www.alienatemypants.com

Bring me the bird with the boobs and the bum
and the bag of biscuits said the boy.
Behave said another bird bearing a broom
and bonked him over the bonce.

Bloody hell said the bloke,
I’m bleeding on the bed
as his blood continued to bleed.

Then blimey said a bypassing bobby,
blood and brains
and a broken bloke to boot.

I’d better bust this bird
for bludgeoning boys
and bandage the bloke with a bib.

but bugger it a bulb blew.
Blackness.
Bawling
bewilderment and
beating.

Back in the light
the bird had buggered off
and both blokes brains
had been bashed to bits.

SILENT NIGHT

Silence reigned.
The sun sank. the sky darkened.
The moon rose. The sky lightened.
The man ran, the woman walked.
An owl hooted, a rat scuttled.
Footsteps quickened, the gap closed.
The clouds rolled, the moon was obscured.
the street darkened, the rain fell.
The lightning flashed, the thunder rumbled.

The couple met.

the man roared, the woman screamed.
the knife was raised.
the moon shone down.
the street glistened.
The blade glinted.

The knife came down.

Flesh parted, blood flowed.
the pavement turned crimson.
A scream rang out.
Life departed.

The woman fled.
The man died.

Silence returned.

VICTIM OF THE NIGHT

He comes at night,
always at night.
When things are dark,
and beasts are abroad.

He enters my room without use of a door.
He crosses to me without touching the floor.

He corrupts my brain
and seduces my mind.
He makes me ready
for the dark Nights work.

We leave the house,
and enter the street.
He walks by my side,
without use of his feet.
He gives me the knife
and tells me to kill.
i slide it in deep
and he drinks of the blood.

Another one dies…
A victim of the Night.

He leads me back home.
His hunger appeased.
Then lays me to bed
and stands over me.
He bids me to sleep
and leaves as he came.

I call farewell….
to the Thing of the Night.

The Dark is now gone.
I’m alone once more.
But the day cannot last
and the sun’ll go down.
Then He’ll come back
to rape my soul.

I cry to myself…
A victim of the Night.

SISYPHUS

O Sisyphus, what were you doing
Were you pushing a rock
or pushing at life
trying to keep death at bay.

It’s an uphill struggle this life.
It’s a down escalator
and you’re going up.
Try not to reach the bottom.

Fight against the demons
the ones inside your head.
Just close your ears and close your mind
It’ll all be better that way.

It’s an endurance race
The marathon of marathons
you get up every day
and put one foot in front of the other.

O Sisyphus what were you doing
pushing that rock up the hill.
You never even existed
You were just a metaphor.

PEACE

Tread lightly, my friend.
For you know not where you step.

Speak softly, my friend.
For you know not what you say.

Close thine eyes, my friend.
Lest thou like not what they see.

Cover thine ears, my friend.
Lest thou hear the lies.

Sleep well, my friend.
For ’tis the only place that’s safe.

Never wake up, my friend.
Lest thou have to face thy future.

THE MIRROR

She gave me a mirror
but I have no face.
A pair of shoes
but I’ve got clubbed feet.

My gloves don’t fit,
my hat is too small.
and my clothes are as baggy
as a hobo’s in the desert.

The hair is false
and the nails are fake.
I’m wearing someone else’s skin,
and my bones are those of a child.

My emotions splutter
and stutter
in the dark.
And they never seem to do
what they ought.

But my mind’s my own
and as sharp as
a razor’s edge.

Which hurts twice as much
when it cuts.
So don’t cross it.

It’s dark and murky
and a little bit cloudy.
But full of wonders
and things to be found.

And if you ever get lost,
Just head to the back.
look for the cave.
ask for directions.
You’ll always get home.

Because that’s where the
lady with no mirror
lives.

I HUGGED A LADY TODAY

I hugged a lady today
after the pub.

On the way home,
ear goggles in
Pelican blasting
me along.

