Writing
- GODFATHER POEMS
HORROR MOVIES
THE UNLUCKIEST MAN IN HORROR
SIMON TROWEL
STATE OF THE NATION
REALITY TV
IT’S SHIT BEING A DINOSAUR
THE POEM THAT DOESN’T RHYME
BIG LOG
WHY ARE WE FIGHTING?
KILLER NUNS
MY KIND OF WOMAN
HOW COME?
FAREWELL LJ
THE X-FACTORY
I LIKE SWEARING
BULLIES AND THIEVES
JESUS WAS A HIPPY
NEVER TRUST A BISHOP
BIG BOOBED BARMAID BIRD
I’LL NEVER HAVE SEX WITH THE NOLAN SISTERS
I WANT
OLD
JOAN OF ARC
CROSSROADS
DIVIDE AND CONQUER
DONALD TRUMP
EVIDENTLY ENGLANDTOWN
FUCK YOU BORIS JOHNSON
I DON’T BELIEVE
DEAD CATS AND DILDOS
2020
PEOPLE’S POEMS
PHILLIPA’S POEM
DAVE’S POEM
FREDDIE’S LEAVING POEM
GEMMA AND ELLIE’S LEAVING POEM
CHRIS’ BIRTHDAY POEM
ANT’S BIRTHDAY POEM
SPUD’S LEAVING POEM
VIKING’S BIRTHDAY POEM
TANK’S BIRTHDAY POEM
SARAH’S BIRTHDAY POEM
SEAN’S BIRTHDAY POEM
NINJA SAM
SAM’S BIRTHDAY POEM
CHARLIE’S BIRTHDAY POEM
FOR A FRIEND
FAREWELL LEONARD COHEN
CHRISTMAS AT MUM’S
DENGUE VS CORONA
DEGREEN EGGS AND HAM
ME AND OUR KID SO SKINT
BUKOWSKI IS DEAD
LINA’S BIRTHDAY POEM
STORY POEMS
SHOCKTAILS AND VOMIT
LEONARD COHEN KILLED MY CAR
ROAD TRIP (unfinished)
LONELY GIRL
LITTLE CORPSE BOY
FIFTY CONVERSATIONS DEEP
LYDIA
MORECAMBE
Jasmine Voorhees
SPACESHIP ON A COMET
FAREWELL CARPE
DEPRESSION
BLOOD & PAIN
(my own) DOWNWARD SPIRAL
INSIDE
SUICIDE FILTERS
WHO LOVES WHO
EMPTY SOULS
MY HEART IS AS FAR AS THE MOON
ABANDONED
PULL ME APART
MIRRORS
NEW DAY
LOST
FOUR SECONDS FROM INSANITY
RAIN
SET FIRE TO THE MOON
CUDDLE THE DEPRESSION AWAY
A FRIEND WHO FOUGHT
WHAT HAVE I DONE
WHEN THE DEMONS COME
HEAVEN & HELL
HOW DARE YOU DESPAIR
WHERE I RESIDE
DON’T DIE WITHOUT ME
WHOSE PAIN IS THIS
THE MORNING AFTER
WHERE DOES IT HURT?
GOODBYE
WHAT WORDS HE SAID
INTERNAL SCREAMING
LOST
SHRINK
HURT
PREPARE TO FIGHT
WHAT PRICE WE PAY
DARKNESS
HOW DEEP DOES THE DARKNESS LIVE
THE GIRL WHO TOOK THE DRUGS
BACK ON TRACK
MURDER ME
WHEN YOU’RE IN HELL YOU HOLD ON TIGHT
EMPTY INSIDE
INTERNAL ARGUMENT
WILL I TRULY GO INSANE THIS TIME?
YOU DON’T LIVE HERE
EMOTIONS
NO FOOD
THE WORST PAIN OF ALL
THAT’S NOT WHERE YOU LIVE
FEELING LOST
THE CRIMSON FLOW
HALF BLIND
DOING SO WELL
I THINK I MIGHT BE INSANE
THE PIT OF SELF HATE
WORDS NEVER SAID
DO BROKEN HEARTS EVER HEAL
SCREAM LIKE A BANSHEE
I’M TIRED
NOBODY CARES
THE VOICES
ANOTHER BATTLE
LOVE
IF I FELL IN LOVE
WILL WE MEET AGAIN
SILENCE
LIGHT AND DARK
ROCK OR DRIFTWOOD
THE GIRL WHO COULD MAKE ME CRY
LOVE
SLEEPING ALONE
WAS I A GOOD KISSER?
SENSUAL EXPLORATION
LOVE TO GIVE
LOVE IS BLIND
HOLE IN MY HEART
WHAT IS LOVE?
DOES LOVE KILL OR CREATE? (needs work)
WHY DON’T YOU WRITE ABOUT LOVE?
MY TURN
BEAUTIFUL
CLOSE TOGETHER SO FAR APART
ANY LOVE TO GIVE 2
- LIFE
LIFE
TURN OUT THE LIGHTS
SELF ACCEPTANCE (needs work)
PUBERTY
THE CONCEPT OF SELF
GROWN UPS
A DREAM
THE UNIVERSE INSIDE ME
ART AND MAGIC
PATHS(needs work)
WASH MY BRAIN
DAMN GROWN UPS
FIRST BUSES
NEWS
GRAVES
NEWSPAPERS
HOW MUCH
EGO
IF YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING WOULD YOU STILL DO IT?
PEOPLE HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW TO BE NICE
LAST MAN STANDING
ONE LIFE
ANIMAL SANCTUARY
TIME TRAVELLING AT NIGHT
MOUNTAINS AND MOLEHILLS
ONE LAST DRINK AND SMOKE
MOON PEOPLE
APOCALYPSE
RIVER OF LIFE
ALL THE STORIES ARE GONE
NEW YEAR 2016
HAPPIEST FEELINGS
SONGS
THEY’VE SHUT DOWN ALL THE PUNK ROCK SHOWS
DEATH BY DEAD BABIES
SKELETON UNDER THE GROUND
MUSIC
PETROL BASTARD
LED ZEPPELIN
PINK FLOYD
AC/DC
ZIGGY PLAYED GUITAR
SIOUXSIE
EVERY BAND NEEDS A KEITH RICHARDS
LEMMY
WHAT IS ROCK ‘N’ ROLL?
RECORD PLAYER
RIVER OF LIFE
ROCKIN’ TO MY COFFIN
HAVE YOU EVER
GET THIS SHIT OUT OF MY HEAD
ONE MORE POEM
WHAT IS POETRY
POEMS EVERYWHERE
ART ISN’T EASY
WRITING FOR OTHER PEOPLE
WORDS WON’T LEAVE ME ALONE
THE WORDS REFUSE TO BEHAVE
SCHOOL DAYS
PUNISHED AT SCHOOL
BULLIES
FORGIVE BUT NEVER FORGET
STRIP SHOW
LIFE VS MONEY
THE HUMAN RACE
HOW TO MAKE A CUP OF TEA
WAR
GAMES
Sometimes
the happiest feelings
and the truth of oneself
is telling someone else
the truth of themselves.
Have you ever surfed the sky
on the back of a riff?
Ever plunged Satan’s hole
on a bass line?
Ever flown with angels
on a Sax of gold?
Or sat with a harp
on a cloud?
Ever fed your mind
with feedback?
Ever wah wha’ed the Gods?
Ever broke a string,
smashed a stick
got blisters
the size of
the Moon?
Ever lost your voice
or even worse,
your mojo?
Ever been to
heaven?
Ever been to
Hell?
Ever seen beauty
joy
and death?
Ever seen the worst
Ever seen the best?
Ever seen
Rock ‘n’ Roll?
It’s New Year
everyone’s looking backwards
or forwards.
Re-evaluating
judging
comparing.
Last year was this
so
next year will be that.
I didn’t do this
so
next year I will.
Where am I in life?
What haven’t I done?
Need more of this
less of that
Life decisions
all weighed out
on
one
single
day.
Why can’t people
do that
every
day?
Help.
I’m in the pub
alone.
Just me and a notebook
or two.
Or six.
And I have
NO WRITING IN ME.
I have no finish
for the unfinished.
No starting for anything new.
Just a brain full of words
that refuse to behave.
Sometimes you wake up
and the battle’s already begun
“I take it were fighting today?”
you wearily ask.
“Damn straight, bitch,”
One’s brain replies.
And the two armies clash
on a battlefield
littered with the corpses
of a lifetime of skirmishes
In a war both sides know
can never be won.
One day,
I won’t remember anything.
And you’ll all be like,
tell us a story.
And I’ll be like,
sorry,
all the stories have gone.
Sometimes the voices get louder,
you try not to listen
but the screaming drowns out
any protestations
“I need some calm”
the screams blast in your mind
“maybe have a listen
to what the voices have to say?”
But the screaming doesn’t stop
while you listen to the voices
it just wails
in cacophonous fury
amplifying their words.
You pretend your not listening
but really you are.
I’m not taking it in
but really you are.
They creep
deeper and deeper
inside
as everyone else
gets
further and further
away.
“I’m only listening”
you tell yourself
while the mind secretly concocts
one’s own demise.
Soon enough you realise
everyone is as far as the Moon
and you’re all alone
on an island
of your own making.
And as the island shrinks
smaller and smaller
and the sea comes
closer and closer
and the sharks gnash their teeth
you think to yourself,
“I wish other people
had talked louder than the voices.”
Then you fade away into nothing,
not even a morsel
for the hungry sharks.
As you float down the river
of your own life-stream
bobbing along
trying to stay afloat,
the eddies
whirlpools
tides
of other people
buoy you along.
But they never last,
these features of the river.
One either swims too fast
or swims too slow.
At times
you may find the right speed
to travel with another
or even a group.
But soon enough,
the tides
wash you apart.
And they swim on,
into their own destiny.
And there you drift,
alone again.
with just the sound of life
to while the years away.
And all these people
just keep you afloat
long enough
to reach the end of your river.
A cry for help
is like a
car alarm at night
everyone hears it
but nobody listens
It just screams and screams and screams
disturbing sleep
calm
equilibrium
Somebody else’s problem
it’ll stop soon
and I can return to my quiet
Of not giving a shit.
I tire of the fight
the constant battle
raging in one’s head.
I tire of the morning after
arms looking like
the claws of a tiger
did their work
I tire of remembering
the previous night’s pain
and the tears
I tire of the cover ups
the lies
“I’m fine, how are you”
I tire of never knowing
when I’ll strike next
like Kato leaping out of a cupboard
I tire of constantly
having to go on
battle after battle
fight after fight
skirmish after skirmish
I tire of the war with oneself
and yearn for an ending
that is not allowed to come.
I tire of me.
That’s that sorted then.
The revolution has begun.
There are cracks in the walls.
Society is crumbling.
Life is fading.
Darkness is rife.
Species are dying.
There’s an apocalypse coming
…I’ll see you down the front.
Music’s on the boil.
The Moon is beautiful tonight
she bathes me in her
silver fire.
The lawn is like daylight
full of moon shadows.
You lie back
reach up to the sky
and caress her craters.
She’s a distant dream of
wonders beyond life.
Boring old
Gold
is for Sun people
but
Silver
is for Moon people.
Friends say good words
but how do I escape
without closing my mind.
Maybe the self-destruct
countdown
began long ago
and all we can do
is put on our masks
and run.
All the while,
screaming like banshees
inside our skull.
Everyone is in bed
house-guest is asleep.
just tucked her in,
made her a
morning
drink
she looks so cosy
on my sofa
Me?
Awake as the Moon.
outside.
one last drink and smoke
for the road.
gaze at the stars.
——-
Back inside now
all locked up.
no one
get’s burgleymurdered
tonight.
Oh look
a head full of words
and
another
last
drink and a smoke.
‘twould be rude not to.
Why did you run away
and leave me behind?
I know I wasn’t why you ran
but your escape felt so unkind.
My heart broke in two
and you took half with you.
But that’s the half
I’m supposed to keep
to give to someone else.
I still give the rest
and I give it all
how can I not
it’s the way I was born.
Time heals all wounds
but
time also reminds
Maybe every true love
that whispers in your ear
takes a piece of your heart
as a souvenir.
Most unintentional.
Perhaps,
some not?
All holes heal
but do some just fill in?
Mist in a cavity?
You give what you’ve got
that’s always the way
but how do you know
what you’ve not got
to give?
Or
maybe things are just given
in different ways
and
don’t always need an answer.
Angelina Jolly.
The first time I met her
She had a parasol
Not a brolly
And since then
Over time
I’ve come to realise
She’s really quite refined.
She’d never get drunk at a Wacky Warehouse
And climb in the ball pool
Spilling beer on the balls.
And then attempt to climb out
With many many many many
Many falls.
Oh no, she’s a princess
Even when dressed as a fairy
Dancing down the booze aisle
Scaring all the children
Within at least a mile.
And she’d never be a primadona
At the ice skating rink
Take a picture of me
Look at this pirouette
What do you think?
Take a picture
Take another
I’ll show it to my Mum.
Ouch eek AAAAAGGGHHHH
Please don’t take one of me
Falling on my bum.
Yeah, she’s classy and sassy
If you know what I mean
And once nearly got bought
By a sheik
To be part of his harem
And she’s a teacher you know,
Probably the best you can get
Because she teaches the kids
All about Lola
And lets them watch the Simpsons box set
And do you ever wonder
If she’s a modern day Dr Dolittle
With her menagerie or three?
Cos lets be honest,
Who else do you know
That would have a pet chicken
called Sexual Henry
Oh
But if you’re gonna meet her in the pub
And you’re stood there waiting
Without any mateses
I’d give her a call if I were you
And make sure
She’s in the right Yates’
And what else do we know?
Well…
She once coerced Chris
Who under duress
Drove her to pick up
a free wedding dress
But then he found out
By a kick to the shins,
And got quite harried.
It was only free because
On a budget,
they were supposedly getting married.
Which sure was cheeky
but I guess OK.
And yes. Of course it went straight
On eBay.
But she’s never done anything else like that.
Oh no, not by far
Not even to get
A free kids electric guitar.
She once got talked into going to the chippy on the scooter.
To get some saveloys
For her and Monika to scoff
And with her pig tails and helmet
Started too fast, did a massive wheelie
and nearly took off.
And the same two ladies
Went to the Italian,
Cambridge, Market Square.
And bought some wine,
But it was too late to drink it in there.
So they did that thing
That might not occur to you and me:
They went down to the river,
Joined some tramps
And sat drinking it under a tree.
And so, as we all know.
For the last twenty years
Leeds has had the pleasure of her face.
And I’m sure you’ll all agree that
Because of that,
It’s a much better place.
(November 2015)
There’s nothing worse
than having words in your head
that can never be said.
Don’t wait for the moment
don’t hedge your bets.
say it now
for tomorrow,
they be dead.
We’ve all got our truth
yours
and mine.
Let’s share our honesty,
before we run out of time.
(16/10/12)
Do you ever wonder
if you truly have any love to give?
Or has it all been burnt out
stolen
lost
buried in the caves of the mind?
Snow falls on delicate beauty
as blood flows like a river.
But not into the sea.
What does it mean?
Is it just a word?
How do we know
what to give?
Lights shine like
beacons in the dark
but
why do we follow?
Can you only be
lost
once you’ve been
found?
Or can you ever be
lost
if you’ve never been
found?
Hearts break like twigs.
Souls bleed.
Knowledge isn’t always
understanding.
And as the crimson maiden
lies down in the snow…
May we all weep once more.
I went out at 3 today
to arrive by 4.
Cash machine wasn’t working,
I had no bus money,
added 15 minute walk to my journey.
A bus driver was rude
wouldn’t let me on,
I walked two stops further
he pulled up and let me on.
It was £4.20
I gave him a fiver and the 20p.
as I usually do
he said, ‘Nice try, I don’t need it,’
thrust it back at me
with a wadge of shrapnel
It was confusing.
I think he spited his nose
to cut off his face.
2nd bus drove straight past the stop
without even stopping.
I arrived 15 minutes late.
You can be sanctioned for that.
My job centre lady is proper ill
she doesn’t give a shit any more
We moaned about the world
and my lack of a job.
She loves my voice
thinks I should work in radio
I think if she wasn’t old
she’d like my bedtime stories.
She assigned me to someone else
for the next fortnight
and reminded me I might have to do things properly
for whoever that is.
Bus home didn’t turn up
a dog jumped at me and barked,
the owner told me off
(I guess I egged it on
to scare me
and break out in a cold sweat)
Finally got to town
just one more bus to sanctuary
The fucker was full
wouldn’t let me on.
I wandered aimlessly
grabbed my headphones
thrust them in
and thanked the Gods for Floyd.
My bus got cancelled
I got the number 2 instead
it’s only a 15 minute walk.
He said he didn’t hear me ring the bell
and went straight past my stop.
20 minute walk
past a bunch of kids
one said
‘I really like your beard’
I looked him in the eye
something nice at last
and said
‘Cheers man.’
They walked past
he turned to his mates
‘he believed me’
he said.
Finally got home
3 1/2 hours for a half that day.
Sometimes there are just too many mole hills
not to make a mountain.
Welcome,
to the deepest, darkest,
blackest,
Pit of Self Hate.
No one likes you in here.
Have a look around,
see all your joys turned into fears.
All your happy stained with tears.
You can wander around
with a mushroom cloud as a shroud
bumping into
razor sharp memories.
There’s no way out
lest you climb a mountain
of a thousand, bloated corpses:
Each one a murdered memory.
