Friday 9 November 2012

Birthday

 
 
 To celebrate commemorate, I've written this verse.
For the past year, at best, has extended its terse.
For the black that enveloped and smothered my all,
Has thankfully receded; an ascent from the fall.
 
For the ebony cloak that shrouded my joy,
Came for the hat trick, and rendered me coy.
But this one was different, a duo in force;
Numb, and deflated, strangled remorse.
 
The trudge, and the dredge and the suffocated ego,
Called into question 'where the fuck did she go?'
Reflects and processes; concludes pragmatic,
The hyper obsolete, remainder empathetic.
 
Breaking the cycle of crushed resignation,
Suddenly strength surfaced, without hesitation,
I clung to it tight, climbed, came awake.
Those wings that were lame, at once, reinstate.
 
Don't lessen the spirit, tenacious thee,
Explore all the corners, resolve comes from me.
And now I assess the errors I made...
The friends I have lost, loved ones that stayed.
 
And the lessons I've learnt in the year that passed,
Imprint their experience; oaken aura cast.
So to my true loves, my safety net crew,
My all is ever grateful for the existence of you.




Thursday 7 June 2012

Agapoo


Black Lace, Black Lace, You’re a fucking disgrace,
You take to the stage with amateur haste.
Agadoo you do, in presenting your case,
But look at your flip flops, they’re so out of place.
Where are the sequins, where is the cheese?
I came to watch you, but who the fuck are these?
They’re not the real ones ‘SUPERMAN, please?!’
Flabbies soaked in bin juice; inflated fees.
So whatever happened, whatever went wrong,
Just turn on the backing tape, crack on with the song.
And I’m guessing the set won’t last too long...
Finish on a megamix, pad it out with a cong...
A, call it a pony for a turn and a spout,
Don’t worry about showbiz, it clearly means nowt.
Where’s the sounds that once had the clout?
Aired as flash-in-the-pan novelty no doubt.
So bucks fizz your ideas, and give it a try,
This lacklustre performance is making me cry.
Just a push-pineapple-Hawaiian-shirt-less lie...
...What happened to Black Lace, did one of them die? 

...Yes...

Thursday 24 May 2012

Cactus Flower


I miss you already,
‘Tissues scattered as snow’,
I never gave it time,
You, I don’t know.
But cohesion had glued,
For me, a sense of sync,
Now I’m licking my wounds,
Drowning in drink.
The bubble was kiltered
And I had to brake hard,
This had to be halted;
Forecast a red card.
Call it intuition, 
And it’s doomed to be,
But I felt it was different,
And now the fool is me.
For I sever its bloom,
And it never makes scent,
How I can destroy,
A caution, intent.
I can’t play the games,
That they seem to master,
I let it flow natural,
Now, alone, I neck castor.
And petals they scatter,
Detached from their centre,
I pick up my heart;
As Charcoal as Pinter,
And repeat to fade,
This romantic ideal,
My bluffers stance folds.
To the wind, you deal!
And I miss you already.
But I never give it chance,
I unravel the blue prints.
And don't start the dance.

Friday 18 May 2012

Air


At least there’s some silence
Trapped in this cell of sound
My loudness excited
Outside it’s more ground
When placed to the mic
And high on caffeine
I remove myself from her
Trying not to be mean
For the boom and the bigness
Is just for the show
But looking at her now
Overbearing must go
This sense of approval
Is evident to all
Proving so much
After gargantuan fall
One day I shall mellow
With the birds and I’ll say
Not everyone can like you
It doesn’t work that way
But first I must start
To find out where I am
To demonstrate some grace
More natural, the plan
So take her off air
And give us the space
I like the quiet sometimes
Get me out of this place

Wednesday 16 May 2012

4 4 4 4



Jeremy Kyle
Syrupy Lyle
Smuggery phial
Resolute dial
Underdog trial
Fornicate file
Jeremy Heil
Premium smile
Judging with bile
Trusted and wile
Totally vile
Jeremy Kyle

Saturday 12 May 2012

Poor little fat girl

A while back I began communicating with a manboy; this was prior to my departure into the 'depression-within-a-depression' in the ultimate depressive destination of Estonia. Having put on a bit of weight whilst there, I informed him - via phone - of my additional stack that was returning with me, to which he responded "I don't normally date fatties, but you're funny so I'll make allowances".