She saw me
she waved
i took my ear music out
She said, ‘Hiiiiii’

I didn’t know
who
so said,
‘hey you’

We hugged.

She smelt of
my Granddad’s pipe.

it’s a lady soap
perfume
thing

She said,
‘Can’t stop,
see you later’
I said
‘see you soon’

We walked off.

I put Pelican back in
bought a Lucozade
and got on the bus.

How do I know
nice
ladies
who smell of my
Granddad?

Life is weird.

DARK SIDE OF THE MOON

What would you do if you were
truly transported
to the
dark side of the Moon
to live out your days?

Would you go insane
from the loss of the
trees
and
oceans?

Or would you see
a new beauty
beyond compare
that sparkles
in the dark?

Without the sound of
the wind
to caress your ears
would your own
tell tale heart
create a deafening roar?

Or would the
song of silence
bring its own melody?

And with no one
to talk to,
would you throw away
your voice
or would you
converse with the night?

What would you do
on the dark side of the Moon?

TIME TRAVELLING AT NIGHT

I wake up
it’s Moonlight
there’s an idea in my head

No notebook
no pen
no modern mobile phone to hand

I bathe in the silver
mull the idea over
it’s only a line but it won’t go away

it runs around in the mind
“I’m important
write me down”

Ten more minutes of motionless
the Moon moves
I cogitate

Throw off the covers
leave the sanctuary
all for the sod it of writing one thought down

Next morning
I find…

This poem.

QUESTIONS

Who?
Why?
How?
When?
Where?

words.
questions.

Do we really want to know?

Do you?
DO YOU?.

If you understood
the
Universe
would your mind
explode
or
would you cope?

Apart from the apple
does
Gravity
even make sense?

We fit, in
Jupiter’s
storm
and she’s an
atom
of the
Sun.

and even
the Sun
ain’t no
hoighty toighty.

One day,
you will get to see
the
entire Universe.

But you won’t come back.

TIME

Sometimes
time is kind
it
gracefully
flows along
like a
red silk scarf
drifting
on the thermals.
on a
lazy summer’s day.
undulating
shamelessly

At others
‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍ ‍‍‍‍‍‍ ‍‍well
that’s where
the
trouble
begins.

WARS

I wonder if we’ll ever
get
sick of wars?

Or
have we had them for so long
that they seem
normal?

World War I was
a gentleman’s war
World War II was
justified
Vietnam had the best
soundtrack
Wars you’ve
never heard of.
Wars running for so long
no one knows who started them
civil wars (oxymoron?)
wars of independance
wars of succession
wars of agression
(is there any other kind?)
ethnic wars
religious wars
colonial wars
bloodless wars
forgotten wars
total war
limited war…

How many words do we need for
murder.

But what would we do
if we had no wars?

Live the unbearable horror
of
friendly neighbours?

BACK TO WORK

Weekend’s almost over,
Rock ‘n’ Roll
put on hold
for another day.

Emotions mostly in check,
damaged mind shields to be repaired
overnight.

Nails turned from black to white
sensible clothes
hanging up to dry.

Shower washed away
the sweet smell
of freedom.

When I wake tomorrow
they will never know
what we did.

You were all so beautiful,
in this dream
we share.

Goodnight, real me
I’ll see you again
another day

WHAT COLOUR IS HONESTY

It’s not

Vincent Price Velvet Purple
Argento Red.
Hammer’s lush palette,
Besson smorgasbord of rainbows.
Lovecraft with suckers,
Hitchcock Black and white

Honesty isn’t

the black of a black hole
the blinding white of a brand new star

it’s not the angles of Faust
or even quicksilver

It’s too dull to have a sheen
but it shines

I wish
‘Verne and his brass dials and an injection of Wells’
was a colour
so I could say
‘it’s not even that’

ignore envy and it’s connection
to the G word
but what if Honesty is
Wells Martian blood Green?

Nope.

