Begone Before We Weep, Young Vicar, Go


On the occasion of the Reverend Ben Rundell-Evans’ last Holy Communion service at St. John the Baptist, Devizes, before his departure to Upper Stour

We’ll miss you in the vestry, little priest
And in the choir where we hear you sing
And at the altar where you share the feast
On Sunday mornings.  Nineteen bells to ring
In Stourton, Bourton, Kilmington, and Zeals
Three sets of six, and one for chiming hung
And practices on Mondays – silent peals
Unspoken hymns of glory softly sung
We’ll miss you, little priest.  You tidy up
The vestry, and are humorous and kind
The reverence with which you hold the cup
Is absolute.  And oh, your lively mind –
So wise for one so young, so good to know
Begone before we weep, young vicar, go

© Gail Foster 6th December 2019

Back Seat Joker

In which I am no better than the sweary kid on the number 33…


Effing this, and jeffing that

Another bus, another tw*t

Impressing peers with his wit

Sort of.  Slightly.  Just a bit.

Drop the ‘c’ bomb, hey why not

Girls will think you’re really hot

Louder, lad, we want to hear

About the weed and drugs and beer

You smoke and deal and snort and sup

How you get high and then throw up

That college bores you to a yawn

That bigger breasts make better porn

Ooh, a word that rhymes with tank

Have we got Tourette’s to thank

For the verbal diarrhoea

You pour in to our captive ear

Or are you, sunshine, simply rude

Insecure, pathetic, lewd

Wow, a word that rhymes with sock

Shouted loud to cause a shock

Tits and fanny, bell end, bum

Words you wouldn’t say to Mum

What makes you think we want to know

That so and so is just a ho

That your best mate’s a massive tool

It’s just like being back at school

There’s no escape, we’re on the bus

We’ve got to listen to you cuss

All the way to flippin’ town

Please lad, turn the volume down

Before I stand and loud recite

This rhyme I felt compelled to write

Inspired by the irritation

Caused by your inane oration

The bus is crawling up Dunkirk

My poem will keep, you’re just a jerk

Ah, the joys of middle age

Intolerance, indignant rage

Imagine if I’d read the verse

I’d have been like you but worse

So not the time or place for it

Back seat joker, talking sh*t


by Gail