Being mostly human, I have emotions. One of those is anger. You may be familiar with anger. I rarely get angry, but when I do, you'll know. You'll know, and you'll cry.

This week I've been annoyed with a shop window in my current neighborhood. The shop window in question is that of slutty emporium 'Anne Summers'. Whether it be nipple clamps or a packet of penis pasta - they've got it all, the dirty bastards. Before you start thinking I'm some sort of prude, I'm not, I'm as liberal as Paddy Ashdown, with his pants down, going down town. I'm well dirty, me.

So, returning to the offending item in the shop window...on Day 1 whilst idly passing I became aware of a mannequin. Come Day 2 I actually stopped and mouthed disapprovingly 'fuck off' in disbelief at what I was witnessing. In reality I said it quite loudly, so others could be party to my horror at the site before me (but I was likely perceived to be a mad woman shouting 'fuck off' at a pair of knickers in a window). Come Day 3, I thought I would make my complaint heard to the workers in the shop.

Following a power lunch of roll mop herrings, I decided to march towards the shop knowing full well my breath was going to be as offensive as their window display. They were going to take the stench of my metaphorical and literal bile.

Talking to the assistant, whilst the manager eyed my rattled assertion with suspicion, I demanded she take the tape measure from around her neck and come with me to the window where I then instructed her to measure the waist of the curvaceous mannequin on display. I was angry, she obeyed.

20 inches.

To put this in perspective, I am currently a size 14, within a healthy range for my BMI and my THIGH measures 25".

To put this further into perspective, here is a model who recently came under scrutiny for her 20" waist, and her (here we go again...) insistence that she eats junk food three times-a-day and scoffs herself senseless with chocolate. She just has that kind of metabolism. You know, that infamous vapourising metabolism.



She likely has a chronic case of worms, undetected except for her incessant bottom scratching. 

So back to my one woman protest. Having informed the shop assistant I would be speaking to their customer services department about this unrealistic window freak, she attempted to placate me with her reassurance that all the other models in the shop were of average size. Having eyes, I was aware of this, but what she chose to disregard is the developing sexuality of the already insecure young girls who pass by the window, and who - perhaps - fantastise about realising their dreamy fornications via a pair of satin turquoise panties atop a waist of miniscule proportions. She could be that girl, in those knickers, being desired because of that 'ultimate' feminine shape. If only she stopped eating, or made herself sick...

Eating disorders are responsible for more loss of life than any other psychological illness. The increase of these deaths certainly correlates with the increasing celebration of perfection of the rich and famous as we are continuously and increasingly distracted from what is really important.

So, stop it, Summers! Stop being aesthetically deceptive to shift your filthy slag pants, you immoral bunch of whores. I don't subscribe to the magazines that make me feel shit, so I certainly don't want this   load of falsified literal arse forced in my face.

If I don't get that mannequin removed by the end of the month, I'm going to eat more cake than is recommended to sedate the pain of feeling aesthetically worthless.

It's a Catch 22.

Friday 11 May 2012

Red Yellow

Wet sang naive Yellow,
But when it comes to you,
I think of skin, sallow,
And the damage you do.
The Race has begun,
Now, where is the nurse?
At night he hydrates,
The rouge taking purse.

Your life is a mess,
But you have an idea.
I can't see this car crash;
And the premature pyre.
You say things are good;
Midnight guffaws,
But she doesn't care either,
Her judgement is poor.

Awash with faux glee,
As you egg lover on,
Cue denial-in-duality,
A duo lost; gone.
For one who loves you,
In her own special way,
You grab on tight, too,
It's acceptable this fray?

