing your peers
You have studied three years to earn this degree
And yet still you can’t use an apostrophe.

You have earned this award – we can see at a glance
You deserve it for dealing with Student Finance.
You’re now saddled with debt from exorbitant fees
And still you can’t use those apostrophes.

Your literature dissertation could not have been easier:
Thank Christ for York notes! God bless Wikipedia!
You’ve read Wuthering Heights and John Donne’s ‘The Flea’
Yet still you can’t use an apostrophe.

You now manage your work like the rest of us do
You can write a whole paper on the night when it’s due.
You’ve spent weeks before deadlines on a diet of coffee
But still you can’t use that apostrophe.

With that said, we salute you. Good job. Well done you.
You worked hard. You learnt lots. Let’s give credit where due.
Enjoy your achievement, education’s the key.
And one day, spare a thought for the apostrophe.

Ashley R Lister


This is a poem I shared at the most recent Pub Poets gathering. Whilst I admit, it’s not what most people would call family-friendly, I’m pleased with the way it works without being gratuitously offensive. 
If family members call you coffin dodger
If you can’t see to read without your specs
If loved ones fondly call you an old codger
If you’d rather read a book than have rough sex.
If everything you drink’s decaffeinated
The coffees, cokes and cups of Earl Grey teas
If you’ve spent the last decade constipated
And still can’t pooh without suppositories
If the clothes you’re wearing once came back in fashion
If you own a set of linen handkerchiefs
If you need blue pills to raise a night of passion
And if that passion makes you fearful for your knees.
If policemen look years younger than your son
If your pubic hair’s turned 50 Shades of Grey
If watching Countdown sounds, to you, like fun.
If you once tugged off to thoughts of Doris Day
If you nod agreement with the Daily Mail
If everyone seems in a chuffing hurry
If you get excited for the Argos sale
If you fancy getting off with Mary Berry
If you make new friends whilst standing in a queue
If there’s more hair in your ears than on your head
You’ve reached an age where you simply have to

Be cheerful cos at least you’re not yet dead.
Ashley Lister

Fifty Shades of F***ing Grey

 This is a poem I shared on FaceBook the day after the Fifty Shades of Grey release. I’ve tweaked a couple of the lines since it was originally shared. I’ll mention also that it contains some adult language and probably won’t be enjoyed by the easily offended..  

Fifty Shades of Fucking Grey
With sex scenes that have made me say
That I just want to run away 
From poorly written turgid prose
As sexy as old septic toes
Arousing as a dripping nose.
It’s the arguments that “It’s abuse,”
That make me want to wear a noose
And hang there ‘til my bowels fall loose.
It seems so many overlook
The fact that it’s a fucking book
And so they spout this gobbledygook
And all I hear both night and day
Across the fucking Milky Way
Is Fifty Shades of fucking Grey.
It’s just a motherfucking story
As truthful as your average Tory
Rich in undeservéd glory
Girl meets Guy hung like Big Ben
He’s into BDS&M
She tries. She stops. She tries again.
And so the boring story goes
With aforementioned turgid prose
It sucks a lot. And sometimes blows.
And still it seems there’s no escape
From those who leave me stood agape
Whilst they claim it’s promoting rape.
And they say we should ban this flick
But isn’t that a Nazi trick?
Or are these fuckwits all that thick?.
They’re like the twats who think it’s news
To claim that there’s shitloads of queues
Of kinky folk at B&Qs.
They fill those papers we despise
With tales that we all know are lies
Of bondage babes buying cable ties.
It’s Fifty Shades of Fucking Grey
A film as hot as chilled sorbet
About which I will never say
“Hey, let’s watch this one for a bit,”
I despised the book – a pile of shit
I wish there was an end of it.
But everywhere I turn today
Someone else has had their say
On Fifty Shades of Fucking Grey.

Ashley Lister

The UK Porn Laws

This is a poem I shared on FaceBook yesterday.  I figured I should post it on my blog for posterity.  
I support the legislation
That’s killing British porn
‘Cos when it comes to masturbation
Brit-Porn makes me yawn
If I want to see good spanking
I’ll download some German MILFs
To support a good night’s yanking
They’re the master race of filth
If I want to see obscenities
And the worst humiliation
I’ll turn to Eastern Europeans
And their urolagniation
America, the beautiful
Is first for girl-on-girl
Unless they’re drinking from one cup
In which case I might hurl.
But I support this legislation
We’ve all wanted these rules madly
Perhaps they’ll stop this Tory government
From fucking us so badly.