My First Epic Poem

This is my first Epic poem, something that’s been on my mind for years and in draft form for many, many months.

It is (loosely) based on a true story, with some exaggeration for comedic effect and of course ‘the names have been changed to protect the innocent’.

It concerns an older gentleman by the name of Colin, who loves building things and who, in all innocence, has an unfortunate incident with a search engine during an evening class.

So grab a cuppa and enjoy;

Everyone Loved Colin

Everyone loved Colin, a sweet and gentle guy,
Small in stature, kind of frail and often could be shy
Close to sixty five when we first met in ‘98
Years of work in nuclear meant his health was not that great

Despite his outward look he had a wicked sense of humour
And a keen eye for the ladies, at least that was the rumour
They often towered over him in 3-inch high-heeled shoes
But he loved being in the shade – this was “his favourite point of view”

He also loved steam engines. To see them work was such a thrill
He spent his spare time in his workshop full of lathes and drills,
Model station’ry engines were his favourite thing to build
Plates were welded, dyes were tapped and piston rods were milled

His latest project was to make, a steam engine from scratch
He turned the axles, forged the wheels, machining every catch
A master of the metal craft, a tack, a weld, a screw,
And pretty soon he’d finished the Gresley V4 2-6-2

The boiler it was tested, properly stamped and certified
He stoked the fire, raised the steam, the system pressurised,
Though at this stage unpainted, it was still his pride and joy
The whistle shrilled, his senses filled like when he was a boy

Colin also loved all that the modern world could bring
Especially the internet that could show you anything
Keen to find out more, he took some classes at night school
That taught him how the World Wide Web, was now a modern tool

This one particular evening the class were learning how to search
Miss Harris demonstrated how to make search engines work
She suggested ev’rybody have a look for something new
So Colin typed in livery for a Gresley V4 2-6-2

As you know, some trains don’t just have numbers, they have names
Like the Mallard, Flying Scotsman and Stephenson’s Rocket fame
The Gresley V4 2-6-2’s nickname’s what Colin typed
Within a sec his face turned red, and then went deathly white

Colin squeaked then gasped out loud, his body became weak
Miss Harris asked “Are you OK?”, but Colin couldn’t speak
The pictures that began to come, gave Colin quite a shock
You see, the Gresley V4 2-6-2’s nickname was “Bantam Cock”

Pop-up after pop-up came, Colin tried to intervene
Like an adult game of whack-a-mole, he clicked around the screen
Assorted male members flashed in front of Colin’s eyes
Hard and soft of every colour, every shape and size

The second wave began, a pretty lass in a ball gown
But just as Colin thought that he might take her number down
The dress came off, dropped to the floor and much to his surprise
An object most un-ladylike was swinging ‘tween her thighs

From here I think it’s fair to say things got a little weird
More lady boys and adult toys and whips and chains appeared
Then Colin spotted something like a metalworking vice
But what was held within its jaws, did not seem very nice

Next a motor, for what use he couldn’t comprehend
But all became clear when he saw that dildo on the end
The next few pictures were a blur, and probably just as well
Involved a midget with a very long digit and a six-foot mademoiselle

The search engine now recognised a bantam was a bird
And up came dogs and horses, sheep and cattle by the herd
It’s true, he thought, the World Wide Web was opening up new views
T’was just a shame that his were all porn shots from farms and zoos

Colin now became aware in the corner of his eye
Of a figure moving through the class, his problems multiplied
Miss Harris said, “now your turn Colin, how’re you getting on?”
“Let’s see what you’ve been searching for, and how well you have done”

“I’m fine”, he said, his face bright red, sweat forming on his brow
As he closed a snap of an ample chap cavorting with a cow
But for every window that he closed another three appeared
He realised that all was lost just as Miss Harris neared

Accepting of the fate that he could no longer forestall
He breathed a sigh, leaned back and spread his arms against the wall
Exactly at the moment that Miss Harris reached his screen
It all went black, and powered down, there was a god it seems

Confused at first he realised he’d switched the plug by chance
Relief and joy spread ‘cross his face, he shot Miss H a glance
“Oh dear, what happened there” she said “I think you hit the plug”
“No matter, think I’d seen enough” he said, and with a shrug

He packed away his pens, picked up his wallet and his comb
And with a sense of huge relief, our hero headed home
He tried to put the key into the lock of the front door
But his hands were still real shaky from what he had seen before

Eventually he turned the key, and stepped into the hall
Took off his coat put on his slippers, gave his wife a call
She answered from the kitchen, “Learn something new tonight?”
Several answers came to mind but none of them seemed right

Instead he satisfied her question with “Yes, it was fine”
While wondering just how he’d get those pictures from his mind
Still a little shaky he declined her cup of tea
Instead he poured himself a rather large glass of whiskey

He started to relax despite the thoughts going round his head
And the two of them decided it was time to go to bed
The pop-ups kept appearing as he started to undress
The thought occurred that maybe he had Post-Traumatic Stress

Lying in the darkness Colin started to feel weird
A sensation that he had not had for very many years
The memory of those images had started to arouse
He convinced himself it was the women not the sheep and cows

He leaned across to his good lady and gave her a nudge
But she was fast asleep by now and didn’t even budge
The thoughts he had would have to stay fixed firmly in his head
And so he dreamt of giving that Miss Harris one instead

The moral of this story is you can’t turn back the clock
And though the web’s a useful tool it’s also full of cock

Phil C.