When those ravaged bags,
Betray the gifted scriber,
A liver transplant,
Best have a buyer.
For when I see this,
I shake my head in pity,
For one with your skills,
And nothing in kitty.

You steal and you lie,
All be it in good rib,
But I'm tired my friend,
Of this permanent glib.
What are you to do?
The future pretends,
It looks toxic for you.
We know how this ends.

If I had the strength,
To fight for your corner,
I'd drag it forcehenth,
Frogmarch the former.
So wake up young Bear,
What are you to do?
When tox is blackened,
Repairable too?

You're lazy and lost,
But aware of the pain,
My eyes they are bleeding,
Emotion no-feign.
So look in the mirror:
The eyes have no killer,
You're forgetting the future,
Now magenta's the filler.

Crab Apple

The de ja vu of one just like you,
Makes me feel like a dunce; Investment undo!
Repeat my fall, as you point to a future,
In stroking me gently, I let in your nurture.

The mistake I have made again and again,
Never hardens against this ardour of feign.
And then the calls stop; sharp cleavered sever,
Nudging you gently, but left on a tether.

You look for a muse and one to bleed dry,
But the poet is void; in a mortal high.
It trumps up it’s being; is pleased with itself,
Your chaos, eternal, teeters on shelf.

And now I am scorned, there’s nothing worse.
Get out of my head; extol with the verse.
Will I learn of the centric; the shells on the rock?
In opening too soon, I’m left on the dock.

So I’ll be as honest, as I always am,
And declare that these tricks are truly a sham.
I can’t be prey to this convenient affection,
You won’t find me playing pyrite persuasion.

Thursday 3 May 2012

Back from the USSR

Imagine knowing that your forthcoming year was going to be hellish. No surprises; it's there laid out for you to see. An over-hanging sense of dread that creeps into your mind when you're undistracted. Constant almost. Like a mayoral chain fastened from leaded shit; paraded around in a paranoid state.

I knew 2012 was going to be possibly my most difficult year yet since it's incarnation. For legal reasons, yes legal reasons, I am unable to talk about things that happened to me, and then subsequently things that were done to me out of my control. All this occurred during November, since then life has been a collection of uncertainties with my usual focus being completely blurred. It's horrid. I can't see.

...But in the meantime, we battle on, roll with the punches, try to survive, (move to Estonia, move back from Estonia)...take every day as it comes and try to ascertain some form of control when everything - in your reality - is chaos. You feel the world is conspiring against you, and your spine folds with the weight of the heaviest breath.

This year will be hell. So rack up the cheesecake and fuck me senseless.

TBC.

Stinker

The stench of your feet makes me gag as I enter.
The food in your beard, I think it's polenta.
I've never met a man as bogan as you.
You're wearing my socks, and inside, I spew.
And the whiff when I wake is burning my brain,
It flattens my Monday like the Chernobyl rain.
I know my board and beverage is free for the taking,
But this noxious contempt makes me question my faking.
For I'm not you mother, and I don't wipe your arse,
And I'm not your lover, the respect would be sparse.
So get in the shower and scrub yourself with brillo,
Or soon you will wake, your face pushed in pillow.
And please wash away the grime of discontent,
Because I'm giving up pity this Easter for lent.

Friday 9 March 2012

Spaniel

Like a faithful mutt you follow, sniffing out your fun time treats.
For an impish romantic such as you; galavanting, reciting Keats.
And though your voice is megaphone, aloud and forthright in key,
Just one counter-fact delivered, is enough to sway you to me.

And when my bubble burst, you were there right by my side,
And though your stumps don't hurry, you managed to keep up with the ride.
Driving in your fucked-four-wheels, we galavant as free,
Endlessly searching for answers; you should know, what-will-be-will-be.

For you have the talent and the voice and the charm enough for many,
And you're generosity to the lame, would extract the very last penny.
So regardless of your slight, no matter of the sneak,
You're bigger than the biggest, with an empathy for the weak.

And the bespoke of which you claim, is fabricated to the big.
But those who appreciate Dan-kinetics, don't really give a frig.
For you are loved by many, all sizes and all sorts.
And you're always guaranteed a laugh when Manicolo is in court.