There’s no help in here.
We all think you’d be,
better off dead.
Even the roses are wilted
and smell of decay.
And ice cream is made of
Barbed wire.
Filters don’t work
and masks are no good
When you’re lost
in the Pit of Self Hate.
A torch would only
Darken the dark
And illuminate all the fears.
A helping hand
becomes a knife.
Knives become friends.
Friends become lovers.
Lovers caress and create fresh wounds.
In the Pit of Self Hate,
no one can see what you do.
They can’t hear your cries
from its fathomless depths.
Just you and the monsters
and the twisted memories
of who you used to be.
It’s a warped landscape
of no man’s land:
every dream a land mine,
every hope a crater of the dead,
trampled into grotesquerie.
The only way out is down,
never up.
Further into the maelstrom,
follow the spiral.
Deeper and deeper into the pit:
Less chance of getting out.
But more chance of the Great Escape.
Yes.
Everyone despises you in
The Pit of Self Hate.
Even though.
.
.
You’re the only one here.
I wonder if,
when you find your art form.
do you open a door
to another world.
And then find you can’t close it?
It sometimes seems that way.
Do drummers walk around
with drum beats
in their skull?
Do guitarists have riffs
colliding in their cranium?
Do numbers
craaawl
over the mind
of a mathematician
likes ants
on a picnic?
Is a painter’s head
full of colours?
It must be so
because
words
won’t leave me alone.
I think I might be insane
reality eludes me
I’m losing the battle with my mind
I forget how to fight.
I don’t know what I want
or need
or even what I
should do.
Too many things
fighting for focus
Can’t even
pay attention.
Need to find
the calm in the storm
or should I embrace
the chaos.
It’s probably just a phase
that I need to ride out.
But
can’t promise I’ll do it
with both hands on the handlebars.
I’ll hide in my room
the safe cocoon
and switch off the world.
You’re not welcome here
leave me alone.
Sometimes
I think
I’m
doing so well.
And then I remember
Three days
no food.
How come
I didn’t notice?
Who’s lying to who?
How do you trick me
so easy?
But I told you.
Yeah,
ten minutes
after the shop shut.
Two pieces of toast
that’s all we’ve got
and the
margarine
has gone off.
There’s still that Twirl.
If I didn’t love you
I’d
fucking
hate you.
(6 april 2016)
How much do you cost?
how expensive is your life?
how much can you afford?
If I tell you the crimson is flowing
again
for the first time in a life time
do you ponder the cost?
wonder the price?
cough up a few quid?
It’s cheap to me
a million quid
to my detriment.
Would you pay it
at half the price?
I’m not looking backwards
it’s all behind
just a glimpse
in the rear view mirror.
I paused for a moment
on the wrong side of the tracks
stopped to look back.
I saw a reflection
mirrored myself
it was instinct
not on purpose.
My pain anyway
you get no say
on
how much I pay.
Right now
as we clean our
crimson flow,
I’m cheaper
or more expensive
than you or I
can ever afford.
Hence why the crimson
sometimes has to flow.
It’s cheap
at twice the price.
THE CRIMSON FLOW
Feeling lost.
Vast empty swathes of wasteland
spread out
in front and behind.
Where am I going?
Where have I been?
Where the hell am I?
In life I’m where I should be.
In mind who knows.
There are no yardsticks,
no guides
no boundaries
no end or beginning.
Time can’t get a look in
and gravity doesn’t exist.
Thoughts swim around
like a school of fish
in the endless depths of the sea.
Maybe I’m just a fisherman
with a net without any holes.
…Or maybe I’m lost in wonderland.
Sometimes I think
and say to you now:
Wallow in your pain
dwell in your misery
Berate yourself
hate yourself
chide yourself
(with a sledgehammer)
swim
in your own mire of
sludge
and
decay
revel in your knowledge
of self hate
because
these are the places
no one else
will
ever go.
If you go to such a place
with somebody else,
here be truth
one of you
isn’t coming back.
We all need our pain
it’s what makes us
us.
Just remember,
that’s
not where you live.
Well I’ve been lying in my grave
for more ‘n a hundred years
nobody still knows me
and there’s no more tears.
Nobody comes to visit
these dusty old bones
just a relic of the past
lying on it’s own.
People blindly walk past
this weathered mossy old grave
I don’t even know if they can still
read my name
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a memory never to be found.
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
But then one night
when it got dark
with half a moon
A guy walked through the graveyard
he was drunk as a loon.
He tried to roll a cigarette
but there was no way
so he sat upon the ground
to help him concentrate.
But did he know he sat upon my lonely old home
did he even know that he was no longer alone?
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a memory that may be found.
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
He rolled his smoke
lit up the cig
pulled out a beer
And then he asked
if I didn’t mind
if he sat here.
I know you’re dead, he said
and cannot hear
but I bet no one’s spoken to you
in more ‘n a hundred years
He read my name
guessed my life
made up some stuff
for the first time in a hundred years
it felt like I was above.
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a memory that has been found.
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
He smoked and drank
and sat a while
chatting to me
as if I was still alive
my only interaction in a hundred years
as he sat upon my grave
without those spooky fears.
Just some words from the living
and silence from the dead
It was the best damned conversation
that I ever did have.
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a memory recently found.
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
But then the smoke was done
the beer was gone
it was
time to go
He stood himself up
and dusted off his clothes
He said
THANK YOU MR BONES.
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just a
I’m just
I’m just
I’m just
I’m just
I’m just..
I’m just a skeleton under the ground
2020
You’d like to think
we’d learn some lessons
from twenty twenty
and the beginning of
twenty twenty one.
But what lessons do I think
we’ll really learn?
Sadly
the answer is none.
The human race
had a chance to change
remake itself for the better,
but all we did
and all we’ll do
is reprint the same old
newsletter.
Headlines screaming
I HATE YOU
for a thousand different reasons,
the targets change
now and again
as if the hatred flows with the seasons.
But it never stops,
this cacophony of fear,
we just don’t seem to be able to get on,
A global pandemic
was the perfect chance
to remind us we’re all one.
Looking after our neighbours
being kind to each other
Nature was taking a breath
Animals roamed the towns
fish could see in the sea again
It was a chance to start afresh.
But all too soon
those human traits
reared their ugly head
love thy neighbour
went out the window
carried away with the Covid dead.
And in less than a blink
of the planet’s eye
we were back at each other’s throats
It seems the only way
humans can be together
is like two head-butting goats.
We had a year of chance
a year to change
it was the year that humanity
could have won
But,
If a global plague
can’t bring us together
I think the human race is done.
After this year
I’m ashamed of us all
and weep for what we’ve become.
But in my dreams I still quote Jim Bowen
and explore what we could have won.
Part 1
Two clever NASA chaps
chatting one day
one points out
“there’s a comet on its way”
“We could land a spaceship on it,”
the other one says.
Oh how they laughed in those early days.
“What are you smoking?”
the first asked the second.
“No. We really could,
let’s do the maths
What do you reckon?”
They did the equations
and the numbers were big.
But they new it could work.
now to get a gig.
They spoke to their boss
the very next day.
And told him about
the comet on its way.
They explained they wanted to land
a spaceship on it.
Oh how he laughed
“Whatever your smoking
must be good shit.”
“No” they said
“It’s not like that.”
“Look, we’ve done the maths.”
“And even drawn some graphs.”
He looked over the numbers
and knew it was true.
“Come with me” he said,
“Let’s get this through.”
He took them to the money man.
and told him of their plan.
“HOW MUCH” he asked
and oh how he laughed.
“You guys must be smoking
something fine.”
“Not like that, they said.
look, here’s the numbers
and charts with lines.
He perused the massive data
and by their skill he was moved.
“Landing a spaceship on a comet,”
he said.
“APPROVED.”
Part 2
Next came the planning
building and testing.
They were on a tight schedule now,
no more resting.
Thousands of people
working in shifts and stints
building a spaceship
to those incredible blue-prints.
They toiled away
through the weeks and months
With the maths getting bigger,
With every hoop through which they jumped.
There were times when things went wrong
and they began to despair
But the numbers never let them down
the maths was always there.
They proved to other people
time and again
That what they had planned
would work in the end.
Eventually it was done
and tested to death.
All they had to do now
was wait for the launch window,
and hold their breath.
Part 3
At last it was time
The launch day was here
all they needed now
was some luck
and the sky to clear.
Ignition
rockets fired
flames bellowed
engines roared
the ground shook
raw power was unleashed.
slowly at first
but faster as it got high
the Arianna 5 rocket
took to the sky
with Rosetta in its belly
and Philae holding on tight
it left Mother Earth
and entered the endless night
Zero G
no gravity
just seperation
in the cosmic silence of space.
Part 4
And thus began
a ten year journey
for Roestta
and Philae
It flew hundreds of thousands of miles
from it’s birth
before looping back round
to pick up speed from Earth.
Our gravity caught it
and gave it the boost it did need
before heading to Mars
to pick up even more speed.
Three years later
slung around Mars’ dark side
before hurtling back towards us
on this incredible ride.
Two more loops around
the Sun and the Earth
Picking up speed
for all it was worth.
Flying through the asteroid belt
taking photos on the way
with the Sun already
millions of miles away.
Then too far for solar power
and nothing to see or do
it shut down to hibernate
until the landing was due.
Three yeas later it came back on line
tested all its functions
and to our relief
it was fine.
And there was the comet
Philae’s new home
Rosetta orbiting
plotting the landing zone.
At 84 thousand miles per hour
nearly a billion miles from Earth
The instruments analysed
for all they were worth.
At last it was time
and Philae let go
heading down to the comet
with all our hopes.
It landed but bounced
the anchors didn’t work I’m afraid
and it finally rested
in a canyon mostly in shade.
For the next 3 days
before the soalar power died
it sent back data
for which the scientists cried.
But then 8 months later
it caught some rays from the Sun
And for the next few weeks
hurled information our way
before saying
GOODBYE MUM.
And now there it rests
powerless and alone
orbiting in our solar system
never to return home.
And the whole thing started
with some guys talking science shit
and now up there there’s a comet
with a human spaceship on it.
A Sunday jaunt
along the canal.
Past local people
and a quaint little pub,
characters one and all.
Up ahead,
the sanctuary lies
where water crosses water.
There’s power and magnets
in such a spot,
where everything feels silver.
A little down the way though,
a sad old barge
weeping tears of rust.
It can never cross that
waterway cross
lest waterway creatures
claim its husk.
So there it floats,
slowly dying.
Then on to sanctuary.
Was ever a word
truer used?
Freedom for the animals.
Open spaces.
Even the air feels free.
Caged up kitties
and bouncing bunnies,
abandoned by the world.
But here there’s care
love
food
and even fun.
Some get housed,
they have a look:
Tomorrow be adventures
that I know not what.
…Maybe I’ll get a lap of my own.
Wild cats live
round the back
in the wild cat hotel.
Cages with no doors.
Blankets
food
toys
a safe place to sleep.
Companionship
for the night.
A home for the evening
for the feline homeless.
.
And then,
there he sits.
Alone in the greenhouse.
The blind old cat.
Oozing attitude,
grump
and stay away.
Hissing if ought goes near.
I knelt,
alone.
On the edge of the hissing zone.
Hey Mr kitty cat.
I know you don’t know words,
but I hope I sound nice.
I’m sorry you’re blind
and full of sad.
I wish you could hunt at night
and sit on a lap.
But here you are,
a force of angry.
In the greenhouse
in sanctuary.
I hope you find happy
at least one more time.
And that’s it.
Those are my sounds
from me to you.
I rose
stepped back
Walked away.
And left my words in the greenhouse.
Then it was time.
We left.
Crossing back over the water
that crosses the water.
And I wondered
and I thought,
as we walked away:
What if there’s an old blind cat at the heart of every sanctuary?
The worst pain of all
is the betrayal
of a loved one.
Nothing cuts deeper
and the scars
never heal
I have brain pain
from creating Art.
Writing a poem for myself
is free form expression.
I just open my mind
let whatever falls out
fall out
and maybe,
do some editing later.
Writing for someone else
with visuals involved
and timings to stick to
Is a whole other level of truth
I know I have all the words,
but I have to pick and choose
which and when to use.
Got to get them in the right order
pay attention to what I’m sayin’
I have to get this right
for the thing that they are payin’
Art isn’t easy
it can be heavy on the mind
it takes a level of focus
that isn’t always easy to find.
It isn’t a single thought path
that you follow to the end
you have to check every cul-de-sac
and hopefully go round the bend.
So after this little sidetrack,
I need to get back to it.
With apologies for coming on here
and talking crazy shit.
You see that monkey
in the top of that tree?
That’s me.
No brakes
no cares
no worries
no boundaries
Just see what happens.
And if you get lost
who cares.
Someone will always show you the way.
It’s scary
if you think about it
living on the frontier.
On the edge of the abyss
with nothing to break your fall.
No pension
no grown up
Just what you are.
Who cares when you crash?
It won’t hurt,
you’ll just be gone.
So hold on tight
enjoy the ride.
’cause you only get one life.
(20 April 2014)
Sometimes
I think
I’m
doing so well.
And then I remember
Three days
no food.
How come
I didn’t notice?
Who’s lying to who?
How do you trick me
so easy?
“But I told you.”
Yeah,
ten minutes
after the shop shut.
Two pieces of toast
that’s all we’ve got
and the
margarine
has gone off.
“There’s still that Twirl.”
If I didn’t love you
I’d
fucking
hate you.
(06/04/16)
Sometimes I think
and say to you now:
Wallow in your pain
dwell in your misery
Berate yourself
hate yourself
chide yourself
(with a sledgehammer)
swim
in your own mire of
sludge
and
decay
revel in your knowledge
of self hate
because
these are the places
no one else
will
ever go.
We all need our pain
it’s what makes us
who we are.
Just remember,
that’s
not where you live.
(Drunken handwriting from a bus home on 5/7/16)
WILL I TRULY GO INSANE THIS TIME?
I can’t find motivation
I can’t find my drive
I can’t find anything
that makes me feel alive.
I’d go for a walk
but nature doesn’t appeal
I’d eat some food
but I can’t face a meal.
Writing’s a way out
but I’ve nothing to write about
I’d listen to some tunes
but I can’t find the mood.
I’d love to constantly scream
like in a fever dream
but even that wouldn’t sort
my head full of thoughts.
I squeeze my head
as if to squish out the pain
I scrape my legs
as I go insane.
I can’t find joy
can’t even find an even keel
Is there any remedy
for this despair I feel?
Of course there’s not
I’m being attacked in my weak spot
the only thing to know
is how far down the spirals I’ll go.
Let’s hope I can find my feet
before I get too deep
Or maybe someone will see
and try and rescue me.
Although the later is unlikely
and the former is a formality
I’m always on my own
in this rocky sea.
so brain scream
head pain
here we go again
let’s hope
maybe this time
I’ll go fully insane.
With no need to come back.
We were once so skint
it was
mashed potatoes
for every meal
for every day
with a bit of salt
to give it a twist.
Brown sauce
if we were lucky.
Electric cost money
so
heating was
pop bottles
filled with hot water
in our pockets,
down our pants,
up our sleeves,
under our feet.
Rent was covered
just.
Odd bit of work
here and there,
off the books.
Straight down the pub
or find a cheap gig
I worked I pay
you worked you pay
it was mutual money
of the kind only
poverty can breed
Once a fortnight
giro day
McD or BK
as a treat
then
pub
tinnies
weed
back home
no TV
just music
cards
conversation
Rinse and repeat
for about 2 years
…some of the best days of my life.
Laura, Laura
Eska Bee
would you like to
do a degree?
No
I do not like degrees and such
I do not like them very much
I do not like the time they take
I do not like my brain they ache
I do not like my life’s a mess
I do not like they give me stress
I do not like no social life
I do not like the trouble and strife
I do not like their deadlines
I do not like their red lines
I do not like the cost to me
I do not like them,
can’t you see?
Try one try one
you will see
You may like to
do a degree
Okay, okay
I will try one
and you will see
that I do not like
to do a degree.
Say,
I like them,
I like them
yes you see
I do so like I’ve done a degree
I do so like what’s in my head
I do so like the books I’ve read
I do so like the things I learnt
I do so like candles I burnt.
I do so like the knowledge I’ve gained
I do so like I’ve enhanced my brain.
I do so like the people I met
I do so like the time with my pets
I do so like it broadened my mind
I do so like the people were kind
I did not like the years it took
but I did so like my science books.
I did it
I did it
can’t you see
and oh, I am so proud of me.
And one day I may
yes I may
if I can afford
take it further
and become
Dr Broad
I don’t believe in miracles
I don’t believe in love
I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell
and I don’t believe in God above.
I don’t believe in government
I don’t believe in lies
I don’t believe what the newspapers say
and I don’t believe Keith Richards dies.
I don’t believe in anger
I don’t believe in hate
I don’t believe that Johnson or Trump
Can make their countries great.
I don’t believe in nihilists
I don’t believe in shopping lists
I don’t believe in any of the ists
And I don’t believe in not getting pissed.
I don’t believe in buying a brand
I don’t believe in a one night stand
I don’t believe in an on time train
But I do believe I live in England
and it’ll
always
fucking
rain.
Fuck you Boris Johnson
and your painted plane
a million pound wasted
and what did you gain?
Fuck you Boris Johnson
and you refusing kids their meals
it took a bloody footballer
to remind you not to steal.