Honesty isn’t even Martian
planet
rust
Red

I want
Honesty
to have a colour.

But maybe it doesn’t
because,

it’s just a reflective surface.

FOCUS

FOCUS goddamit.
one at a time
control your rhyme

Don’t be a word fountain
just climb a single mountain.

Take one road
set a goal
not multiple paths
like a polymath.

Put on your blinkers
focus your mind
you can’t dig for gold
in a silver mine.

…Stick to the road, lads
and beware the moon.

SAT ON THE LAWN

Sat on the lawn.
Got a smoke in one hand,
the last beer in the other.
Got a laptop on me lap
and Thorntons at me feet.

Sometimes,
after Rock ‘n’ Roll
I don’t know what to do.

I’ve been filled up with music
it’s swirling around my head.
When does one turn it off?
How do you?
and why would you?

I’m full of swirls
and spirals
all of them
music.
…I wish we had a better sky tonight.

(17/04/14)

NEWSPAPER

Front page. Headlines
Page two. Bollocks.
Page three. Fuck off.
Crossword.

SLEEP, CHILD

Sleep,
sleep now my child
rest thy head
upon my bosom
feel the comfort
snuggle closer
warmth and safety

Whilst I rip the still beating heart from thy chest.

HELL AND THE DEVIL

Hell’s bells
Hell’s teeth
Hell ain’t a bad place to be.

But I’ll tell you right now,
he’d better wear his seatbelt
if the Devil wants to ride with me.

A POET WITHOUT ANY WORDS

Where are my fucking words?
I’m a poet without any verse.
I might as well just look at the birds.
And there’s a right fit one in this place
with skeleton make-up all over her face.

I do like the dead ones.

HOW TO WRITE A POEM

Sometimes.
In order To
write a poem.

One has to
SPLAT
one’s brain,
upon the page.

But sometimes
that price is too high.

ALPHABET

There are only
twenty six
letters in the alphabet.

I fucking love
re-arranging them.

CREATION

It’s interesting creating something
successful.
you can milk it like a cow,
flog it to death.

Box set this
delux version that.

Then comes the movie deal
the record
the play
the novelisation
the interactive video game

and if you’re lucky,
the MERCHANDISE.

You never have to create again.

And if you do
do you create
with the riches in mind?

Does your creation
flow as freely
as truly
as honestly
as painfully extracted
when there’s money at the end of the tunnel?

COMMUTERS

Early morning commuters
‘phone in one hand
coffee in the other

Mainlining stress

Totally oblivious
heading for oblivion

Head down
mind closed
Block out the world.

Meetings
meetings
meetings

Lunch time
sandwich
coffee and ‘phone

Meetings
meetings
meetings

Pavlov’s bell
heading home
‘phone in one hand
coffee in the other.

HOW DO YOU SEE?

How do you see things,
do you see them like me?
Or do we see things
individually?

Is it a star in the sky
twinkling all pretty?

Or a
nuclear
ball of fire
burning at
two hundred million degrees?

Do you see
photosynthesis
or
the majestic trees?

Is a supermarket
full of tasty meals
waiting to be made
or
a jigsaw puzzle
you can never piece together?

Do you see an
individual raindrop
or the
entire ocean?

maybe a
solitary snowflake
or
a ski run on the Piste?

Do you see
people as targets
or
someone in need?

Do you see
free money
or a
lost wallet
to return?

The beauty of
the tear
or
the pain
that caused it?

Is your vision
narrow
or is it
wide?

Is it all fuzzy
or
crystal clear?

Do any of us know
what
other eyes perceive?

Well ,
I know
how I see you.

So how then,
do you see me?

ACID THOUGHTS

It’s four a.m.
how much did I take
how long does it last
shall I have some more
is it bedtime yet
is it morning yet
do I feel beautiful
do I feel sad
do I feel anything at all?

It looks lovely
it feels lovely
it sounds quiet
it’s all calm
is that just before the storm?

