stephen stirk

stephen stirk Poems

stephen stirk Biography

I am a 52 year old Comedy Poet. Much in life amuses me, and I often find myself committing what I see into rhyme. My poetry tends to have an 'earthy quality' which may originate from a life time of living on Merseyside in England. I am by definition a 'Liverpudlian'. Apparently we have the unique ability to laugh at ourselves before others. Looking at most of us, I can see why that would be the case. Liverpool has recently held the prestigeous title of 'European Capital of Culture'. I doubt you will see much of that in the writings of Stephen J Stirk Esquire. I am a semi retired member of the Civil Service, and spent much of my career in the Magisterial Service as a manager. I feel that it was this period in my life that tempered my wit in the fires of sarcasm and cynicism. In hindsight I was probably better suited to be a Blacksmith than an Administrator of Justice. I am married with three beautiful little children aged 24,22 and 18. This is a standard phrase which I am sure is used by most parents to describe their offspring. The reality would be unprintable. The people and places of Merseyside provide the settings for much of my writing and inspiration. I pride myself in selecting subject matter which is so diverse that nobody else would think of it. I never see people for who or what they are. Character assassination is far more fun

The Best Poem Of stephen stirk

A Sale Of Two Titties

In the heart of an old village setting
There stands an Antique dealers rooms
Full of rarest antiques brought for vetting
Plus two urns sold by Hilda May Coombs

Last valued in May, Nineteen thirty
Estimated at fifteen pound each
The value-er thought they were ‘dirty’
Uncertain what price range they’d reach

Hilda had sold them to Betty
For the price of just one hundred quid
They were no longer friends, all quite petty
And Betty decided, ‘Get Rid’

Hilda had nearly no money
Had in recent years always been sick
It was no laughing matter, ‘not funny’
Poor Hilda had ‘Left eye wink’ tic

She had noticed the urns in the window
And the interest had made her go in
Thought “I’ll miss the first game at the bingo
With my luck, I’m sure I won’t win”

At the sale rooms the buyers were massing
Old eggcups and teacups and mugs
The interest was more than just ‘passing’
But all eyes fell on Betty’s huge jugs

Each pictured a part naked woman
Revealing their part covered chests
“Who’ll offer a hundred now cum-on
It’s worth it to look at their breasts”

Then the auctioneer said “What a nice pair,
You seldom see many around
They would grace almost any Antique fair
Okay start me at Ninety Five Pound”

The bidding began in frenzy
Authenticity taken on trust
Determined old pervert McKenzie
Could not take his eyes of each bust

As the auctioneer dealt with the bidding
Hilda tried not to look up or blink
“Three hundred pounds –you are kidding
There worth more than that much-I think”

Hilda was good at concealing
But her nerves were now giving some stick
And she couldn’t refrain from the feeling
That someone would notice her tic

As Hilda winked faster than lightening
Her luckless demise was profound
She could feel that her stomach was tightening
As the bidding reached twelve thousand pound

The bidding continued to rocket
McKenzie kept bidding in fits
As he fumbled within his right pocket
And mumbled “I’ll have Betty’s t**s”

The auctioneer played with his gavel
McKenzie played games with his flies
As the auction began to unravel
And Hilda winked wild with both eyes

Then the bidding stopped dead rather quickly
And silence fell over the rooms
McKenzie had failed and looked sickly
“Fifty thousand – sold ‘Hilda May Coombs’

The sheer realisation of winning
Had made Hilda Coombs very sick
Hopes shattered, and head that was spinning
Each successful bid made by her tic

As she signed for the lot, the cashier
Said “well done these are great and not tat”
As Hilda May wiped off a tear
Said “I’ll have to re-mortgage me flat”

McKenzie approached her and then said
Here’s a kiss, a well done and some hugs
Then viciously slapped at her poor head
And lunged as she dropped her great jugs

Now poor Hilda lives in a hovel
With big damaged jugs and no kitty
And is writing her best selling novel
It’s title ‘A Sale of Two Tittie (s)

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