Fuck you Boris Johnson
and your shitty covid response,
Lots of people died
you floppy haired ponce.
Fuck you Boris Johnson
and your hate of the people you rule
We pay your wages
you fucking tool.
Fuck you Boris Johnson
and your lies and deciet
Have you ever told the truth
since you were at your mother’s teet?
Fuck you Boris Johnson
you puppet of Cummings
He’s not in charge of this country
you’re supposed to be running.
Fuck you Boris Johnson
and your inefective government
you’re ruining our country
and I think it’s time you went.
Fuck you Boris Johnson
Fuck you Boris Johnson
Fuck you
Fuck you
Fuck you
Fuck you
Fuck you Boris Johnson
“Come to camp,”
they said.
“It’ll be fun,”
they said.
And now here we are
at Camp Crystal lake
two years after it first happened
When her mother killed them all.
Now Jasmine’s returned
all my friends are dead
they ain’t comin’ back no more.
I saw Julie’s throat slit open
I still have her blood on my face.
Jonathon was gutted
sliced and diced
I still hear his screams.
All gone now
just me
alone
in this cupboard
No weapon
waiting for death
the virgin is supposed to live at the end
guess that don’t happen if yer a guy.
There she is
I can see her through the slats
all tits and hockey mask.
She’s coming closer
she knows where I am
the machete has blood
and bits of Brad’s brains
along it’s gleaming
sharp edge
The eyes behind the mask are
locked on to mine
we both know it’s the end
I’m going to die a virgin.
The machete ploughs through the closet door
I duck
get grabbed
hauled out
thrown to the floor
machete rises
nothing but death
the final girl
goes out like a light
I have a hard on
machete pause
breathing behind mask
Grubby hand
steeped in death
pulls down the pants
eyes react a miniscule
She sits on me,
I inhale
and enter deep
how has death
turned into this?
she feels good
it’s frightening
but arousing
I expected the blade
but now have the sheath
she rises and lowers
Jasmine Voorhees
draped in the death
of all my friends
I’m aroused
she knows.
As I get closer
and she rises and lowers
faster and faster
the blade raises higher.
I wonder what be this,
when I be so close.
The mask grin never changes.
but the eyes,
they widen with the glint of the blade.
I explode,
her insides milk me,
the blade falls,
my throat opens,
I gush from both ends
And as my severed head rolls away,
and I glimpse my naked body
being ridden by Death
I think to myself,
at least I didn’t die a virgin.
Fucking Brexit’s fucking keen
to fucking suck the country clean
the fucking government’s fucking corrupt
they fucking cook the fucking books
They fucking pay their fucking mates
fucking silly fucking rates
And fucking track and fucking trace
is a fucking national fucking disgrace
The fucking trucks are fucking stuck
they fucking wait they fucking wait
they’re fucking stuck at all the ports
everywhere in England town.
The fucking fishermen are fucking sunk
Tommy Robinson’s done a bunk
Northern Ireland is fucking fucked
they’re fucking goose is fucking cooked.
The fucking rich are fucking twats
the fucking toffs wear fucking top hats
And fucking Satrmer the streak of piss
how the fuck did we end up
fucking like this?
The fucking trucks are fucking stuck
they fucking wait they fucking wait
they’re fucking stuck at all the ports
everywhere in England town.
The fucking bigots are fucking rife
there’s fucking trouble and fucking strife
Fucking snowflake’s are fucking bad
fucking gammons are fucking mad
Fucking freedom’s fucking gone
Common sense there’s fucking none
Fucking nothing’s fucking great
about this fucking dictator state
And fucking protests are fucking banned
by a fucking tory clown
keep the fucking racket down
this is fucking England town.
The fucking trucks are fucking stuck
they fucking wait they fucking wait
they’re fucking stuck at all the ports
everywhere in England town.
The fucking news if fucking sad
the fucking cops are fucking bad
The fucking law’s a fucking arse
fucking parliament’s a fucking farce
The fucking papers are fucking rags
fucking flags get fucking shagged
You can fucking play conspiracy bingo
with all this fucking jingo jingo
Fucking money fucking spent
on fucking shit that’s fucking bent
And fucking P P fucking E
is nowhere to be fucking found
anywhere in England town.
I was in Dengue
back in the 18s
You don’t know man,
you weren’t there.
My headache was spilling out of my goddamned ears
The boyfriend fried eggs on my fever
and the sweat had filled two swimming pools
The aches and pains had twisted my bones into lumps of concrete
and the agony was flaying me alive
the vomit was nuclear
and the shits we shall not mention
Unpleasantness filled the air.
“Why me?” I croaked from a throat made out of barbed wire
and why does even thinking pain me so much?
I’d curl up and die
but curling up hurts
and there ain’t no easy way out
So I rode it all the way
through pain beyond compare
and Covid-19,
you ain’t even there.
‘Cos I was in Dengue
back in the 18s
and the Reaper didn’t get me then
so he sure as shit ain’t gettin’ me now.
Aborted babies with broken heads
waking up in hospital beds
are we alive
or are we dead?
We’re the aborted babies with broken heads.
Covered in slime and foetal fluids
We don’t even know if we’re
Muslim, Bhudist or Jewish
Nobody wants us
we were a mistake
We’ll never have a family
or a birthday cake.
Can’t wear glasses ’cause our heads are broken
and hats fall of,
for the same token.
Aborted babies with broken heads
We’re comin’ at you from our hospital beds.
Gonna roam your towns,
streets and wards
and strangle you with our umbilical cords.
Death by dead babies
FUCK YEAH!
I have brain pain from creating Art.
Writing a poem for myself
is free form expression.
I just open my mind
let whatever falls out
fall out
and maybe,
do some editing later.
Writing for someone else
with visuals involved
and timings to stick to
Is a whole other level of truth
I know I have all the words,
but I have to pick and choose
which and when to use.
Got to get them in the right order
pay attention to what I’m sayin’
I have to get this right
for the thing that they are payin’
Art isn’t easy
it can be heavy on the mind
it takes a level of focus
that isn’t always easy to find.
It isn’t a single thought path
that you follow to the end
you have to check every cul-de-sac
and hopefully go round the bend.
So after this little sidetrack,
I need to get back to it.
With apologies for coming on here
and talking crazy shit.
3 days of hardcore rockin’
And never mind my bed
I’m ready for my coffin.
A boozed up, drugged up
shadow of my youth.
But I can still put most to shame
…Aint that the truth.
It somehow fits that I’m always last man standing. One more noisy band left: ‘Well, I can’t leave now.’
You see that monkey
in the top of that tree?
That’s me.
No brakes
no cares
no worries
no boundaries
Just see what happens.
And if you get lost
who cares.
Someone will always show you the way.
It’s scary
if you think about it
living on the frontier.
On the edge of the abyss
with nothing to break your fall.
No pension
no grown up
Just what you are.
Who cares when you crash?
It won’t hurt,
you’ll just be gone.
So hold on tight
enjoy the ride.
‘cos you only get one life.
(20/04/14)
Sometimes
I think
I’m
doing so well.
And then I remember
Three days
no food.
How come
I didn’t notice?
Who’s lying to who?
How do you trick me
so easy?
“But I told you.”
Yeah,
ten minutes
after the shop shut.
Two pieces of toast
that’s all we’ve got
and the
margarine
has gone off.
“There’s still that Twirl.”
If I didn’t love you
I’d
fucking
hate you.
(06/04/16)
PEOPLE HAVE FORGOTTEN HOW TO BE NICE
I know nice people you know nice people so why is everyone bullshit?
People don’t stab people on the streets anymore
to steal their fob watch.
they stab them for
fuck all.
The bellends at the top are swimming in a cesspool of corruption and stench.
And they are
shitting on us
and claiming it’s
our fault.
But we know it’s not
so they make us think it is
And
nowadays
we hate our neighbours
more than we hate the people
who are
shafting our bottoms.
The fuckers have fucked us
and while we fuck each other
they get away
with fucking us some more.
———————-
I resurfaced recently
years ago
and all I can see
is
people
FUCKING
each other.
The world isn’t even having sex,
never mind
making love.
There’s that old joke:
“Where’s the clitoris?”
“Erm… I don’t know, somewhere off the coast of Africa?”
That’s where the world is right now.
It has no fucking idea where the clitoris is.
—————————–
When even
Art
can be stifled
by Cowell
and his
cunt of cronies.
You
KNOW
we are in trouble.
——————————
People have forgot how to be nice.
Poems poems
coming out of my ears
coming out of my arse
write them on walls
pieces of paper
scraps of bog roll
toothpicks
use a microscope and write them on an atom
or leave them in your mind
and enjoy other people’s loss.
Poetry
is a sneeze
or a cough
or a vomit
or a poo
or an exsanguination.
Who would revisit such
scenes of crimes?
One merely hopes
a flower grows
but,
best not look back,
eh?
IF YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING, WOULD YOU STILL DO IT?
I wouldn’t.
Because you couldn’t.
I’d be in bed by nine
two pints my limit.
Only half a gig
then get the last bus.
Don’t climb trees
stay off the grass.
Don’t get lost every day
you crazy ass.
No experiments
no danger
just watch the telly.
Where are we going?
I don’t know.
I thought it was
your turn to lead
…ooooh look where we are.
Cool.
let’s stay here for a bit
and hang out.
…How do we get home?
Shit,
I thought that was
your job?
Nah,
I was in charge of
getting wasted,
it’s your turn to be
sensible.
Bugger.
If you know where you are
you probably have a plan.
But if you don’t know where you are
it’s much more fun.
but
way
scarier.
Doing life like this
if you don’t
trust yourself
you’re
dead in the water.
it’s a drowning man’s game.
But when you swim
you soar.
…I’m due a flight
to the moon
very soon.
(24/04/15)
Motionless
Emotionless
Knocked out
Hollowed out
Empty inside
On a treadmill to nowhere
No reality to cling to
Just lost in the tangles and jungles
Of my mind.
(07/04/18)
When I shoot an enemy
with my
elemental
fire weapon
And another shot
would finish him off
but
I let him burn
until
his health
runs out
and he dies.
I always
justify
my evil
with
Neil Young
in my head
singing
‘It’s better to burn out
than to fade away.’
(7/04/16)
THEY’VE SHUT DOWN ALL THE PUNK ROCK SHOWS
Shall I tell you what’s wrong with the world today / they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows
Yeah I’ll tell you what’s wrong with the world today / they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows.
There’s kids on the streets, stabbing with knives ’cause / they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows
There’s misery and strife, everywhere ’cause / they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows
Nowhere to go on a Saturday night ’cause / they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows.
There’s lotsa shit music in the world today ’cause / they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows
There’s bands on their arse, with nowhere to play ’cause / They’ve shut down all the punk rock shows
All the world’s ills, are out of the box ’cause / they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows.
I got my first beer at a/punk rock show
I got my first smoke at a/punk rock show
I got my first snog at a/punk rock show
I got my first PUNK at a/punk rock show
they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows
they’ve shut down all the punk rock shows
they’ve shut down all the punk
rock shows…
Let’s
climb a mountain
towards dusk
sit on the edge
dangle our legs
lie back
get high
gaze at the sky
brush our arms
as the closest
touch
we’ll ever get
then
talk about
the gulf
between each star.
WHEN YOU’RE IN HELL YOU HOLD ON TIGHT
How much do you live
in your own hell?
How deep do you dwell?
When do you
let go?
Oh,
it never ends?
Then fuck it,
hold on tight.
(15/03/16)
Detective Shocktails and Sergeant Vomit
solving crimes like Wallace and Gromit
Chasing down the bad guys on their BMX bikes
before reading them their wrongs
instead of reading their rights.
Then down at the station
being chewed out by the chief
before repairing to the pub next door
for some liquid relief.
Then back on the beat,
wobbly on their feet
with lots of squeels
from the bicycle’s wheels
Then, ‘there goes a bad guy,
he’s done a bank job.
You shock him over
and I’ll throw up on his knob.
The detective derails him with shocking behaviour
while the sergeant throws up
all over his genitalia.
The criminal asks,
‘what have I done’
They reply in unison
‘Shut up you slag,
you’re nicked, my son.’
They clap him in irons
and throw him in a cell
slapping each other on the back
because of a job done well.
But the police chief grabs them
and really begins to swear,
‘That’s not a criminal,’ he says,
‘it’s the fucking new commissionaire.’
‘Ah shit.’
say our heroes.
‘Man, that bollocking really sucked,’
before retiring to the pub next door to get
ROYALLY FUCKED.
Murder me
murder me
murder me now
cut my head off
steal my brain
rip me apart
with horses
guillotine,
electric chair
death
by
fire
slice me in half
slice me in twain
but
don’t drip water me
until I’m insane.
Lock up your daughters
and your grannies too.
The next band are gonna scare
the shit out of you.
They’re not big and clever
and certainly not grown up.
They’re the kinda guys who’d drink
with 2 girls and one cup.
Some say they’re a pair
of fucking dicks.
Who are stuck in a time warp
in two thousand and six.
But they’re quite nice guys
until they get plastered.
And then they turn into…
PETROL BASTARD.
You can stroke my ego,
I really don’t mind.
But it’s not a penis,
it’ll never get any bigger.
Right,
back on the track.
I need to re-gain control.
Was just a bump in the road
a dead end lay-by
where I hit a tree
and another graze
on the bodywork.
But tyres undamaged
and the engine still works.
Fully focused now
back behind the wheel.
Which one’s the clutch?
Is that the radio or the heater?
What’s the speed limit around here?
Do I start in 1st or 4th
or is it neutral?
Is this an automatic?
do I have any fog lights?
SHIT!
I don’t know how to drive.
It’s tricky
but
lovely.
I don’t even know
what
price I pay.
It always seems cheap to me.
Sometimes
you’d die
for
just. One. Poem.
One more go
at the typo
as
Bukowski used to say.
Any style
any rhythm
just get these words
out of my head.
it’s better to have
a note pad and pen
than have a gun,
and not need it.
Write a poem
open your brain
get the shit
out of your head.
I can’t scream
and scratch
at the walls
any more
Where’s the plug hole
where’s the drainage
how do I get this shit
out of me.
Let me splatter
on the canvas
carve me out of
anything
ink me on paper
graffiti me
on the walls.
Just
get thee out of me
thou most
beautiful
of Satan.
If only there was a grave
to visit.
Sit and chat.
Not like the old days,
they’re long gone.
Not like the new days,
they don’t exist.
Somewhere in the middle.
A place to sit,
talk,
maybe cry.
Share meaningful nothings
with empty air.
Smell the earth
touch the stone
wonder about the bones
below.
Ponder where the mind went.
A place where the only real communion,
is
with oneself.
Graves don’t give answers,
but at least they allow us to ask questions.
Dead cats and dildos
were all that we found
In that little house by
the playing ground.
It was a bungalow smelling
of piss and biscuits.
And whatever happened there
we’d already missed it.
The lady who lived there
had died months before
and we made our way in
by breaking down the front door.
There was no stench of death
or trace of her last breath
just felines deceased
and sex toys, greased.
Detection didn’t need to be employed
to see what this lady enjoyed
it was obvious what was her habit:
A little bit of pussy
and a rampant rabbit.
She worked on the railway
but it brought her no joy.
The only thing she ever liked
was a purring cat
and a buzzing sex toy.
The dead cats were of every
shape and size
And some of those dildos
brought tears to my eyes.
Frigging in the morning
frigging at night
frigging so often
surely that’s not right?
But now all the cats are dead
and the vibrator batteries are spent.
And all we can really wonder
is if she came as she went.
So no matter who you are
or how your life goes
at least you won’t be remembered
for dead cats and a hundred dildos.
I had a lot of fun at Christmas
stayin’ at me Mum’s
my sister and my nephew came
and we sat down on our bums
We had our Christmas dinner
and boy, was it a feast
but then our bellies started to swell
like some blob-monster beast.
It was decided we’d better stop
in case we really burst.
But then the joint decision
‘Let’s have some chocolate cake first.’
The remains were cleared away
We needed an eating rest
so card games and quizzes
we decided was for the best.
Questions were asked and hands were dealt
it was all rather serious…
NOT
I Chuckled and chortled far too much
and almost laughed up some snot.
Snacks were consumed and chocs were scoffed
seemingly without end
at one point I got a terrible fear
we might even block up the U-bend.
Sharing stories and talking silly
like the way it’s always been
And you can guarantee
if anyone heard us
they’d lock us in the loony bin.
The days rolled on
one into the other
me and my sister,
my nephew and my mother.
During all this mayhem
my niece came round to see
and I finally got my first ever go
of cuddling her new baby.
He mainly just lay there,
asleep and looking all cute
And I have to say I’m really glad
he didn’t throw up on my suit
Presents were presented
gifts were given
tears of joy and thanks
And any other time of the year
this one always outranks.
And now that it’s all over
and I’m home sitting back here,
at least I’ve got enough reading material
to last me until next year.
And though I’m sad when it’s done
I’m always glad I went and met ’em
And if you meet me within
the next eleven months
I’ll probably smell like David Beckham.
Maybe
one day,
it will be
my turn?
Sadly,
I don’t think that’s how it works.
I’ll never know
what debt I owe
to those who died:
My muddy fields
come with Wellingtons
and a portaloo,
not rats and lice and corpses
Rain for me
doesn’t mask the sound
of the enemy,
it just makes me wet.
Misty days
will never be mistaken
for a gas attack.
Lights at night
are a welcome sight
not a sign of
imminent invasion.