Beloved friend, this is belated, the yesteryear is past..
But I know the loyalty to each other, is always meant to last.
And though I try to silence the thunder that never heeds,
You'll always be my favourite, my ever faithful bead.

Sunday 26 February 2012

Vessel

They arrive on the Thursday and leave by the Sunday,
The regret they feel is obvious come Monday,
For the lies they told were just for the tour,
And I did what I did within the love law.
But the truth it came when once they had departed,
And if she knew, inevitable; broken hearted,
For he touched me like her, and stroked me as his,
And gave me the lines in wanting a kiss.
And I thought, this was nice, a weekend of attention,
You know it's not long term, a temporary intervention.
Then you found out this whole thing was ruse,
But you're not the one, who in this will lose.
And Monday has come, and what's done has been done.
He came with the lads and took you for fun.
So now you must learn that boys they will lie,
But - together - they push in enjoying the high.
So goodbye and god bless I wish you the best,
It's a shame we were party to this fantasy quest.

Tuesday 14 February 2012

Saturday 28 January 2012

By John

Once upon a blue moon,
There was a tide that rippled smooth.
The early rain dropped, from the mango trees,
From the mangroves and manatees.
Uluru needed rain that day,
And the puddle became a lake.
The old ones were happy,
For they could write their songs.
From the ochre, the three legged man,
Sounded through the beeswax.
And the young males cried out to the birdsong,
The holy rock of Ayers was a place to fish,
Once more for the days of unity,
Were close at hand for two little boys.

Tuesday 24 January 2012

Simon the Lion

I tried so hard to write this,
It took me several times,
It started off about a lion,
But I crossed out all the lines.

So now I start again this verse,
I hope it says what I find hard,
The love that I feel for you big bear,
Is regardless of your mard.

But aside my heart that cries now,
I must fly your cave and go.
An owl; you taught me lessons,
And how all of us can grow.

So Simon, my dear lion,
I'll never forget your words,
Look to the sky my brother,
And I'll be with the birds.

And when I see a pigeon,
I'll always think of you.
And lucky there are plenty,
Fucked up, just like us too.

Silk

I love you, I miss you, I don't want to go,
But I don't know how low this lowest can low.
You picked up my bones, and you stacked them as jenga,
But I live by the cliff, with no return to sender.

You were my silk that appeared with the drop,
You took the wrath; the punches not stop.
The hurt and the fear I must have created;
Eternal shame, an apology belated.

I don't want to go, but you know I will walk,
I'll watch my ideas and eye the big talk.
But I'll cry and I'll miss you my dearest old girl.
I'll always taste ginger; the comfort, the whirl.

Tuesday 10 January 2012

Stone Child

I always wanted to be child,
A baby without care,
But now my eyes and mind are battered,
The impact broke its fare.

This bitterness I feel,
Is as tart as fresh citrine,
The vengeance that manifests inside,
Will have to be unseen.

For my shoulders carry such a weight,
Decrepit in their curl,
And the child that is locked inside,
Suffocates within the swirl.

And a child is born unable,
To carry such a burden,
And as the little one grows,
It suppresses all the hurting.

But the cynic now has calloused,
Through the mistrust of such leeches,
Disappeared to find the joy,
Amongst the far off reaches.

All that had been buried,
And placed well in the past,
Has regrown itself anew;
Harboured inside metal cast.

And the old year hurt and upset,
It seeps between the cracks,
And spills its molten poison,
And lands upon the back.

And the jaded one within,
Hardens and turns to stone,
And the child that wants to play outside,
Is now inside, alone.

And the work that she had made,
In wanting to enjoy the ride,
Is crystallised forever,
In weighted brow it hides.

The work begins again,
In learning to love as pure,
But in treading toxic water,
It drowns down to the floor.

Who will be the saviour?
To break the stone to shard,
Because a heart repeatedly blackened,
Is meant to stay so hard?

