Bristol Bollocks

I wrote this because if I didn't write something I was going to burst. I find people love it when I read it aloud.

(Working off a block in the docks)

Oh bollocks, oh bollocks, oh bollocks,
Oh how I've longed, oh how I've strongly,
Bongingly, dongingly, belongingly longed
To sing a SONG beginning
With a flung, lungful throng
Of bollocks, oh bollocks, oh bollocks.

There's a kind of heaving ocean wave,
An achieving sway. But woe betide me
If I plunge and swim against the tide.
It's a high tide
May not be my tide.
But come what may,
Oh Brendan, Oh Flaherty, oh Dublin
Oh bubblin bollocks,
Where am I now, how came I here?
Oh rollocks, oh partly definitive shollocks,
Forgive me for doubting you,
For flouting you,
Scheming, learning, seaming, turning, swinging
Lifting, drifting, burning, clinging
Words, birds, bouncing, trouncing lemon curds
In orbit – how can I absorb it all?

Fountain chords mounting, bending,
Blending in minor thirds,
Displaying beards (just as I feared)
Down to their amazing freezing knees.
Surprise, surprise (French pronunciation, please).
Decrees abound against cheese-eating, cheating,
Stubbornly repeating greetings such as these
From Bristol. Ah, here we are again,
From Bristol docks
To be precise. Isn't that nice?

Oh bollocks, oh bollocks, oh bollocks,
Oh Bristol bollocks.
Oh bollocks of Bristol
Sweet city of hillocks
And frolics and pillocks
And dollops of the millocks
Of human kindness,
Oh Bristols great,
Oh great magnificent Bristols,
Oh Bristol hills, oh hills of Bristol,
Oh creamy dreamy Bristol hills
(Where did they go, your Satanic mills?)...

Be still, now,
Rest your oars in your rollocks,
Rest your Brendan Brandon, your partly tarty Flaherty
But mainly Swansea, Cardiff and Port Talbot
Hairy pleasing knees
In peace now on the dawning Downs
And breathe, breathe, breathe with me,
Sigh as you fly free as Concorde’s ghost,
Singing the song chords, the mounting and meeting and retreating
Host of huge harmony
Above the bollocking rollicking creamy Bristol bouncing hills.
Be still now. Still.

It’s restful. But still zestful.
It still has a heaving ocean wave, an achieving sway
On every day of the meek and mighty week.
So let us run away now
And play
Hide and seek.

© David Collins July 2012