Rides have different ways to go
when no one is at the helm.

Hold on tight you rudderless mother

GONE

If you could just
get
it
and
hold
it
and
keep
it
it
would
be
yours
forever
but
nope
gone

I HAD A WHITEY

Holy shit
I’ve just had a whitey
I rode that fucker
like a fuck.

I haven’t had one
for so long

I miss those days
the
danger days
of
experimentation.

Some rides are
best not ridden again,
some
are worth revisiting

for a one off
wobbly
now and again.

Riding a whitey
is something
I’ll
NEVER
get tired of.

(I even have my own surf board)

BARS ON MARS

If I was on Mars
I’d build some bars
and have
space music
played all day.

One of these bars
would be called Carpe Mars.
There’d be fun and frollics
and lots of talking bollocks
just like the good old days.

We’d drink space beer
until we felt quite queer
and space dust
would be
our chaser.

Some aliens would come
and have lots of fun
and
dance all night
on their tentacle legs.

oh yeah,
I wish there were
bars on Mars.

DON’T KNOW WHAT IT’S CALLED

I want to be
splattered to the cosmos
feel the universe
encompass everything
explode a supernova
in my tooth
sneeze
a
black hole
snort a line of
stars
brush
Dark Matter
off the bottom of my shoes
light a spliff
on
the sun
use the Moon
as a
pillow
and wear Jupiter’s gravity
as a belt

JUMPED OR PUSHED

I was born on a cloud,
I lived on a mountain
I climbed to the top
I jumped off
It got bumpy
It hurt
I remembered I was pushed
It hurt more Inside
I landed
I got cushioned
I felt safe
I’ll never forget
But I’ll always forgive
And I’ll never stop saying,
thank you.

RIK MAYALL WAS A POET

What are you?
You’re blood
and flesh
and veins
and brains.

But veins don’t work
without brains.

It only
rains
in Spain
because of your brain.

Insane
membrane
it’s all the same.

Words are a structure
they’re part of the game
you put them in a frame
in you brain.

You shape them
and mold them
and double gloss
gold
emboss them.

You shine them
and rinse them
and crack their dawn
like an egg.

Wizards love words
but words make wizards.
Language
is the language of life.

Rik Mayall
was a poet.
or
was he,
Vanessa Redgrave?

DON’T SWEAR

When you’re writing a poem
and get all angry
it’s very hard not to
flanneling swear.

THE OLD MAN AND HIS DOG & THE POLISH BUILDER 2

The Polish builder
got on the bus
a stop early.

That’s a first.

His rucksack weighed a bastard ton.

The weight of his world
was in it
as he
slung it off his back.

His kid brown leather jacket
had more wear.
a pocket hanging off
a little bit more of life lived.

His phone
seemed
important tonight.

He got off at the same place,
with weary in his face.
I hope everything’s OK
at home.

Then
the Old Man and the Dog
got on.

he looked
we saw,
we nodded,
he smiled.

He did a thumbs up
so I did.

That was nice.
That was a first.
I hope we
never talk.

But the dog didn’t sniff.

It didn’t hoover up the smells.
or sniff in circles.

It just sat at
the Old Man’s feet.
and rested it’s head
on its paws.

I hope it’s OK.

They need
each other.

WORD SIZE

‘Why?’
is such a big word.
but
‘Inconsequential.’
is so small.

I CAN’T DO NORMAL THINGS

Don’t know what I’m doin’
don’t know where I’m goin’
just slinking along
riding the
highways
and the
byways.

It’s up and down
a roundabout
sometimes
smooth
mostly
bumpy

Nice when it’s smooth
more fun
when it’s rough.

If you can’t find your patterns
or
your place.
embrace the chaos.

Duality is beautiful.
Crazy as fuck
but
what a ride.

When psychedelic music
filled the air.