And if I go over the top
I’m just being silly
not charging
screaming tracer rounds.
I can nip to the shop
for a loaf of bread
not steal a crust
out of a dead man’s hand.
I can write poems
on a computer screen
because one day once,
someone was braver than I.
I’ve never seen a friend
scream and die in
blood spewing
agony.
And then another.
And then another.
And then another.
.
.
.
I’ll honour
and remember
as best I can,
but I’ll never really know
what debt I owe
to those who died
WHY DON’T YOU WRITE ABOUT LOVE?
Once upon a time
somebody read
all of my words
all of my poems
all of my stories
She said,
you need to write
more about
Love.
I said,
(thirty years
after she died,)
One can only write
about
what one knows.
I knew somebody once,
she took lots of drugs.
She’s been dead now
for many a year.
I think she missed the point
…or did she?
I have no judgement on this poem.
Woke up
checked the news
Trump talking shit
again
another ‘unforseen’
down side to Brexit
again
some woman off the telly
wearing an outfit
again
scandal over dance program
again
technology terror story
again
one of the Royals
did something
again
travel chaos
again
knee jerk bullshit
again
again
again
Dear First buses,
you do know
there’s a separate circle of hell
reserved
just for you?
Today,
the first day
of your
price increase,
cost me twenty pence more
to have my
last bus cancelled.
It’s nice to know,
on the twenty minute walk,
back to my house
that the bus sized
penis
RAMMED up my arse
cost me more today
than the last time
you
fucked me,
unwantedly.
———————
Anubis
and Osiris
will gloat
when you dare
weigh yourself.
When I’m in Heaven
and
you’re in Hell,
I will piss on you
from my lofty heights.
When our trucks pulled up,
in Tobruk.
We met a private called
Tommy Tuck.
We had lots of fun with
Tommy Tuck.
He was a Tommy
called Tommy
and he loved his tuck
did Tommy Tuck
and he could reel off jokes
like reading from a book.
And when it was time to pull out,
Tommy Tuck
got in the front truck.
A mile down the road
the front truck blew up.
And that was the end of
Tommy tuck.
HOW DEEP DOES THE DARKNESS LIVE?
How deep the darkness lies
Is how safe we feel.
Sometimes it dwells
at the bottom of a well,
not able to see daylight.
At these times,
we can frolick in the fields.
Completely safe from ourselves.
Others,
it’s epidermis deep.
At these times,
we tiptoe around ourselves
lest we shatter the fragile peace.
Don’t do this
Don’t say that
Don’t move
Don’t breathe
Delicate,
oh so delicate.
Then
Two layers deep,
three
four.
It slowly recedes
back inside.
Deeper
And safer.
Normal life resumes.
In the darkness,
where nobody sees,
there dwell I.
Do my senses connect?
Do I smell what I see?
or am I
cross wired?
If it doesn’t hurt,
can I even feel it?
Do you peel off my skin
just to say hello?
You can’t hurt me any more
even though you always will.
I didn’t take your pain
to make it easier on you,
I took it
to make it harder on me.
You were a price I paid.
and it was cheaper for you
but,
I’ll pay it forever.
thank you
for being so expensive.
Front page. Headlines
Page two. Bollocks.
Page three. Fuck off.
Crossword.
When you wake up in the morning
with a head full of melancholy,
you have to call bullshit
on your own mind.
So you don the gloves
put up your dukes
and prepare for the fight ahead.
The first thing
the Grown Ups did
was
murder the Hippies.
Open my head
here’s my brain
put it in the washing machine
on the fast cycle.
Put it through the mangle
hang it on the washing line
in a thunderstorm.
bring it back inside
blow dry it dry
put it back
in my head
Thanks for the spring clean.
Float me down the river of life
on a raft made out of music.
I’ll ride the rapids
as you change your genres
but I’m wearing my seatbelt
because
I’m in it for the duration.
Why is everybody angry?
Why are we so blinded
to how
BEAUTIFUL
life really is?
It has wonders
’round every corner.
and in every
nook and cranny.
There is an adventure in science
every
single
day.
Who follows those?
——————
Dare we not brave
the paths any more?
—————–
it’s not the
dark road?
or the
light road?
that is the question.
because,
the dark road
is always the choice.
the illumination we take
to light our path.
is where we really decide.
Art hurts.
Magic has its price.
There ain’t no punchline.
It doesn’t matter
if it hurts so much.
So long as other people,
don’t let it hurt
too much.
If Love
is such a wonderful force,
Why does it always end in tears?
I have the Power
(let’s abuse it)
It can take you here
take you there
take you to
heights
you can’t even climb.
Then
dash you on the rocks
like
yesterday’s theory.
Does Love
murder
more than it creates?
Sometimes,
I don’t like being able to add up.
Somebody once told me
I should go see a shrink.
I said what if she cures me?
The matter was never discussed again.
I want the stars
to dwell in my heart
and burn with the fires of passion.
I want to encompass
the cosmos
within my bosom
be everybody’s new dawn.
I could be the Sun
warm your bones
and gather you up
when you return to dust.
I could hold you
help you
heal you
show you the way,
light the dark
darken the light
reveal the depths of
unimaginable wonder.
I want the Universe
inside my mind.
Every star a neuron,
firing at the speed of light.
I want black holes
for ears
galaxies
for eyes.
I want to be
outside it all
looking at you
within.
But
there are too many
too much
it’s all too big
too far away.
I’m too small a vessel.
I need
to expand myself
to fit you all inside.
Motionless
Emotionless
Knocked out
Hollowed out
Empty inside
On a treadmill to nowhere
No reality to cling to
Just lost in the tangles and jungles
Of my mind.
Donald Trump
You gobby little cunt
You talk so much such shit
It makes you sound like a dick.
With your tiny hands
and your silly hair.
You’re full of wank
but you don’t seem to care.
The nuclear button
is like a joke for thee.
And the fact you’re in charge of it,
is scary to me.
You threaten Korea and Russia
like poking a bear.
Just stop doing it,
don’t go there.
Your tweets are bonkers
like a spoiled little brat
Your covfefe and rhetoric
make you sound like a twat.
You don’t like foreigners
and say grab women by the pussy
well, at least with your bigotry
you don’t seem to be fussy.
So stop with the bravado,
boasting and bragging.
Your supposed to be running a country.
Not lollygagging.
When the
internal
screaming
stops.
Does your mind get quieter
or louder?
Then he said the words
and later,
face down in the mud,
he apologised to nobody.
Twixt lips and ears they changed,
grew thorns,
dripped poison.
He never spoke again.
So long
farewell
goodbye
adieu.
How many times
do I say those words to you?
Once a day
week
month
year?
Don’t know
don’t matter.
I know you can’t hear.
But when time is up
and it’s my turn to go
maybe I can stop saying goodbye,
and finally
once again
say hello.
I had a dream last night
while lying in bed
A dream so real
it messed with my head.
I dreamt I was dreaming
in my bed
Dreaming so real
it messed with my head.
you lift up the lid,
prop it on its arm.
like a car bonnet.
You gaze at the engine.
You raise the vinyl,
wipe it with the
anti-static
you check the side,
lower it gently,
right side up.
You clear your mouth of wet,
blow on the needle:
dust is our enemy.
You put the two together,
For a brief moment,
they argue with crackles.
then they make love.
and your ears weep.
—–
Diamonds
aren’t a girls best friend
because
they can wear them on their fingers.
Diamonds
are a girls best friend
because
they channel records into your ears.
Sometimes when it hurts
they ask where it hurts
here I say
where they say
everywhere I say
show me they say
I remove the top of my skull
pull out my brain
divide it into minute pieces of
memory
future
thoughts
hopes
dreams…
every one of them screaming.
I rip open my chest,
pull out my heart
lay it on the table.
it wails in agony,
spurting sorrow instead of blood.
Would you like to see my soul?
I ask.
No thanks,
they say
How do I make the pain go away?
Stop disecting yourself,
they reply.
I scream even more.
The pain and the guilt
of the morning after
can never be truly vanquished.
What did I do?
What did I say?
Who did I hurt?
Was it all safe?
Perceived indiscretions
that never existed
haunt the waking mind.
One of. The most. Important things. You can do.
As a. Grown Up.
Is,
pretend you know what you’re doing.
Why do I hurt so much
when I feel so beautiful?
Whose pain is this?
It can’t be mine.
What price do we pay,
for being ourselves?
How can it,
can it not be,
a cost to bear?
There are no
badges of honour
or gold to display.
Just windows
full of trinkets
and an internal
gold medal.
—
The price of life
is
what you are willing to pay
—
I never got charged
an entrance fee.
So feel free to tell me,
when to stop paying.
If your’e gonna do death
let’s do it together.
How can you kill yourself
without murdering me.
Trump’s in his tower
tweeting out shit.
Kim Jong replies
and we’re all sick of it.
Katie Hopkins
writing for the news
and there are people who believe
all the bile she spews.
The P.M. tells us
the poor an’ unemployed are to blame.
But we can’t afford to listen to her.
We can’t afford to play this game.
We’re hijacked
sidetracked
diverted from the real.
Everything’s based on
knee-jerk reactions
not how we really feel.
Race, gender or foreigners
are not our battle grounds
but theyr’e making us attack each other,
like a bunch of baying hounds.
When neighbour hates neighbour
they like it then
because we forget we’re supposed to be
fighting them.
Pulling the wool
over other people’s eyes
only really works
if you give them something else to despise.
And these days they are exceedingly
good at this.
Because we all forget it’s them
who are boiling our piss.
They’re stealing our liberty,
freedom and choice.
But we’re so busy shouting at each other
we no longer have a voice.
I voted to stay.
you voted to leave.
But I’m not your enemy.
Trust me on this,
please.
We just have a different
point of view.
And they’ve already made you hate me,
but I refuse to
hate you.
Divide and conquer
it’s their latest oldest trick.
Please don’t fall for it,
don’t be a dick.
Oh Morecambe,
you town by the sea.
Today I came
to visit thee.
But there wasn’t really much to see
you
dying town by the sea.
You’ve so much rust,
half your shops have gone bust.
It’s shutters down
in your almost ghost town.
The tide’s so far away,
even the dogs don’t want to stay.
There’s no fun on your beach
when the sea’s so far out of reach.
There’s no laughter of children
eating ice cream.
and happy tourist families
are nowhere to be seen.
Just old retired couples.
And a handful of people
on your two pee machines.
No doughnuts
no chippies
no candy floss
or sticks of rock
No fishing boats,
bobbing in the harbour,
no castles or monuments,
just lots of rusting armour.
Simply a fading town
I came to visit today.
And by half past four
I was on my way.
I live in this skin.
These bones are my home.
Muscle and gristle.
I dwell in my brain.
But is this really
where I’m supposed to reside?
Or is it just a prison,
and all this pain,
is me fighting to escape?
At times
it feels too small to constrain me.
I’m not being sad,
I don’t belong in death,
but
the spaces between the galaxies
is where I best exist.
I know I can’t live there
it’s just a weekend holiday place.
And I know I can’t visit for too long
else I’ll never come back.
So,
This body and mind
are the only home I have.
How dare you despair
in the depths of your darkness
without accepting
you shine just as bright.
A friend
was having a bad time,
he quoted Satre
at me
and meant it.
“Hell is other people.”
Agreed
I replied.
Problem is,
so is Heaven.
When the demons come
and there’s no place to hide
shield long gone
and no sword at your side
and your armour in hock
to the karma shop
What do you do?
Bare knuckle fist
swinging
impotently
in the mist?
Mayhap ’tis a skirmish
not needed to be fought
Just run away inside yourself
and the battle will come to nought.
But what if it’s a war
no man’s land
and all you have to fight with
is a single grain of sand?
Chose your own battles
is what they say.
But what if you turn a blind eye
and the demons come anyway?
Weaponless
defenceless
laid out in supplication
By the time you’re on the battlefield
it’s too late for medication.
All you can do is lay in,
midst the blood and the gore
and ask how many times
we have to fight this fight,
how many times more?
————
What do you do
when the demons come?
Well we know it’ll never die
an’ sure as shit ain’t noise pollution
and if you wanna do it,
it’s a long way to the top.
It had a city built on it
with its own high school.
But Rock ‘n’ Roll is
too cool for school.
The Stones liked it
Joan Jett loved it
Kiss did it all night.
Chuck Berry preferred it,
old time.
And since Led Zep did it,
it’s been a long time.
Some people sell their soul for it
that single
solitary
Rock ‘n’ Roll hit
There’s a Rock ‘n’ Roll Junkie
doing Rock ‘n’ Roll suicide
a Rock ‘n’ roll widow
an’ a Rock ‘n’ Roll bride.
There’s a Rock ‘n’ Roll rebel
on a Rock ‘n’ Roll train
There’s a Rock ‘n’ Roll king
and a
Rock ‘n’ Roll queen
There’s Rock ‘n’ Roll children
eating Rock ‘n’ Roll stew
And it’s gotta be Rock ‘n’ Roll music,
if I’m gonna dance with you.
Yeah!
————————
– “Rock and Roll is a nuclear blast of reality in a mundane world where no one is allowed to be magnificent.”
Who are I?
Are we the mother/father/husband/wife/friend/lover/brother/sister/librarian/policeman/collector of stamps/keen gardener/alcoholic/drug addict/artist/football fan/Olympic swimmer/cat person/dog person/somebody who helps old ladies across the road/…
Can we truly describe
who we are?
To strip ourselves down to
Self
we need to remove
all those layers.
But once we do,
and we look at
Self.
What do we see?
Do we see the REAL ME?
Or when the lift
finally
reaches the basement,
the doors open,
we get out,
Is it just an empty room?
…
Is Self,
the layers,
or what dwells in that basement?
BUKOWSKI IS DEAD(based on a poem by the man himself)
Bukowski is dead.
Which isn’t a problem
for the man himself.
Hell,
it’s probably a relief,
release at last
an escape from all the people.
It isn’t a problem
for myself either.
Hell,
I never even knew the man
probably wouldn’t have liked him,
the brute.
The problem here,
lies in the words:
Twenty six letters
in the English language
and never again
will he arrange them
in a way that pleases.
No more sonnets and stories
no more prose and cons
no more stink of L.A.
no more racetracks
no more dingy bars
no more drunken brawls
no more cheap whisky
no more cigars
no more loose women
no more slaughterhouses
no more skid row…
no more no more.
Bukowski is dead.
I sometimes get scared
when I wake up in my bed:
What did I do yesterday,
where did I go,
what was said?
Did I say anything silly
stupid or daft?
And if I did,
was it OK?
Was it all just a laugh?
Did I hurt anyone’s feelings?
Did anyone misinterpret
my meanings?
Did I say anything bad
or make anybody sad?
Basically
Did I get away
with the crime of
being me?
What is Love?
Who defines it?
Who decides it?
Who has it?
Who gives it?
Who do we give it to?
How much do we give?
How much do we have?
How do we give it?
How do we know we’ve given it?
How do we know it’s been given to us?
How do we decide to accept it?
Do some have more than others?
Do some have less than others?
Do some give it all away and become empty husks?
Do some give it all away but always refill with a constant replenishment from a secret well?
Do some keep it all for themselves and become a twisted wreck?
Do some keep it all for themselves and become enlightened and beacons of light in the dark?
What is it?
Is it a gift of flowers?
Is it a poem?
Is it a kiss on the cheek?
is it a kiss on the lips?
is it a kiss elsewhere?
Is it holding hands?
Is it a look between the eyes?
Is it a kind word?
Is it peaceful silence under a moonlit night, gazing at the stars together?
Is it quantifiable?
What if you have it and nobody wants it?
What if you have too much of it and nobody wants it?
What if it has nowhere to go and seeps out of your pores like open wounds?
What if you don’t have any and everybody wants it?
What if you give it all away and there’s none left for yourself?
What if you give it to the wrong person?
What if it doesn’t exist?
What if it has 7 billion different meanings?
What if it’s the most powerful force in the Universe?
What if it doesn’t mean more than a grain of sand to the Universe?
What if it’s a weapon without a manual?
What if it’s a class A drug?
What if it’s Chaos by another name?
What is love?
Will we ever truly know?
At what age
did
puberty
kick in?
I was fourteen
or fifteen,
found it
down the back of the sofa
had no idea what it was,
put it in my pocket for later.
I’ve washed those jeans
so many times.
Puberty is like
a
soggy bus ticket.
that smells of soap.
I had a friend once.
She fought the fight,
seven levels deeper
than my most
heavyweight
bout..
She always won,
with a knockout,
first round.
Second
at most.
One day
she lost.
And I knew
she’d never won.
There’s a hole in my heart
as wide as the moon
I stand there sometimes,
gaze around
at the empty space.
I know why it’s there.
I just don’t know why it’s
still
there.
Why doesn’t it heal?
Close up?
Fill itself with
…anything?
I could move some furniture in,
maybe a memory or two,
a few pictures on the walls.
But,
they’d be gone by morning.
I have a hole in my heart.
Do you?
How do you judge your own acceptance?
At which reflection of your own do you make the final stop?
How do you last look at yourself?
should we do that every day or should that be reserved for the final day?
Who do you look at to gauge yourself ?
I can’t not accept I’m part of what everybody made me.
But there’s only me.
That’s the
day one
ground floor
shit
you don’t know
until
you wish you didn’t know.
The joy of being sentient is
we can make somebody else fell happy.
That’s a present most
creatures on this planet don’t get.
But that’s not the truth.
