At Butlin's we champed,
eager as sea side horses,
on new found freedoms.
Muscling up, healthy,
you, me, father,son,
squinting into sunlit days,
a parody of strong armed men.
My unsuitable woollen trunks,
bagged and sagged,
billowing in the salty breeze.
Knobbly kneed, bluffing the day's
as Blackpool Tower
rose majestic and proud,
beneath mackeral clouds.
Butlin's-a holiday camp with barbed wire round its perimeter to stop people escaping and filthy disgusting food served with even filthier weather. It was much loved by the working poor who knew no better and could afford even less
20 Mar 09
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out-fucking-standing... "Is lenin listening after fifty Octobers" L.F. very fastidious piece... j.g. Smiles
Larry ever grateful for any small mercy Lark
i love it when a poem moves me. and i was
moved by your poem.
i discovered while reading your poem and looking in the mirror
that as my erection softened -- the piece sign
in my pant cleavage became more
more than ever before
so. thank you for that epifanic moment
The pleasure was obviously all yours
Larry pillar of strength Lark
Brilliant poem. The food and done deal with the weather etc
excellent! captured the (miserable) time I once had at Butlins, Bognor Regis when I was dragged there as a kid.
Good poem, but crappy 'holiday camp'. :)