NOTHIN’

Reality ain’t nothin’
in nowhere
with nothin’
either side of the road
there ain’t no here
there ain’t no there.
it’s a tree of nothin’ with
empty branches
do you now what nothin’ is?
no leaves no sky
no shops no shoes
no nothing.
empty dreams
empty shells
empty hearts
empty souls

but there be chaos.

She fills the nothin’
with
double times nothin’

(20/03/16)

DID YOU EMBRACE THE CHAOS?

Sometimes things make sense
sometimes they don’t.
I prefer the later
better.

Why would you want order
when you can have chaos.
Stability is stable
chaos is fluid.

It never sits still,
it shifts and weaves.
Nothing is the same twice
because there are no patterns.

Unless you look
real close.

Yeah,
you can give me your
statistics and your numbers
but I’ll throw mine back
a thousand times.

I’ve looked,
they don’t exist.

We just make up our own.

A pattern on life
is just your mind.
protecting you from
the Chaos.

It’s out there
and it will
eat you.

unless you
let it in.

But then
it
consumes you
anyway.

You can’t escape
Chaos…
one day,
worms will eat your brain.

Where you go from there,
depends on
what you did.

Did you embrace the Chaos?

(15/03/15)

THE OLD MAN AND HIS DOG 2

Saw the old man and the dog
on the bus tonight
(no sign of the polish builder.)

We nodded
as he sat down
at the front.

Just a silent
cordial
greeting
between late night
bus dwellers.

The dog went to work,
hoovering up the smells
we’ll never need.

I wonder if I make a difference
in his life?

YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL

You set
the candles
the incense
the lighting
the mood
the music
the ambiance

you lay
your lover down
on the bed

you whisper,

pleasure yourself
while I tell you how
Beautiful
you are.

MORTICIA ADDAMS

I will never be,
Morticia Addams.

But we can all dream.

DO YOU SEE ANYTHING?

How many things,
per day,
do you see,
but
don’t notice.

POINT OF NO RETURN

It’s fucked up isn’t it?

What?
you ask

Everything.
I answer.

Chose your topic.

The world has lost its way.

It’s heading for destruction
and the
point of no return
is
hours away.

—

I wish Grown Ups
were as wise
as Children.

DOES OUR ROOM REFLECT US?

I look around mine
80+ gig posters
set lists
running orders
some signed
some not
adorn the walls.

Gig wrist bands
and
plectrums
in their own frames.

Drumsticks stuck to the wall

5 skulls
4 skellingtons
3 1/2 TARDIS
3 Scooby
2 Shaggy
2 Space Shuttle
1 Stonehenge
1 Dinosaur
sonic screwdriver
Ripley
fighting an Alien
in the powerloader
and
two pairs of 3D glasses.

Books not stacked
records not alphabetical
DVDs overflowing the shelves.

And Bukowski has his own pile.

T-shirts everywhere
all black
Tea towel on the floor
no idea why
will move it when it’s no longer interesting.

Stack of notebooks
packet of crisps on top
Twirl by the side of the bed.

Jaffa cakes empty.

There’s an Evil Bong
Satan vodka
and a teapot
in the shape of a camel.

Four pens and
a roll of sellotape
that’s never been used.

A case full of cassettes

There’s a Mexican jackal creature
staring into dreams
with a
dream catcher
hanging next to it.

As the Purple Menace
watches over them all.

strange stuffed toys
sit on the radiator
all looking slightly odd.

Half coconut man
weeps black tears

and random art
here and there.

Three lightbulbs
that I never use
and a lamp
that I always do.

A dragon resides to my left
the guardian of the CDs
atop of which it sits.

Things balancing on things
because I don’t know where they belong.

And straight
in my eye line
pinned to the wall
is
Rik Mayall’s autograph
on a rosette
that says
vote B’stard.

Plus many more things
dotted around.

——-

I think my room
is quite like my mind.

SOMETIMES AND ALWAYS

sometimes I sit
and stare at the walls
Sometimes I cry
for no reason at all.