The truth is
we can make ourselves happy.
that is the veil
beyond the dream
that you’re not allowed.
The only way you can be truly happy
is to be selfish.
How the fuck can that be a reality?
It isn’t even a balance.
You HAVE to win.
when the still alive you
looks at the dead you
in that one brief moment.
You know what he’s asking.
I’ve never had to answer
because I came back
but
how do you explain,
with death door honesty
that you are better than
everyone else you ever met in your entire life?
How can you possibly face the dead you
without that as your ultimate answer?
But how dare you turn up all showing off and shit.
It’s not you,
it’s the people that made you.
You just have to take all their lights,
swim in them
build a pyramid of beauty
and joy
and feelings
and memories
and stories
and adventures
and emotions
and at the top of this pyramid
stacked up with
Life,
is
YOU.
Sat on the top,
glowing
at the top of the pyramid
just like everybody wanted you to
And you did them,
And they will when it’s their turn.
And in their story,
they will be better than you.
.
We are all our own judges.
It’s the only rule.
I’d hate to be dead and not like me.
Lydia, oh Lydia
say, have you met Lydia,
Lydia the warrior lady.
She gets in your way
all of the day
just as that dragon
you’re a-bout to slay.
And Lydia, yeah Lydia
says, ‘Oh look, a cave’
just after you’ve cleared,
the whole thing out.
then goes up in flames
once again
when she steps in front
as you Fire Breath shout.
And clumsy Lydia
is always widya
everywhere you go
You stealthy explore
all the caves on the map
while she bumbles around
setting off
ever-yyy
bloo-dy
traaaap.
But during a battle
you’ll find she’s as brave
as the fabled
Sigourney Weaver,
But will insist
on summonin’ a demon
to fight a
single skeever.
And though she’ll remind you
again and again
that you are her
one true Thane,
She is a woman
of very few words
but will always remind people
SKYRIM BELONGS TO THE NORDS.
Then after the battles
the end of a day
you put down your
sword, mace or hammer.
and take yourselves off
to your home in the woods,
the place called
Lakeview Manor.
And as darkness descends
it’s time to retire
you reach up and close the curtains.
While she takes of her armour,
lies down on the bed
and reminds you she’s
sworn to
carry
your
bur-dens.
Sometimes
all the people I know
that have any form of
depression.
I wish I could get them,
cuddle them up
in my
cartoon
massive
stretchy
but
cuddly
arms.
and give them my
last few years of knowledge
on the subject.
Because
they would know
what to do with it.
But,
ain’t how it works me old son.
You don’t know until you know.
and
don’t that suck.
If you could
set fire
to the Moon.
Would you?
Would you watch that shit burn
connect to Earth
and
fry us
like the fucks we are?
Would you have Jupiter
grab us in her well
and sling us into the Sun?
Burn you fucks
burn.
Or
would you catch me
as I fell from the branch
a newborn
in a wonderland?
Show me the wonders
or
murder my brain
I’m all yours.
They say love is blind
but is it really,
or is it just unkind?
Do you want it?
Do you need it?
Well I’m sorry my friend
you’ll just have to bleed it.
Haemorrhage it out from every pore
and if you need extra pain,
try loving some more.
How much do you give?
how much do you take?
And after what you’ve given,
does the return look fake?
Is it used as a weapon
or drip fed like a drug.
How is it used
this thing called love?
Are you all wrapped up
in that heart embrace
Or is it slung like mud,
and stings your face.
they tell us that red
is the colour of love.
But red is also
the colour of blood.
And this love I bleed
is black indeed.
I’d say,
A life well lived
and a job well done.
People will remember you
long after you’re gone.
For future generations
and all the coming years
you’ll still create heartbreak,
You’ll still illicit tears.
A humble, gentle man
from the day you were born
and now that you’re gone,
we all mourn.
A poet’s life lived
through music and art
you bared your soul
and gave us your heart.
Every day you lived
I hope they were full
because the best thing you did,
was make us feel
beautiful.
But at least you’re not leaving
in bad company
there’s Bowie, Prince
and of course, Lemmy.
And when I read the news
I gave a pained and soulful cry
But at least tonight I know
there’ll be such a party in the sky
When you have so much love to give
and no one wants to take it.
What do you do,
throw it in the bin or break it?
Maybe lock it away
never again
to see the light of day?
Or
stash it inside
where it sits and waits
for someone to fnd it
and open the flood gates.
Then out it will flow
like light from the stars
and bathe the lady
who next finds your heart.
she’ll swim in the joy
and reflect in the love
and you’ll both soar like angels
in the clouds up above.
When you have so much love to give
one day
some one will take it.
So few days you’ve been out of my life.
Do I miss you?
with all my heart.
But why?
I’m just bricks
and mortar
and stone!
You were the vessel.
Inside your wood,
upon your stone floor,
beat a heart so rich
so full of life.
It throbbed and pulsed
and not just to the beat
of the beating drum.
But with the flux of
every person
that passed on through.
Some stayed longer,
left a mark,
topped up the pot.
Others came in,
syphoned off a bit,
took it home.
You had more than enough to spare.
and you spread it so generous.
Down those steps
the real world existed.
You fed off the joy and laughter,
used it to interconnect
all the lost people.
You wove threads so deep
they needed triple stitching.
Healed mental wounds with your power of the
friendly
random
stranger
.
Once inside
we were all Dorian Grey.
You kept the decay
and evil
of the world at bay.
You were the lighthouse
for the shipwrecked
as well as those still sailing
you shared people
with themselves
as well as each other.
You made them feel
alive.
.
.
And all to the soundtrack
of our good Lady Music.
…Do I miss you?
With all my heart.
EMOTIONS
Do you hang your
emotions
on the washing line
to dry?
Or do you
put them in the dryer
late at night
when no one else can see?
Are they
transparent
or as thick as mud?
Where do you keep them?
Who do you show them to?
How do you control them?
Do they get worn out?
Frayed like a raw nerve?
Or are they
self replenishing?
What are they?
An expression of a
feeling,
or an
unfathomable
mixture of
chemicals
stirred in a cauldron
reacting to
outside
stimuli?
If we could
live without them
would we want to?
Would there be
danger
and
boredom
or a
freedom
undreamed of?
Or are they the
real
driving force
behind
everything
we are?
Will the
last man standing
please take out
the trash.
The world is ending
and we’ve left
such a mess.
Replant
the trees,
dredge
the oceans,
hoover up
the smog.
Make some ice
for the Arctic.
Ozone
for the sky
Dig up all the
land mines
melt down all the
guns.
Redact our history
for
fear of shame
Place
all electrical goods
like the
60″
Hi-def
widescreen
3D
plasma TVs
in a rocket
bound for the sun.
The new owners
will have
little need
for such
shallow trinkets.
And
don’t forget
to
turn out the lights
I saw a spider
in the sink just now.
I didn’t kill it.
I just brushed my teeth
around it,
even saw it,
close up
(t’were only a wee thing.)
as I swilled my mouth.
didn’t panic
didn’t even get the poor blighter wet.
Just left it to it’s thing.
Doesn’t make up
for any others I’ve killed.
But it made me feel better.
As the rain falls down from a cloudless sky
I look at myself and I wonder why
I’m completely dry
I’m not hiding under a tree
and I’ve got no umbrolee
I’m just alone with me.
Water falling all around
and there’s not a sound
when it hits the ground
Maybe I have an invisible shield
out here in this field
that keeps me from the feels.
Or perhaps it’s not real this rain
or maybe an analogy for love and pain
but then again
maybe it’s just a poem
Four Seconds From Insanity
That’s where I live
that’s where I’ve
always lived.
Four more seconds
down any path
and
there’s
no coming back.
It’s always a road
full of
bumps and turns
gnarls and
twisty
spooky
corners
but
rife with the lush
of the
never coming back.
Four seconds
is a lifetime
or
is it just up ahead?
It can be a
tightrope of the infinitesimal
or a
chasm of the infinite.
Either one is breachable.
Four seconds from insanity
is where I live.
Sensual desires
of the
exotic kind.
You don’t just
make love with your body,
you make love
with your mind.
A gaze in the eyes
the warmth of being near
Sweet words whispered
in a delicate ear.
Trace the line of a chin
a kiss on the cheek.
This doesn’t last ten minutes
this lasts at least a week.
Back of the knees
should never be forgot
Are they an erogenous zone?
Well,
how do you know they’re not?
Exploration is the key.
It’s a mind and body
journey.
I want to explore your
landscape
Would you like to explore
me?
I sometimes wonder,
it it’s possible
to get so lost
that you’ll never be found?
I got lost once
and
nobody found me
not even the one
who always could.
I rescued myself.
Maybe
I’m still there now
Lost
and
alone
Who knows
where we live
Plenty of booze
impromptu tattoos
dinner served at one.
a.
m.
Levels and layers
from all the players
when you’re
fifty conversations deep.
Reality and truth
and not a whiff of lies
if you don’t believe me
have a look at my insides.
When you’re
fifty conversations deep.
Almost sexual pain
which I won’t explain.
We all feel it different ways
when we’re
fifty conversations deep.
Patterns and connections,
pathways
criss-cross
your words join mine
we all intertwine
when we’re
fifty conversations deep.
Friend or foe?
You’ll soon know.
When you’re
fifty conversations deep.
We sever ties,
cast aside the bad
discuss the evil,
cry and be sad
But then toss it away
like an old used sock.
We don’t need your stench,
we’re
fifty conversations deep.
Under a bridge
Oxford road
lady in my arms.
We kissed
and kissed
and kissed some more.
15 minutes
lips locked
tongues tasting
hands caressing
back of the head
cheeks stroked.
jaw-line traced
15 minutes
world oblivious
Time to go
but just
5 minutes more.
Was I a good kisser?
Ask those
20 minutes.
Who would I be
if I fell in Love?
I don’t just mean with
anyone
I mean with
SOMEONE.
Like people do.
How would I act
who would I be?
But
even more so
who would she?
Who could find my heart
and treat it the way
it doesn’t even know
if it can?
What would she say?
What would she do?
how could she
skirt the barriers
and
find a way through?
Hidden roads
secret passages
surely there’s no other way?
Would she take off her shoes
and tread delicate bare feet
over the sandy beach of my open soul?
Or would I let in
a
bull in a China shop
not a player of harps?
And even then,
who be I to let
such a one in?
How much
would I adapt
what
would I adpot?
Would I stay the same
or
would I recognise myself
if I changed?
And what if I don’t know how?
What if I’ve lost the ability
to give
that kind of love?
It seems unlikely
although,
one does have to focus.
But
this isn’t a place to dwell
so
let’s move along.
It takes a
special someone
to
caress your heart.
and
maybe one day,
someone will come looking
for mine.
I’m on the outside
looking in
you’re on the inside
looking out
There’s no grass
where you are
but
it’s greener than mine
One day
I’ll be like you
just
give it time.
Then
when I’m looking out
and
you’re looking in
You’ll have
greener grass
than I ever did.
New day
New dawn
Expel yesterday
With the first morning yawn
Open your eyes
See the world anew
What you did yesterday
Isn’t really you
A temporary glitch
Something out of the norm
These things happen
When you live in a storm.
There are plenty of ways
to keep yourself sane
when you find yourself lost
In the eye of a hurricane.
Doesn’t mean they’re good
But accept they’re right.
We use whatever tools we have
to help us win life’s fight.
The fight against yourself
The fight against everythin’
sometimes losing one round
is the only way to win.
So always move forward
and no matter win or lose,
you fought
you bled
you battled
you climbed over the corpses
of your own mistakes
And that itself
is the direction
of Valhalla’s gates.
——
New day
New dawn
Every time you wake
you’ve been reborn.
one day at school
somewhere in the 70s
we had to write an essay
about anything.
a kid wrote one called
‘How to make a cup of tea’
everyone laughed
teacher included
I didn’t.
It got read out
presumably
to add more shame
everyone laughed
teacher included
I didn’t.
it was wonderful:
so precise
so detailed
so exact
so perfect.
everyone laughed
teacher included
I didn’t
they all missed the point
29 children
and 1 adult
laughing at a boy who
opened his imagination
as wide as the Universe
and then
confined and restricted it
to a single purpose
Maybe their laughter
was fear
at their own inadequacies.
I hope he still dreams
When we were kids
the world
was much slower
We were still
the human race
but
nobody cared
who won or lost
so long as we all
crossed
the finishing line.
Now
first past the post
is a boast.
Never mind
who I tripped up
trampled on
left behind
I won
where’s my prize?
Death
hands them their trophy
How by all the
seven levels of hell
do you sleep with someone else
in your bed.
Where does my arm go
put your leg there,
I’ll cuddle from behind
oh no,
a mouth full of hair.
Let’s fall asleep
in each other’s arms.
That’s cool
no wait,
I’m far too warm.
You finally find
the perfect form
two minutes later,
I’ve got cramp in my arm.
Am I breathing too loud?
What if I snore?
I need a drink,
I need a wee,
I need to cough,
I have an itchy head
…I’m feeling guilty,
in my own bed.
But in the end she drifts off,
I find a spot,
Maybe now I can give in
to all this yawning.
Alarm goes off.
It’s morning.
You sold your soul
to the man with the wallet.
Even the Devil himself
never had such a deep pocket.
No crossroads here
just contracts signed
over an expensive beer.
Have a Cadillac
have some champagne
just always remember,
this is his game.
He bought your soul
to make him look good
he’s gonna rinse you out
and drain your blood.
You’ve got a tiny talent
he’ll make it look bigger
just never look in
the rear-view mirror.
Else you’ll find yourself
no wiser but older
and him leeching off you
just over your left shoulder.
He’ll pull your strings,
steer you left and right.
So longs as you make him money,
he won’t care if you’re shite.
You’ll have lots of cash
fancy cars
posh homes.
Just always remember
you ain’t no
Elvis, Beetles or the Rolling Stones.
your staying power
will fade when he gets bored.
And he’ll drop you like a stone
when someone prettier comes along.
And could you continue
under your own steam,
when he’s not there
to stroke your self esteem?
Well I’m sorry to tell you
but here’s the news.
Of course you couldn’t:
you never paid your dues.
You sold your soul
for money,
not
Rock ‘n’ Roll
And the only thing
you get in return
is the
Burn.
I only complain
because I can’t ease your pain
it’s stuck inside
where I don’t reside.
You let me in
but not that far
even though more than most
I really do care.
I’d put on my SCUBA gear
dive into your head
find all of that pain
and stash it under the seabed.
Though I wouldn’t remove it
I know that’s not right
But if I could help you to ease it
you might sleep at night.
To deal with that much pain
trust me,
I know it takes years.
But all I want to do
is
lessen your tears.
For maybe one night
if I could help you not wallow
then perhaps just this once
you wouldn’t cry into your pillow.
But I guess that’s not my job
and I guess it’s not my place
But you have to battle through
otherwise I’ll too much miss your face.
The feelings of love and loss
come at a ridiculous cost.
(and I’m not even saying
it’s a price worth paying)
But you know I’m not preaching
like an ignorant fool
I think it’s quite clear:
I’ve been there too.
Yes
There’s no way out
yes
every road is a dead end.
But remember,
there’s always somebody
who can help you to mend.
Even if it’s not me
find someone who might
but above all else.
Please
fight.
I once saw a thing.
I don’t know what it was
or what it did
or what it was for.
I stared at it
it stared back at me
“What are you for?”
I thought
“What do you do?”
“Why are you here?”
it didn’t answer.
I was rather
perplexed.
I walked away.
…I no longer
look in mirrors.
Do you ever
rip your own eyes out
stir your own shit
peel off your skin
and
look at your bones
How dark is the deepest
place you’ve been.
was it dark
or
light at the end of the tunnel?
was it a
pit of goo
or was there
a
bouncy castle
where is hate
in the scheme
is it
boiled down
stirred up
hidden
or
is it a
volcano?
Sometimes
I
say
fuck
sometimes
I
say
FUCK
Sometimes
I
don’t
know
which
is
which
But
he’s left me in charge
and
gone to bed.
I’m going to
smoke the
last bit
that we agreed
we wouldn’t.
I wish I could hurt him
this is my
cheeky
chance
but
even in our weird
and
I’d murder the fuck
out of him
if I could
I do
so
totally
love the dude.
He’s a
right old
fanny
and everything
and
when he lets me go
I will
always
twat him
but he digs it
so it’s fine
He knows
I
control the
murder death
end of life
so owt else
is me cake.
Sometimes
I’m
the man at the front
with the chalk in his hand
and
sometimes
he thinks
he is.
As if he could
ever
do that shit.
And now
I’ll have to
take him to the toilet
and put the bugger
to bed.
fucking lightweight.
It’s all bullshit and I hate it
even with my love.
Where is reality?
You post twelve videos a day
who presses play?
no one
that’s who.
You post one a year
it’s swamped by the masses.
People love my stories
they love my bands
all my history
who I’ve seen.
which is most.
Who has seen 65days?
Do you understand this shit?
NO.
of course you fucking don’t.
You have your life
I have mine.
If you saw them
it wouldn’t make the same sense.
You would never understand
why I
genuinely
would be a dead person
if I hadn’t seen them.
No
beating your bush shit
I’d run out of life
I was so close to being dead
In them days
even my Lady
couldn’t rescue me
Everybody
abandoned me
even Her.
totally everyone.
Nobody or
no nothing
was left
No
single part
of the world
cared about me
so I was about to go away
and then she did.
do you know?
of course you don’t.