And the colic that has spawned,
Could poison what it sees,
When the treachery of experience,
Is not worthy of such fees.

So take me back to baby,
And leave me innocent,
To find such peace on earth,
Is only heaven sent.

Monday 9 January 2012

The Forlorn, The Porn, The Scorn.

But surely this is bullshit?
At night the skin aids sleep,
Finger fucked; a pull, a tug,
...Always ends throat deep.

And the girl she moans like mother,
Her eyes they speak faux lust.
Her lips they must be hurting,
Cursing harder; taking thrust.

For her taut and shaven haven,
Is rogered and all do see,
Her pussy bleached albino,
Displays robotic choreography.

For nothing real exists in it,
It creates a filmic lie.
And the boys that educate themselves,
Will keep a woman dry.

So bring us less four, four, two,
And loosen up the game,
For the girls are not as tight nor taut,
Or dependent on skin fame.

Their tits they do not pivot,
Their cunts are foible, frilled,
They don't demand it perma-hard,
It hurts just being drilled.

So take your cock from wind pipes,
And speak and ask instead,
For this isn't just two minutes,
Fake lashes giving head.

And who are you adonis?
To receive such unbridled favour?
This fucking that you see,
Accounts to no more than slave labour.

So stop the porn formation,
For this isn't what to expect.
If this was the truth,
Two minutes, your spoils would cry regret.

Oooh ahhh I love it, go harder,
Oh yeah, you are the man.
He's pumping - selfish - glory,
Shredding en masse hairless clam.

They all like it rough you 'spose,
With shaven cock and ball.
The belly hangs; the moustache leers,
And on chin, bollocks fall.

This repeat to fade; mechanical joust,
Is a universal scoff,
Cos it takes more than two minutes,
To get most of us off.

And now it's time to finish,
He's ready to shoot his load,
She looks dirty at the camera;
Hopes you've seen her goad.

And the finale is abrupt,
In showing you the prize,
Always on the face,
And sometimes in the eyes.

Then you switch off discontented,
That it had to come to this.
When you knew the script, the sounds, the moves,
Empty, vacant. This.

Now the guilt you feel that such a scam,
Could end up in a sock.
But you retire; uncharmed, used, abused.
This animal; withered cock.

So bring me the director,
And let me fist my fury,
For he thinks of boys and minute cuffs,
As true as morning glory.

Let us unleash the spoils,
And show him his disgrace,
Then reprimand his actions,
By cumming on his face.

Sunday 1 January 2012

Caught-ship

Blimey Charlie, he's quite forward,
For boys these days they're all so starboard,
But this is fresh, this seems anew;
I haven't had this since 2002.

The clubs are dead and full of meat,
Get called a perv chatting up in the street.
Moving in packs and losing charm,
Thinking catcalls don't cause no harm.

But shut your mouth your whistles mean nowt.
Where's the numbers? Still in doubt?
A man who takes charge and takes the lead;
Is a boy who knows that some girls heed.

It's simple, a gamble, you just need to chance,
To ignite a flame a man, solo, starts a dance.
Some say this fashion is way too old,
But bravery, courage, assertion; we're sold.

So take charge of your situation,
You're wasting time; this hesitation.
As time can pass by - it's gone, it's quick.
You missed it man, you've been a dick.

Don't be shy, show the world your balls.
And then - perhaps - she'll await your calls.
Rejection? Pfft so what? Now you know...
It wasn't right. There's not an epic show.

Swallow that pride and make your move,
You really do have nowt to lose.
So, why did you get off the saddle?
And why is it so hard to have a dabble?

It's you and ego at war with self,
Years go by... you're on the shelf.
And now those around you are all hooked up,
It's down to you, not a question of bad luck.

For girls just want a Daddy to search for,
Like-wise someone to be there for nurture.
It's not Freudian this slip of mine,
It's honest, it's true, it's beautifully fine.

So move to the port of fresh new hope,
Start it slowly, it might elope.
But put some wheels underneath your station.
Your frozen state isn't worth your dedication.