Sometimes the pain
is far too great
Sometimes I’m filled
with so much self-hate.

Sometimes I’m empty
of all emotions.
Sometimes I’ve got more
than
water in the oceans.

Sometimes
in a room full of people
I’ve never felt
so alone.

Sometimes
I happily go out
Sometimes I’m a prisoner
in my own home.

Sometimes I crave
a human touch
Sometimes
to speak to you is
just
too
much

Sometimes
I’m up
Sometimes
I’m down
Sometimes
I don’t know
which is which.

Sometimes
all I need to do is
let go
Sometimes
I hang on too tight
I know.

Sometimes I
haven’t got a clue
what to do

But

always

I know I need you

THE REAL WORLD

The problem
with being in the real world
is that you have to walk around
half blind.

You’re not allowed to look
at the things that aren’t there
You just have to see
what they tell you exists.

Dragons are not welcome at work
(unless they’re discussing
last night’s TV)
Neither can you broach the subject
of half the things that
truly please me.

Don’t spot any patterns
unless they’re on a chart
and don’t feel the vibrations
unless you’re a doctor
listening to a heart

No unseen world
no mind unfurled
no inner souls
no stories told

straight ahead
work then bed
with
nothing in between

Leave your imagination
at the door
my friend.
no room for it here.

The problem with the real world
is that they all think they’re right

and they make you close
all of your eyes
except the two that use sight.

THE HERB

Anybody
who thinks
smoking the Herb
is a bad thing

is about as
blind
as you can
possibly get.

After
trying most
I
understand.

some
take you places.

some
be crazy

some
go fast

some
be slow

One day
I
will
try opium.

but
the Herb,
she be beautiful.

She
eases your pain
inside
or
outside

MUNCHIES

Just had a voice in my head
I got a scoffs
I
needed
a munchie.

I wanted
CRISPS
I have
none

Cookies
no

something
crisp crunchy munchie

a
Biscuit and raisin Yorkie?

Nope

damn you
bastard
what do I have?

Please
tell me I’ve got some chocolate?

Nope

WHAT MOTHER FO?

You have
M&Ms

ah shit.
totally not in that mood

You
sure
we ate the last of that
Chocolate Orange
last night?

yeah.
bugger

I’ve
eaten
half a packet
whilst
writing a poem about it.

The Munchies are weird.

HOW TO MAKE AN OMELETTE BY GORDON RAMSEY

heat the fucking butter
in a fucking omlette pan

fucking break the fucking eggs
into a fucking bowl

fucking whisk the fuckers

add some fucking salt
and some fucking pepper
for taste

when the fucking butter’s fucking hot
add the fucking mixture
to the fucking pot.

When it’s fucking cooked
take the fucking thing out

eat the fucker

THE OLD MAN AND HIS DOG

The old man
and his dog
were on the bus.
again.

Ain’t seen them for
ages.
Hoped they weren’t dead.

They got on,
he had his grump
dog was long winded
suffering

He saw me
his
old
world worn
face
smiled
and lit up.

We waved
the dog
hoovered up the smells

they sat
and the dog
sniffed it all up
like only
dogs on buses
can do

We’ll never talk
it’s
not what we are
but I hope
neither of them
die before the other

Whatever
the old man
and his dog
have been through
isn’t my knowledge
but
they both have life
written
on their faces.

I don’t want them dead
but
if they do
I will go to their funeral.

a coffin each
next to each other
a relative asks me
why are you here?
how did you know
names and names and
such a
detail
stuff?

I tell the
bus story.
It’s a thing they didn’t know
about
someone I don’t know.

How many of his family
write poems about him?

Beauty
is everywhere.

ETERNITY OR CHAOS

Sometimes I wonder
which box is bigger?

Eternity
or
Chaos.

Who truly rules?

Do
either fit
inside the other?

Their extremes
are beyond compare.
but,
do they compare?