Have you ever had a girlfriend
from when you were coherent
until forever
and one day she fucked off
and left you
floundering?
When your
one
true
love
fucks off
it’s so weird.
You can
try and find replacements
in the shallow ground
but
it’s all worthless
and
shallow
Until
she comes back
and
shows you her insides.
and the chaos that dwells within.
I
don’t know why
she looked after me for all those
early
years
and then
left me
on my own
being all scared
and shit
and then
rescued me at the last moment.
Maybe
she’s just a crazy fuck?
‘twould make sense.
We were once so skint
it was
mashed potatoes
for every meal
for every day
with a bit of salt
to give it a twist.
Electric cost money
so
heating was
pop bottles
filled with hot water
in our pockets,
down our pants,
up our sleeves,
under our feet.
Rent was covered
just.
Odd bit of work
here and there,
off the books.
Straight down the pub
or find a cheap gig
I worked I pay
you worked you pay
it was mutual money
of the kind only
poverty can breed
Once a fortnight
giro day
McD or BK
as a treat
then
pub
tinnies
weed
back home
no TV
just music
cards
dart board
conversation
Rinse and repeat
for over a year
…some of my best times.
Somebody once said
‘Love is immortal’
and
people agreed.
But,
Do they even know
what the word means?
Apart from Life.
Love
is the most
mortal
thing we have.
It’s as transitory
as the wind.
When you’re dead
we don’t Love you.
We appreciate you
we remember you
we miss
the fuck
out of you
we admire what you did
We dig
what you gave us
or
taught us.
We tell stories about you
the whole malarkey
but,
we don’t Love you.
Love is for the living.
Love is a word
that
should never be abused.
or bandied about
or
utilised.
especially for a reason.
I use it too much
I know
but
I’m a poet
it’s my prerogative.
Y’all
know how I mean it.
Capital letter
or not.
It’s as delicate a word
as the breath before the first note.
Sometimes you feel the darkness
scratching at the door.
But you can’t afford to let it in,
no matter how load it might roar.
You once thought it was your friend,
you let it inside.
And when you look back,
it’s a surprise you never died.
Keep your mind sealed
and locked down tight.
’cause you know if you let it in,
you’re in for a fight.
A fight against yourself
you can never win.
So when you hear the darkness,
DON’T LET IT IN.
THE GIRL WHO COULD MAKE ME CRY
I once met a girl
who could keep up with me
But me and her,
it was never meant to be.
We shared the same world,
so near but so apart.
And she’ll always have a place
inside my heart.
You never forget your first
even if it was your worst.
They’re always in your head
and they’ll be waiting for you when you’re dead.
And you’ll meet and rejoice
and there’ll be no remorse
You’ll just get to live the life
you never had before.
You get one present
after you die.
And I hope mine’s to meet the girl again
who could always make me cry.
She seemed to shine brighter
than any star in the sky.
And such beauty as hers
has never since touched my eye.
She’s long gone now,
just dust in the air.
And when we meet again,
She’ll say, ‘Sorry.’
I’ll say, ‘I don’t care.’
You opened me up,
for a while at least.
And sometimes, alone at night
it’s on those moments I feast.
You get one present
after you die.
And I hope mine’s to meet the girl again
who can still make me cry
During Punk
you were there
Then came House
you were there
90s Grunge
you were there
2000s of ?
you were there
2010s full of mish-mash
you were there
2016
no more.
You rode through
every ‘scene
on a
silver machine
like the life blood of
Rock ‘n’ Roll herself
Never veering
never wavering
just speeding on empty
with a full tank of gas
Hell bent
and
heaven sent
to play
Rock ‘n’ Roll.
Punk Rock show
one day
Motorhead the next.
Hacienda
one day
Motorhead the next
James Brown
one day
Motorhead the next
All day folk fest
Motorhead the next.
Incongruity?
Juxtaposition?
I think not.
You were just
there.
Any genre you like
any decade you like
Motorhead the next day
But now that you’re dead
who have we got?
Like many before
replacements are
hard to come by
Four decades
a thousand genres
and never once
out of place.
You were
irreplaceable
And that
is our
loss.
I moved to Raccoon City
just before the outbreak.
And we used to take our holidays
at Camp Crystal Lake.
My dad was Norman Bates
my Mum was Kathy Bates
(from Misery)
They bought me a toy
I thought I was lucky
until I found out
it was a doll called Chucky.
And my Uncle was a Hellraiser
I thought that was like Ollie Reed
until he came round
with his puzzle box
and gave me his Demon Seed.
So I ran away to the circus
met the owner who was balding,
he said, ‘Come on in son, we’ll look after you.
Oh, and my name’s Captain Spalding.’
I got on well with all those guys
oh
except for that weird clown,
Pennywise.
We travelled the country
went from town to town
and every time we left somewhere
the population went down.
Midwich
Amityville
not to mention
Silent Hill
Everywhere we went
things got a bit bent.
It was all going so well
until we stayed at Motel Hell
and a guy blew a gasket
when I asked what’s in the basket.
Is it a this
a that
or the other?
‘No,’ he said,
‘it’s my bloody brother.’
And that was the day
I knew it was time to stop.
As were also being chased
by the Maniac Cop.
So i ran away FROM the circus,
found myself a house
at 22 Acacia Avenue.
And I got myself a job
thanks to my neighbour’s sister.
And found myself working
at a place called the Titty Twister.
But,
when dinner was servee,
I lost my nerve.
So I took to my feet
and went to live on Elm Street.
Which was a bloody nightmare.
And then came that fateful day,
in the Village of the Damned.
when I got bit on the hand
by a guy wearing Abercrombie.
And now I spend my days
as a
rambling
shambling
mumbling
stumbling
flesh ripping
brain eating
zombie.
Am I the rock
anchored to the sea
sturdy in the storms
cling on to me.
We’ll weather the weather
together.
Batten down the hatches
gather round a candle
light it with our matches.
The flame and shadows
will be our comfort.
And the rage of the storm
will all come to naught.
Or
am I the driftwood
floating on the tide.
Battered by the waves.
toss and turn
bob and weave
ebb and flow
Nowhere to go
nothing to see
pulled and pushed along
with nothing to do
Except
hope I
run into you.
I went to a strip show once
somewhere in the late 70s
(it was 1980 but
late 70s sets the scene.)
A grotty pub
too young to be allowed
but nobody cared back then.
The person who took me
didn’t tell me.
Maybe they knew it
wasn’t my thing.
We had a comedian
he told dirty jokes
with underlying
anger and venom.
He introduced a stripper,
I thought,
“oh no
duped again.”
She came on
the music pounding.
I’m at the front
in a room full of sweaty men.
but this ain’t no
Rock ‘n’ Roll
She gyrated
undressed.
She had breasts
and legs
and things I like.
I didn’t like this.
The men were crushing
and sweating.
She was making them worse.
Didn’t she know?
Wolf whistles
cat calls
and dirty words shouted
backed up by
dark
unpleasant
thoughts.
She snatched my glasses
stuck them down her knickers.
The cheers got louder
I was slapped on the back
“Go on son”
“Lucky bastard”
She handed them back
I put them on
my vision was blurred
my glasses were smudged.
Everyone thought I was a
MAN.
She took off her last
stood in her full glory.
All I could see
was the blackness
inside the
sweaty men.
Nobody had any colours
that day
Sitting in the boudouir
brushing her hair.
Here eyes were blue
and her skin was fair.
A hundred strokes
with a natural bristle brush.
I always took my time
was never in a rush.
She’d gaze in the vanity
and look at me.
It would almost make me cry
as she gave a satisfied sigh.
It was one of our routines
when we were teens,
just before bed
but sadly now she’s dead.
I miss it so much
but graves I dig.
And now I do the same thing
but with a skeleton in a wig.
EVERY BAND NEEDS A KEITH RICHARDS
In the midnight hour
we cry more more more.
In the midnight hour
we say, ‘take away my sores.’
In the midnight hour
we go out and score.
And in the midnight hour,
we sweat junk through our pores.
We were born this way
with our crazy ways
and sometimes to be free,
you have to have been a slave.
We’re a different breed
to your normal rock star,
we tend to take things,
way too far.
We have no brakes
don’t know when to stop.
So we keep on going
until we drop.
We throw tellies out of windows
drive cars into pools.
And anyone tries to stop us:
we pity and mock those fools.
[there was another verse here but it doesn’t make any sense]
But it’s not all glitz and glamour
out on the road.
Despite all the groovy stories
I’m sure you’ve been told.
We get high as kites
and start drunken fights.
Then have a musical rage
when we go on stage.
And when the show is over,
we REALLY come down.
So we take a shot of cocaine
but not to shoot our woman down.
It’s ’cause when we first went on stage
we got bitten by the bug.
And now, playing Rock ‘n’ Roll
is the greatest of drugs.
So we shoot up and drink,
snort and smoke.
Anything to take our mind off,
the fact that,
life off stage is but a joke.
Real time’s over
barriers still not down
tram full of people
if they don’t shut up
I’ll drown.
Close your eyes.
Focus.
Pinpoint every conversation
with exacting
spatial
accuracy.
The words don’t form
they’re just sounds.
She’s talking
he’s talking.
those two are arguing.
Don’t look
eyes closed
use your senses.
Feel the separation
in all those threads.
A dozen people
a dozen separate stories.
Don’t know what they say
doesn’t matter.
Just hold them all
separate
in your mind.
Nip from one to another
like the precision of a
classical piece.
Then sadly.
Let go.
Let the sounds turn into words
the threads into lives
the lives into people
the people into passengers
on a tram.
Then open your eyes
the barriers are back in place.
And you re-join the “safety”
of the world of the half-blind.
SIOUXSIE
I saw a lady one day
who made my tummy
go funny.
Boots
stockings
a hole in one thigh
never
to be forgot.
A black leather skirt
hiding secrets
I knew not.
Hips swaying
legs bounding
arms swinging
And those lips
those red, red
ruby red
lips.
Below those
piercing
eyes
As the words
flew out
on a breath
of fire
she danced
her own rhythm
and told a story.
She was
Mother Nature
Mother Earth
Vampira and a
Twin of Evil.
Unobtainable
unknowable
unbelievable
The mystery of womanhood
and the adventure of it.
But never
the girl next door.
She was a
Punk Rock
angel
with
Devil wings
And for
one
brief
moment.
I was
under their embrace.
I loved you
Siouxsie Sioux
I was never bad at school
but often they thought I was.
Headmaster’s office,
‘You know why you’re here.’
‘No sir.’
Standard answer
to a grown up’s
rhetorical
question.
spanked and punished
‘don’t get lippy with me.’
I never knew why.
I never understood.
Just gazing into the distance.
out the window.
attention not paid.
Biology had the slipper
on the arse.
Geography
the strap on the hand.
English and Maths
never got me spanked.
Words and numbers were my beauty
how could they not see?
But the punchline is
always forgive.
but NEVER forget
And by their own
blind
stupidity,
they made me what I am.
How can you ever fault
a flap
of your own
butterfly wings.
MY HEART IS AS FAR AS THE MOON
Can you hear my heartbeat,
up there on the Moon?
Or does the sound of your own thoughts,
drown out everything but the fool?
I sometimes don’t know where you are.
Even though you’re only up there.
Maybe one of us should pay attention.
Maybe one of us should care.
But I can’t
and you won’t.
Ain’t stalemate
a bitch.
No one wants
what the other’s got.
But we both want it all.
So let’s call it a draw,
no more fights
(except the secret one,
late at night.)
A ball can’t roll unless it’s whole.
But then it can jump off a cliff…
…And bounce us back up to the Moon.
Wandering through
an empty house
calling the names of dead lovers.
All he gets in reply
is dust and stale air.
Silence is his only friend
and has been since he died.
It would have been nice to have been there
when Ziggy played his guitar
And the blues
threw down with the Stones.
And with Janice screaming
and Zepplin beaming
and Floyd
running through it all.
When Neil was young
and Dylan plugged in
and the Who said
Who are you?
There were
smoky waters
and
birds flying free
and the words of
Woody Guthrie.
Free were free
The Move didn’t move
and Rock and Roll
was a rolling stone.
Jefferson had an Airplane,
Ten Years After
and Sha-Na-Na said
yeah, yeah yeah.
Country Joe was fishin’
Ravi Shankar was on a mission
We were back on the road again
sacrificing our souls.
Grateful to be dead
with the Family Stone.
…And Hendrix
kissed the sky.
I don’t even have
a crumpled up picture of you
to see me through the bad times
to help get me through.
You’re just a faded memory
living in my mind.
I remember you were beautiful
I remember you were kind.
But you were filled with sadness,
fear
and pain
And I remember you stood,
crying
in the pouring rain.
But you were beautiful to me
I hope at least that you could see.
with your
black jeans
black T
Black jacket
and boots
and your black stained soul.
But at least now your whole.
And you’ll never again,
have to cry in the rain.
And who knows?
Maybe one day,
We’ll meet again.
‘Hey fatty,’
they’d say.
‘Are you a sissy boy?
Are you gay?’
‘Of course I’m not,’
he’d say.
But they’d beat him up
anyway.
I once tried to help
that fat sissy boy.
and for that
got ostracised
and a lovely black eye.
They once Sellotaped
a wasp
to the classroom window,
to let it die,
in the burning sun.
I couldn’t be having that,
to me that wasn’t fun.
I thought no one was looking,
they were too busy laughing.
I ripped off the tape,
the wasp fell down and died.
And I got beat up for that,
when I went outside.
But I had a smile on my face,
because,
at least I tried.
They stole a teachers briefcase,
hid it in the bogs.
‘That’ll teach the grumpy old twat,’
they said.
And this was the teacher,
who beat me quite often
and I wished he was dead.
But it didn’t seem right,
so I sneaked it back.
Got caught returning it
and knew I was in the shit.
Didn’t grass up the thieves though,
that would have made it worse.
So got beaten twice
once from each side.
For stealing something
I never stole.
Upstairs
at the back of the bus.
trying to make friends.
The next school got on
came upstairs
started a fight.
Squished in a corner
full of fear
not even capable
of landing a punch.
Wanted to help
these so called friends.
But as soon as you hit,
innocence ends.
Got rescued from the melee
by a girl I’d never seen.
She dragged me off the bus
said, ‘You’re not like them.’
then disappeared.
I’ve never seen her again.
I had no more cash
it was a long walk home.
Got beaten up again next day
for leaving them alone.
But I liked my innocence,
so figured it was better that way
Woke up this morning next to a whole lot of Rosie. She’d been shaking me all night long. I said, ‘What do you do for money honey?
She said, ‘I do dirty deeds and Ill do them dirt cheap. Now fire your guns and shoot to thrill.’
I didn’t beat around the bush, just kept a stiff upper lip as hard as a rock and said, ‘let me put my love into you…’
‘Is that a touch too much?’
‘Shut up and shake a leg,’ she said. ‘This girl’s got rhythm.’
What happened next was like T.N.T being thunderstruck, and it weren’t no noise pollution.
Then later, heading to work in Sin City after getting dressed back into black I took the wrong turn and found myself on a highway to hell and boy, was it a long way to the top. But hell’s bells, hell ain’t a bad place to be you know.
And when Satan asked who am I and if I’d paid my dues, I said, ‘Are you ready? Because if you want blood, you’ve got it.’ And shot him down in flames.
‘Them’s some evil walkin’ high voltage guns for hire you’ve got there,’ he said. ‘I salute you. Now have a drink on me.’
‘Cheers,’ I said. ‘I’ll have the Jack.’
So this morning in time, after eating Alan’s psychedelic breakfast, I thought to myself, ‘Is there anybody out there?’
So I set the controls for the heart of the sun, said goodbye to the blue sky and went into interstellar overdrive to the dark side of the moon to meet Arnold Layne in the flesh, and to see Emily play. And hoped there wasn’t nobody home.
Once there, I had to run like hell across the thin ice. Avoiding the pigs, dogs and sheep before he would even speak to me.
he said, “Hey you. Welcome to the machine and behold the temple of light,” Now breathe, stay comfortably numb and you won’t get brain damage one of these days.”
I replied, from the bottom of my Atom Heart, “Bring the boys back home and make this the happiest days of our lives.”
Then lost for words, we were learning to fly, the narrow way and bid goodbye to that cruel world and returned to San Tropez, outside the wall.
And now, when you look up. So long as it’s not obscured by clouds, or an eclipse, you might just see a great gig in the sky.
But if not then sit down, have a cigar and a cup of tea with a saucer (full of secrets,) and watch the fat old sun as she echoes like Lucifer Sam
Wish you were here?
Let’s go to the cabin
in the woods
just a bunch of us
and we’ll take some buds.
We’ll drink beer,
have sex,
get high,
and I’m sure it’ll all be fine.
But they get lost on the way
a kindly stranger puts ’em up for the night.
But,
he ain’t kindly
he’s evil.
Everything ain’t gonna be alright.
He’s into taxidermy.
Got stuffed cats and dogs.
And asks if they want to see some more,
out in the shed where he keeps the logs.
He’s far too weird
so they all say no.
Oh, except for the moody Goth
who decides to go.
And gets a chainsaw to the stomach.
Chop. Splat. And die
you twat.
Next day they set off
minus Joan.
But they all just assume
the stroppy cow went home.
They get to the cabin,
decide to explore
when one of them says,
‘oh look. A trapdoor.’
It smells of death
and the light doesn’t work.
Maybe that’s a sign.
But nope.
he just stands there
and flicks the switch
a hundred times.
Then he goes down anyway
all on his own.
With a handily found candle
and no chance of getting home.
Axe to the head.
Chop. Splat. And die
you twat.
Later at dinner
minus Judd.
But they all just assume
he’s out exploring the wood.
There’s a noise outside
a scratch at the window.
The macho one says,
‘stay here. I’ll go.’
And he goes outside
with a brand new torch
whose batteries
instantly run out.
So the silly sod
decides to shout,
‘Is there anybody there.’
WOOSH.
Arrow through the eye.
Chop. Splat. And die
you twat.
The jock and the cheerleader
sneak out for a shag.
They take some beers
and a sleeping bag.
An Indian burial ground
catches their eye.
‘That’s a good spot to fuck’
says the silly guy.
She whips off her top,
jiggles her tits
lies down on the mat and says
‘it certainly is.’
Spear through the chest.
Chop. Splat. And die
you twat.
Meanwhile,
back at the cabin.
The walls are bleeding.
Finally,
someone with sense says,
‘I think we should be leaving.’
Then the lights go out,
the phone lines are cut.
Does this make them rush?
Does it fuck.
‘I’m just going to the kitchen,’
says the tubby guy.
‘I can’t go all the way home,
without a snack.’
‘And I think I’ll grab some beers,’
says the portly geezer.
And thus finds
Fred’s severed head.
in the freezer.
Ice pick to the brain.
Chop. Splat. And die
you twat.
The rest of them panic,
scream and shout.
But then run upstairs to hide
instead of getting the fuck out.
On the landing there’s a guy
in a scary mask.
‘Are you here for Halloween?’
a silly bastard asks.
Machete to the face.
Chop. Splat. And die
you twat.
The rest of them leg it.
run out to the car.
All they’ve got to do to live now is
drive real far.
But the engine won’t start
even though the car’s brand new.
I bet no one saw that coming…
Well, except me and you.
And then a Molotov lands in the driver’s face
and three charred corpses
take their place.
Chop. Splat. And die
you twat.
But one of them escapes.
She runs into the wood.
She’s the only one who’s not had sex
or
partaken of the bud.
She runs away,
as fast as you care.
but then trips over
a piece of fresh air.
The killer who walks
as slow as a snail.
Catches her up
with the speed of the US Mail.
‘WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?’
the screaming girl does ask.
And during the struggle,
pulls off his mask.
‘IT’S MR OBVIOUS.’
the audience scream.
‘Is there nothing left original
on this silver screen?’
Chop. Splat. And die
you cliched twat.
…but,
I’ll see you in the sequel…
…all ten of the buggers.
I was never bad at school
but often they thought I was.
Headmaster’s office,
‘You know why you’re here.’
‘No sir.’
Standard answer
to a grown up’s
rhetorical
question.
spanked and punished
‘don’t get lippy with me.’
I never knew why.
I never understood.
Just gazing into the distance.
out the window.
attention not paid.
Biology had the slipper
on the arse.
Geography,
the strap on the hand.
English and Maths
never got me spanked.
Words and numbers were my beauty
how couldn’t they see?
But the punchline is
always forgiveness.
but NEVER forget
And by their own
blind
stupidity,
they made me what I am.
How can you ever fault
a flap
of your own
butterfly wings.
Woke up this morning,
dazed and confused.
Thought it was a celebration day
so went down by the seaside
and got myself a custard pie and some
candy store rock.
I brought it on home
to my house of the holy and
gave it to Darlene for whom I had a
whole lot of love.
‘Since I’ve been loving you, you’ve shook me,’ she said.
‘Thank you,’ I said, ‘that’s the way.
Now I hope you’re not sick again
because I’m taking no quarter here
and you don’t want to get
trampled under foot
when the levee breaks.
So put out the black dog,
stop reading Moby Dick,
remove that Kashmir sweater and show me
the stairway to heaven.’
Philippa, Philippa,
where be the?
Art thou in heaven
or art thou in hell?
I’ve walked this Earth
for a thousand days
seeking thy mortal remains.
But there’s none to be found
above or below ground,
art thou in the heavenly realms?
Then I shall climb the stairs
up to the stars
and seek thee in the cosmos.
At the speed of light
I shall flit and fly
until I have crossed
the entire sky.
From planet to planet
from star to star
I shall spend eternity
to find where thou are.
And once thou art found?
Thou shalt never be lost again.
Here comes Dave,
that funny man
With his smelly rag
and his sleepy van
Sunshine and rain,
even in a storm
watch out for Dave
With his Chloroform
He grooms you with goodies
and a new rubix cube.
With a twelve inch black mamba
and a fresh tube of lube.
Because contrary to all
popular belief,
He’s an anal virginity
thief
‘Oh goodness,’I said
I thought there was more to thee
Than nonconsensual
sodomy
He said, ‘In my defence
and to clear my name.
Vagina or anus
they’re all the same.’
Ah I see, good sir
now it’s clear
It matters not to you
front or rear?
He said, ‘Front or rear
north or south
And even at times
in the mouth.’
At times I give,
at times I take,
But they always slumber
and they rarely wake.
I didn’t like
his way of thinking
but then Sodomy’s not my bag
even if, they’re dressed in drag
I said, ‘think of poor Mal
and his ruined head.
When you left him strapped
to your four poster bed
He tried to shout,
to beg and plead,
He couldn’t move
you made him bleed
He gave a whimper,
he gave a sob.
’cause it’s hard to say much
with a gob full of knob.
And remember the time
that guy started to cuss.
’cause he woke up with
a poorly anus.
And you said his favourite food
was fresh marzipan.
But what he loves even more
is a big sweaty man.
Now you may think this isn’t serious:
But it ain’t no hoax or sham.
These are the perils and dangers
when you’re in a band playing glam.
And though they make all these jokes
they still make good music
But the whole thing is aimed
at grooming the Cusic
And there may be many ways
to groom a man called Q,
But be careful not to bite off
more than you can chew
An original Red Pill
Who became Smarter than Jack.
And I wonder if he sometimes wishes
those crazy times were back.
Mickey’s Magical Mystery Tours,
in a manky doblo van.
Charlie and Susie in the back
hiding from every policeman.
Because stacked up almost to their ears
was band equipment
and crates of beers.
On the way to France, down the south coast
He saw the sea and was in it like a rocket.
And then realised he was swimming
with his phone still in his pocket.
But then he left Hotel California
and the place was left much worse.
But at least there were half as many
pairs of bloody Converse.
And with Freddie Mercury in his head
acting like his own soundtrack.
He scared the normals in a shop,
by dancing round a shoe rack.
No doubt worshiping
the god of shoes.
Well either that or running away
from some scary balloons.
And now he’s leaving the country
he’s really come of age.
And I wonder if that means
he’s finally over the
FROSTIE RAGE.
So yeah, he’s moving to Denmark,
And we can only hope it’ll be top class.
but even if it’s sometimes not
At least he’ll be with Thomas.
And we’re all going to miss him
’cause he’ll be gone so very long.
But hey,
Everyone loves a love song…
…Even Tom.
It’s Ninja Sam’s birthday
aint that sweet.
She’s celebrating it down
on anal treet.
She’s out with the girls
and also the guys
they’ll have beer goggles
instead of eyes.
There’ll be beer, shots
and something to eat.
Cos you can get anything
on anal treet.
They’ll walk from pub to pub
on ever sorer feet
cos sometimes it hurts
on anal treet.
Sat outside pubs
on the bestest seat
it can also be comfy
on anal treet.
Cards and groovy presents
they’ll make her birthday neat.
I hope she gets them all
down on anal treet.
GEMMA AND ELLIE’S LEAVING POEM
Just a little ditty
to say farewell
to Gemma and Ellie.
Collectively know as
Gellie
Gemma’s been here
since the LJ days
and that’s a long time
in a lot of different ways.
The last of the old school,
bar wenches.
She’s served us well
in the Carpe trenches.
A million pints she’s pulled,
I’ll be thee…
and probably half of them
for me.
And she’s always done it
with a smile
and never surly.
But now who’ll cheer us up
just by saying Curly Wurly?
And by the rest of the staff,
she’ll also be missed..
Because there’ll be no more,
‘What, what, what in the butt?’
sung every bloody shift.
And Ellie’s been here
for a good few years.
Doing what she does,
selling us beers.
With a smile and a chat
about all sorts of stuff.
and quite often involving,
the word ‘muff.’
She never took no shit
from cheeky rude punters.
Once shouting, ‘Get out of my pub,
you pair of fucking munters.’
And if any colleagues had trouble
from people like them,
Ellie seemed to appear
as if by magic
like the shop keeper
in Mr Ben.
Get on her good side,
and you’ll have so much fun.
Get on her bad side,
and you’ll probably go home
with a spike up your bum.
And I’ve seen both girls dancing,
behind that bar.
Sometimes it’s the Tango
sometimes it’s like twirking,
that seems to have gone a bit too far.
And sometimes I bring them Thorntons,
which they enjoy real fine.
And once greeted such an event
with a high five and
‘Woohoo, fat bitch time.’
Never a dull moment
when they’re working here,
and you can take that as truth
from the man with the beard.
Just two lovely ladies
being good at their job
and with the right amount of weird.
So to misquote Bob Marley,
they lively up the place.
And to be honest to ya both
I’m so gonna miss your face.
Oh,
and I’m sure everyone’s noticed
in this poem
nothing embarrassing has been said.
That’s because
they don’t drink vodka lemmos
or throw up in someone else’s bed.
Nope.
Clean living
church going
models of behaviour.
it’s not as if either
ever spewed up,
on some steps
and
the bouncer
who was carrying them up ’em
almost comatose.
Or got home with no knickers on,
wondering where they’d gone.
Only to remember
taking them off
by accident
with her tights
because somehow,
she threw up
on her own legs.
Nah.
our girls have never done
things like that.
So ‘Red Bull’ Gemma
and ‘just-the-tip’ Ellie
we’re gonna miss you more
than a soap addict misses
their telly.
We’ve had lots of good times
and the odd one that’s been bad.
And now that you’re leaving
we’re all a little sad.
‘Cause we’ve had the pleasure
of your company,
in the sunshine
and the rain.
And now that you’re both going,
Carpe will NEVER be the same.
He used to be Cabaret Chris
But then he got shorter,
Darker,
Stranger.
And camper
…I’d wager.
He’s a dapper dresser with
Style and flair
And you’ve gotta admit
He’s got snazzy hair.
When he goes on stage
He’s the king of electro pop
…whether you like it or not.
He shakes his hips
Wiggles his bum
And he seems to appeal
To everyone and their mum.
He makes people sing and dance
but never groan
Not even when he plays
His air stylophone.
His words and music are fun
although some say Chee-se
But,
I bloody love it, me.
But don’t trust him in Ghengis Khar
he uses gaffer tape to fix rust.
And if you’re driving with him in Malta,
It’s ‘where the fuck is reverse?’
or off the cliff and bust.
His shitty fiesta got stolen.
But they didn’t drive it here there and everywhere
They just pushed the bugger up the road
And tried to shove it down some stairs.
When he drives up a hill
he now finally understands
about changing gear
So always has a spare jacket,
and waistcoat in the rear.
He once dressed as a girl called Christina,
for a gig at the Primrose.
Got chatted up by the landlord,
and where that could have ended,
who knows ?
He buys women’s blouses
by mistake at charity shops.
“How was I supposed to know?”
He says,
I just thought the buttons
went both ways.
On Hallow’een for a hoot
he wore himself a clown suit.
But for him it wasn’t creepy enough
so he decided to indulge,
But sticking half a football down his pants
to give himself a terrifying bulge.
And can he cook?
Can he fuck.
Except
fried bread
fried egg
And a thick chunk of cheddar cheese
It’s his hang over cure
that’s never had a taker
and not surprisingly
it’s called the ‘Widowmaker’
And let’s not forget
the 9 OXO cube bolognese
that overdosed Annette with salt.
and brought her to her knees.
Oh, and I’m glad no one filmed this,
I don’t wanna see the footage,
of a certain person [points]
deep throating a vegan sausage.
And picnics are fun
The excitement of bringing the new
Babycham glasses
But then arriving all flustered,
sitting down
and crushing them with his Arthur Askeys
“But I’ve brought the chicken goujons
What do you mean pre-cooked is raw.
I’ll never understand these fancy ways,
I’ve been eating them like that for days.”
Technology is his friend though
Like, when you’re computer’s running slow,
what do you do?
Isn’t it obvious?
You beat it with your shoe.
Computer open,
replacing the sound card.
I can do this
surely it’s not very hard?
crossing the floor
carpet
cheap nylon socks
…I think we can all see where this is going
.
.
BOOM!
Static everywhere
He had static in his face
static in his hair
Static on his clothes
static up his nose…
…oh wait, that’s a whole other poem.
Pays a fortune,
gets it repaired.
takes it home
decides once again to
put in that sound caird.
(he he for the cheeky rhyme)
When lightning strikes twice
that’s really quite tragic.
But I guess it’s bound to happen
when you’re the ‘Emperor of Static’
And his original 80s Moog keyboard
smelt damp after he’d made it cleaner
so thought he’d dry it out
with an electric fan heater.
Another BOOM,
but something else in the mix,
4 melted keys
and £200 quid to get it fixed.
What else do we know…
He’s allegedly underhand at board games
in Monopoly isn’t allowed to be the banker
and there are even those
who call him a cheating whatsit.
He’s banned from picking up kittens
because once when he did
accidentally stuck his finger up its bum
and wondered why it was crying for its Mum.
He doesn’t do any excersise,
except on stage whith his twirls.
Oh, and the occasional jog round Woodhouse Moor
to look at the girls.
Red wine is a mixer
Gin is a fixer
and this causes him ta
Fall asleep on his knees
with his face wedged in sofa cushions.
And not just at his own house,
but at others while they’re having discussions.
He broke Angelina’s Dad’s
expensive diving watch.
And do you want me to stop now
because that rhymes with crotch.
Too late,
you didn’t say please.
It’s Captain Cabaret
and the Two degrees.
.
.
Do you wish you loved me?
Yes we do.
And I’ll say it again
So you know
Yes we do.
.
And finally, there’s one last story,
but I can’t quite remember it.
So I’ll finish off with
one last thing, chief…
[everyone]
Happy birthday,
chicken thief.
We knew we’d miss Joe
when he decided to go
and the Dragons
would need a new bass.
So they looked over here,
they looked over there
they looked in
every place.
Then a guy walked through the door
with his nerves exposed and raw
on a mission
to audition.
His playing was high
but his confidence,
shaky.
But what he did,
sure wasn’t flaky.
So he played his first gig
because they gave him a chance.
Where he stood still as a rock
didn’t move,
or even dance.
But his skills could be heard
his playing was good.
I knew he’d make it.
or, at least I hoped he would.
Then after the show,
they toasted him with flagons.
And said,”Well done, Ant,
welcome to Chasing Dragons”
And now he fits in
as if he’s always been there.
Playing and leaping around
with nary a care.
He even took off his shirt,
when the band demanded it.
Making all the gay guys
think he was fit.
And these days he keeps the groove
with Katie on the drums.
And the band is now whole,
they’re as good as it comes.
So, well done, Sir,
that’s all I’ll say.
Oh
except,
happy birthday.
I’ve been coming in Carpe
for donkey’s years.
And I’ve had so much fun
and a couple of tears.
And I’m going to shed one tonight
because,
things are shite.
Spud’s leaving…
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!.
You see…
She’s a lovely lady
with a smiley face.
And she makes you feel welcome,
in this place.
She sells you beer
with a cheery ‘Hi Ho’
and is the best bar wench,
you’ll ever know.
She’s the heart and soul
of every shift she works.
And you know sometimes behind that bar,
she fucking twerks.
She’s a pleasure to work with
and makes the time fly.
But her toilet breaks take half an hour
..and no one knows why.
She once innocently said to me,
‘smell my box’
But it was just a scented candle.
…in a box.
We had a waterpistol gun fight in here
after everyone else had gone.
But were so busy arguing over who was Clint Eastwood,
nobody won.
Her cat tights are really splendiforous
and she’s not really sure if cows are carnivorous.
And she can eat a doughnut in 20 seconds.
or so Ellie reckons.
And she’ll sit on your knee
while you’re having a wee
and take herself
a selfie.
And with a jumper for a loo roll
and pooing behind a car
Well, she’s never done that,
this month,
so far.
And then she threw up on the bar
in Escobar
took M cat
with grumpy cat
And yeah,
that got a bit messy.
But let’s be honest,
if you can’t keep up with her,
you’re a fucking Jessy.
We’ve done silly things
funny things
and lots of funny drunken silly things.
I’ve even seen sad things.
And I’ve seen so many hair styles
and colours to kingdom come.
And this girl right here,
has sent me home more time than me mum.
An LJ night
wasn’t an LJ night
without Spud
behind the bar.
And you could see in here eyes
she love Monday nights
and the dancing told it you all.
we’ve skanked to skank bands
funked to punk bands.
And moshed our tits off
to Caberet Chris.
She chats the shit
talks the talk
and you better believe it,
she fuckin’ walks the walk.
She came.
She queefed.
She conquered.
She’s one of the grooviest chicks
I’ve ever seen
and I know I’m not the only one who’s gonna miss
Katie ‘Spud’ Green.
Brand new wet suit
tricky to submerge.
Here comes a crocodile
I’m getting on his nerves.
A panicked dive down
flippers flipping like a clown
Croc cracks a grin
but then snorts and swims around.