PUT YOUR HAND IN THE FIRE

Would I stick my hand in the fire
just because my friend did?

asked
every Mum.

Well,
of course I would.

I wouldn’t do it twice
(more fool the me)

but a friend with a burnt hand
is twice a friend
with
two burnt hands

IF I RULED THE WORLD

Ever do that thing where you think,
‘If I ruled the world…’

I bet we all do
at some point

Maybe just before sleep?

And i bet we all think groovy things.

So
when doe’s that get lost?

At what point
do
childhood dreams
turn into reality?

When we were children
we
shared our toys.

when did we stop?

If we could
pinpoint
that moment
freeze
it
bottle
it
.
pause
.
science
.
antidote
.
.
Damn you
logic
can’t use it
love you
here
bury it
under the sea.

The only way
is
ride the Chaos
and
don’t
let each other drown.

ACID

took some acid
I had a bad trip.
It did something scary to me..

It made me sit on my arse
for three an a half hours
and watch
reality TV

ECSTASY

I took some Es
they made me dance.
and dance and dance and dance.

And then I loved the whole wide world
dance
dance
dance

WEED

I smoked some weed and swallowed a seed.
A bush grew in my belly.
It grew so high
and so did I.
It turned my brain to jelly.

THE OLD MAN AND HIS DOG & THE POLISH BUILDER

I see lots of people
every day.
most I don’t let in
some I do.

Some sneak in
when my barriers are down.
but my friends tend
to get rid of them.

Then there’s the Polish builder and
the old man with the dog.
they’re sometimes on the bus,
always the last one.

His brown leather jacket
(the Polish man not the dog)
has seen more life than
I’ve ever lived.

Its worn out sleeves and
creases to match his face.
I don’t know his life
but he’s lived it.

He has a HEAVY rucksack
full of tools.
If he was anyone else
I’d think it was
murder weapons.

I bet he sends money home
to his wife and kids
and sometimes he looks drunk on
Polish Vodka.

He staggers off the bus
rucksack,
and weight of the world
weighing him down.

But he never falters or slips
He just slings the weight.
over his life leather jacket.
and bears the burden of whatever he is.

His life is on his face
and in his stance.
I just don’t know the language…

But the old man with the dog,
he gets on
sits his bones down
at the front.
then we enjoy the dog
sensing things we never will.

It sniffs that late bus
around in circles.
And smells things we
don’t even know are there.

Two day old pizza
a dropped chip or
another dog’s trodden in poo.
It senses the world the way we never can.

……. I don’t know them
they’re just bus people.
They’re my late night bus people.
They have stories to tell that I’ll never hear.

GOLF

Golfers
make millions of pounds
and wear funny clothes
and seem
really boring.
But
crazy golf is
WAY
more fun:

it has
windmills.

SILLY IS

Silly is
what silly does
and
silly drives a bus

Funny is
what funny does
and
doesn’t
do
things
that
rhyme

DOUCHEBAG MCFUCK AND HIS BRIDE

Douchebag McFuck and his lovely bride
Went on their honeymoon
to the sea side.

They went on a roller coaster
it was a thrilling ride.
But sadly it crashed
…and they both died.

OPIUM AND ABSINTHE

I’d like to meet a woman.
Who was into absinthe and opium.
I think we’d get on quite well.
With a little bit of hokium.

CHAOS (PART I)

Life is chaos.
Chaos is life.
Happiness is an illusion.
Illusions are lies

There is no truth.
Truth is an illusion,
born from the chaos of lies.

Chaos lies in your hearts and minds.
From the scratch at the window
to the howl of the wolf when you’re alone in the forest.

Planets spiral on unknown orbits
careening out of control.
Stars explode at the touch of an atom
hurtling beyond imagination.

Everything you know
Everything you think
Is chaos.

Life itself is just an illusion
told by storytellers to keep the darkness at bay.

All hail Chaos

Writing 2

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