While your mate on the bank
is laughing like a twat.
But hey,
when you’re an adventurer,
shit happens like that.
Living in a cave in India
is just something you try.
With psychedelic drugs
and hashish to get you by.
Jumping out of planes
and climbing mountains high.
And if you think that can be taken two ways,
guess why.
I wanna live in the jungle
but there’s no house in that sucker.
Ah sod it,
I’ll build the fucker.
I busked on a unicycle,
lived in a psychedelic Beetle van.
I’ve done more crazy shit
than many a man.
’cause you’ve gotta do these things
before you’re dead.
It’s one of the joys
of being a biped.
But what I love above all this
even motorbike riding.
Is getting out there
and going cave diving.
Trekking through the jungle
to go swimming underground.
And if you lose it down there
you’ll never be found.
I can’t fly through space
and be an astronaut.
So I’ll fly underground
and be an aquanaut.
Swimming through the waters
of a crystal clear cave.
Enjoying the beauty
that geology gave.
Air on my back,
mask on my face.
feeling totally apart
from the rest of the human race.
Twenty thousand years
since the last ice age.
And I’m the first since then
to see that mammoth’s grave.
60 tons of majestic beast
killed by history,
buried by time.
And the first eyes to see its bones since then,
are mine.
I’ve dived in caves
all over the world.
And seen such sights
that’d make your toes curl.
And I’m gonna carry on
doing these awesome things.
’cause I’m a goddamned motherfucking
VIKING
Why do I hate thee so
Simon Trowel?
Well let me count the ways
I hate your face.
You’re an arrogant little shit
who thinks he’s it
And a smug little turd
who is really quite absurd.
You’re smarmy and superior
and think you’re better than the rest.
But you’re just a baboon
beating its chest.
You’re a borderline bully
who’s probably over the line.
I think it’s time you stopped
in fact, way past time.
Am I being irrational
and out of order?
Or am I justified
in thinking murder?
Because, you’ve left the musical world
a post-apocalyptic wasteland.
Populated by cockroaches
and everything that’s bland.
You’ve turned mediocrity
into an art from.
If I wasn’t so depressed,
I might be impressed.
You’re the poison in the pie,
the karaoke king.
In fact you remind me
of Emperor Ming.
You were given these powers
to use for good or ill.
But all you do is line your pockets
and fill the charts with swill.
You could have been a hero
a Chas Chandler or Peter Grant.
But instead you got greedy,
which is why I wrote this rant.
You’re a canny manipulator,
I’ll give you that.
You pull those strings
like it’s all old hat.
But why do it like this,
force feeding us piss?
Why not fill your soul
(that empty void)
By finding us the next
Led Zep or Pink Floyd.
But then I guess
you don’t want a band
that can think for themselves.
Because they might do something interesting
that wouldn’t benefit you as well.
So why not take all that money
and do the decent thing.
And find us a band
that can bloody well sing
and play their own instruments
and write their own songs.
A bunch of rock ‘n’ roll rebels
with drums and guitars
are what we need.
Not another of these clones
that you continue to breed.
So I’m sorry if you think you’re not
but you’re a fucking tool.
And I wish you’d stop polluting,
the musical gene pool.
They’re chopping up the NHS.
What’s gonna be left at the end
is anyone’s guess.
Corporations are ripping us off
left right and center.
And it seems like half our taxes
don’t get where they were meant to.
Politicians are claiming expenses
for shit they never had.
And the state of our trains
and public transport in general
is pretty fucking bad.
Hospitals are run by bureaucrats
businesses by fat cats.
And it feels like half our leaders
are a bunch of greedy twats.
Shops and pubs are shutting down
a couple a dozen a week.
If we don’t hurry up and sort this out
we’re gonna end up like the Greek.
A country with no money
an economy on its knees.
Somebody needs to sort this shit out.
Anybody? Please?
And bankers got us in this mess
way more than the rest.
But still they receive bonuses
that’d take us ten years to earn at best.
The people we should look up to
those of supposedly high esteem.
Just toss us off and fuck our ass
…if you see what I mean.
The welfare state is in a state
disillusionment’s through the roof.
And the people who are supposed to help
just line their pockets and stand aloof.
And music’s no longer run by musicians.
It’s talentless shits that make all the decisions
Dress up pretty
and play real nice.
And you see this cake?
We’ll give you a tiny slice.
It’s like the Robin Hood times
but the opposite to be sure.
What’s given to the rich these days,
seems to be robbed off the poor.
And there’s shit on the telly
and shit in the news.
And the whole celebrity culture
makes me wanna shit in me own trews.
The more you have
the more you want they say.
And these days it certainly
fucking seems that way.
There’s always someone
suing other factions.
’cause people no longer take,
responsibility for their own actions.
I bought a cup of coffee,
you didn’t tell me it was hot.
So when I spilt it and scalded myself,
it was obviously my fault…
…NOT.
How do people make money these days?
They put in a claim.
They don’t know any other ways.
Well unless they become
a Z-list celebrity whore.
And do fuck all of worth,
but still earn more and more.
And no one’s buying houses.
They can’t even afford the rent.
And it doesn’t take an Einstein
to see the world is fucking bent.
We’ve got wars we don’t agree with.
And don’t it make your blood boil.
That the only reason we’re killing these people,
is ’cause we want their fucking oil.
The country’s in a mess,
of that there is no doubt.
But where are all the angry young bands?
Why don’t they stand up and shout?
We had it in the 70s.
Punk said it all.
It said if you don’t hurry up and sort this shit out
you’ll be first up against the wall.
Like in the 50s, 60s, 70s and 80s,
hell even the 90s tried their best.
…Although I think that was a decade,
that probably wasn’t as bad as the rest.
But where are all our protest songs
from all the angry young bands?
Music is supposed to reflect the times,
but these days it’s all fucking bland.
Where’s our Neil Youngs,
Woodie Guthries or Bob Dylans?
Oh yeah, they’re on the X-Factor
trying to make their millions.
they don’t care what they say,
they sing songs that don’t make waves.
And the only reason the world keeps turning,
is dead rock stars spinning in their graves.
Music is supposed to change the world,
tell it when it gets shitty.
But the only thing music does these days
is suck on Simon Cowell’s titty.
And I know I don’t have any answers,
but I know it’s not all doom and gloom.
There are still cool people out there,
heck, just look around this room.
Man has created a monster
and it’s out of control
It’s called Reality TV
and it’s stealing your soul.
It’s rotting your mind
from the inside out.
Leaving you with nothing
but mental gout.
We’ve got celebrities in the jungle
saying get me out.
Well hey,
maybe you shouldn’t have gone in in the first place then
you Z-list fucking trout.
There’s whats-her-face Hilton
and that Kardasian bitch.
Why are they celebrities?
They’re just spoilt brats who are fuckin’ rich.
Where’s your sense of decency?
Where’s your sense of shame?
Stop whoring your talentless arse
for a slice of pseudo-fame.
No one wants to be known
for building an orphanage or a school.
They just want to be famous for being famous
because you make ’em think that’s cool.
The constant cacophony
of stupidity from these shows
is warping your mind
and crushing your soul.
We’ve got
Pop Idol
American Idol
FUCK OFF
I’ll throw you the whip
when you toss me the idol.
They’re not talent shows,
they’re freak shows.
Where you reward the pretty
and deride the shitty.
It’s a karaoke contest
where you take the deluded meek,
dress them up like someone else
and make ’em sing their shitty songs
…EVERY FUCKING WEEK.
And all the sad people
can ‘phone and vote for the biggest loser.
I even saw someone do that recently
from in the fucking boozer.
It’s supposed to be a safe haven
from all that shite.
But now it’s even invaded the sanctity,
of the pub on a Saturday night.
There should be an explosive device
attached to the voting line.
That marks the caller’s face
with a scar or a line.
Then if I saw them on the street,
I could take to my feet.
‘Cause they’d have nothing to say
that could possibly enhance my day.
And there’s the World’s Worst Driver,
The World’s Worst Mum,
The World’s Worst Husband
who can’t even make his wife come.
Why would you go on telly
and show people your worst,
you foolish whelp.
Why not go see a shrink or a counselor
and get some proper fuckin’ help?
And there’s
Fat Camp
Brat Camp
Help me I’m like
Kenneth Williams camp.
Queer Eye for a Straight Guy.
Oh what, so stereotypes are Ok now
so long as you’re in the reality public’s eye?
Taking the piss out of other people
is now acceptable and funny.
But only if you’re on telly
making truck loads of money.
Britain’s Got Talent?
Not on telly it fuckin’ hasn’t.
What Not To Wear.
Oh, so instead you’ll dress ’em up like a square.
Perfect Housewife.
Get a life.
How Clean is Your House?
Mind your own bloody business.
Made in Chelsea
The Only Way is Essex
Essex Wives
And I bet that’s not even like
Readers Wives.
And now there’s Paris Hilton’s British Best Friend.
I mean, Jesus Christ.
When does it ever end?
And I believe it all started
with the fucking Osborne’s.
….But then, Ozzy is a God so that’s one’s OK.
Emo the dinosaur wants to be a dragon
So he drowns his sorrows
on plant juice
from a flagon
Why can’t I breath fire?
Why can’t I fly?
Why have I got a brain,
smaller than my eye?
I want to kidnap virgins
and battle with a knight.
I don’t want to eat leaves.
Being a vegisaur is shite.
I’ve got no treasure,
diamonds or gold.
And it’s not much fun
being 4 billion years old.
I don’t live in a cool cave
and that’s a hassle.
And I’ll never get to storm
the walls of a castle.
I want shiny scales
and to live in Wales.
But I live in Jurassic Park
and didn’t even get invited on Noah’s ark.
He took all the animals,
two by two.
But did he take a dinosaur?
Did he poo.
He left us to drown
with all the rest.
And claimed we didn’t even exist
…We were just God’s test.
But I think I coulda made it
in your modern day.
I’d a made a great bouncer
at a nightclub on Saturday.
Or I could’ve help fight crime
just like Batman.
And wore a cool cape and a mask
and been…DINOMAN.
But we’ve got no opposable thumbs
and so can’t scratch our bums.
And I weigh fifty tons plus
so could even get on a bus.
I’ve got short spazzy arms
and that’s pretty rank.
So I could never even have
a job in a bank.
But I’d never sign on
and be on the dole.
I could always play footie,
…I’d be great in goal.
And I could’ve had a pet cat
and looked after it real thorough.
And my best friend would a been
David Attenborough.
But Noah was a man,
and you might think this is silly.
But I think he was jealous
of the size of my willy.
So he left us in the swamps
to deal with our own mess.
Well, except for my cousin,
who lives in Loch Ness.
And so now were consigned,
to your history books.
And I’ll tell you what:
Being a dinosaur sucks.
Is she the Spawn of a Succubus,
an evil temptress?
Or maybe just a pretty girl
who doesn’t wear no dress?
Either way the world’s brighter,
since the day of her birth.
And it’ll be so much darker,
when she’s Under the Earth.
She’s A Seed of Tomorrow,
Wearing Black Velvet
Balanced on a Mirror’s Edge,
without even a helmet.
Try not to get her riled,
she might be short fused.
And I bet you if she hits you,
your kids’ll be born bruised.
So lock up your daughter
or she’ll be a lamb to the slaughter
’cause the Dragons are in town
And it’s always swell
until the swelling goes down.
’cause they’re her own private army of
demonic,
bloodthirsty,
human eating,
purse snatchin’,
mutant creatures.
.
.
So go see her on stage,
and if she makes you feel inadequate.
You’ll still cheer and applaud
as that’s the right etiquette.
And when she’s thrilled you and chilled you.
With her voice and her ways.
You’ll have those songs stuck
in your head for days.
And when the gig is over,
and you’re all tryin’ a say thanks.
She’ll turn to the band and shout,
‘TO THE BAT TANK’
And as she drives into the sunset
with her own Jet Girl by her side.
We’ll all shout, ‘Happy birthday’
to a Rock ‘n’ Roll bride.
I was trying to park my car, there was a van in the way.
I said, ‘Excuse me sir, would you mind moving that truck off?’
He said… ‘Of course my good fellow, I’d be happy to.’
And he moved it forward so carefull-y
when something flew in the window and he got stung by a…wasp.
‘Did it hurt?’ I asked.
‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘It can do it again if it wants.’
You see I was on a day out in the town of Lissingdown,
and you should have seen the weather, it was…really rather sunny for the time of year.
I went for a wander round the medieval castle,
where in the olden days there’d been such a ruckus.
And I asked the guide,
‘Did we win, or did the French…lose?’
Then he took us down to the dungeon,
the old torture chamber.
There were lots of implements still there.
(although some were only bits off)
and he demonstrated one by grabbing this woman and pulling the poor girl’s…leg.
Then I had enough of that and went down to the sea.
The women’s world beach volleyball final was playing,
our girls had a right tough job on
And standing there watching them, I didn’t half get a…load of national pride when we won.
So as a celebration I bought them all an ice cream:
A 99 with bits.
But then went and bloody dropped on
right on the captain’s…toes.
So I legged it from there and went to the zoo.
I went in the birdhouse and saw a cockatoo.
Then had to go to the gents,
where thankfully I didn’t.
The monkey house was fun.
There was a chimps tea party.
although it was a little bit of a farce
as one of the apes kept showing his hairy…armpit.
But then sadly it was time to go home.
And when I got back to the car I’d got a ticket.
He’d just finished writing it, thrust it at me and said,
‘Here, take that.’
I said, ‘Oh cheers you…traffic warden’
And then on the motorway on the way home,
I got cut up so many times.
first by a mother trucker
then a lesbian on a bike
then a big rig with a rat that was plastered
and a clucking, sock loving, son of a rich banker, Porsche driving runt.
…But I decided not to comment on that lot.
There’s a log in me bog
and it’s looking at me.
It’s putting me off
while I’m tryin’ to have a wee.
It’s been that way
for a couple a day.
And I have to be frank
and say it smells pretty rank.
You see I had a par-tay
just the other day
and lots of friends came
from far away.
But one of them left me
an unpleasant surprise.
It was a fucking big log
that amazed my eyes.
CHORUS
There’s a log in my bog
what am I gonna do?
There’s a log in me bog
and it’s not my poo.
I’ve tried flushing it down
I’ve tried pouring bleach too.
But nothing seems to shift
this really big poo.
It seems to be stuck
at the U-hu bend
and I think it’ll be there
until the world does end.
I called a plumber out
he took one look and gave a shout.
To whom, he asked, does that belong,
King fucking Kong?
CHORUS
There’s a log in my bog
what am I gonna do?
There’s a log in me bog
and it’s not my poo.
We ain’t shifting that, he said
in a year and a day.
Without extreme measures
we ain’t flushing it away.
He said, there’s only way
we’re gonna move that shite.
We’re gonna have to use
some dina-mite.
He laid the charges,
lit the blue touch paper.
I asked, what’s a safe distance?
He said, Prob’ly Australia
I legged it outside
and stood on the grass.
I prayed he knew what he was doing
that crazy ass.
BOOM!
SHIT EVERYWHERE.
I had shit in my face
shit in my hair.
Shit on my clothes
and shit up my nose.
Shit on my shoes
and shit on the school.
Shit in the trees
and shit on the breeze.
shit on a clown.
Shit all over town.
Shit on the travelling circus
but shit all rhymes with that.
[pause]
Is there a point to all this shit?
I hear you ask me.
Yes.
Never invite a 50 foot gorilla
to your fucking par-ty.
When the towers come down
and the walls are being pounded.
Cluster bombs drop
on the innocent, dumbfounded.
They look to their leaders
with pain and hate.
So what do they do?
The re-taliate
On the other side
they’re just like you and me.
Hiding in the basement
from an RPG.
They say to their leaders,
‘Enough please for today.’
The leaders turn a blind eye,
and fire back anyway.
Bombs on the left
grenades on the right.
Here come some humans,
quick let’s start a fight.
Why are we at war
you and me?
We may be on different sides,
but we’re all humanity.
Peace and love
the hippies said it best.
why can’t we just get along
and let the past to rest?
It’s an easy thing,
to start a war.
To advocate peace,
is much harder by far.
They rode into town
on their Harley Ds
Their habits flyin’
in the warm summer breeze.
Their mirror shades hiding
their deadly eyes.
They were looking for trouble
with switchblade knives.
Their engines roared
like the hounds of hell.
The towns folk fled
but an old lady fell.
The nuns didn’t stop
they rode over the old dear.
And everyone knew
their mission was clear.
To rip it up, tear it down
and start all over again.
There’s nothing more deadly
under a thousand suns
than a gang of killer nuns.
They slammed on the breaks
outside the towns only bar
stomped inside and ordered
Te-quil-aaa
‘We’ve none of that here,
we don’t even sell beer.
We’ve just got Sarsaparilla’
said the trembling bar fella.
The nuns got mad
and shot him dead.
The poor bar lord fell
with a hole in his head.
Then they all went crazy
giving the patrons a fright.
A bunch of killer nuns
having a bar fight.
The sherriff made an entrance
through the saloon’s swinging door.
Took one look around,
shit his pants and swore.
He fired in the air
and said, ‘Stop all this ruckus’
A nun made a rude gesture
and said something that rhymed.
He said, ‘Stop it now,
else at you all, I’ll throw the book.’
But then got whacked on the head
by a nun with a nunchuck.
He dropped to the ground
his blood on the walls
And as the nuns walked out
they trod on his balls.
They went on the rampage
down the main street.
Kicking stray dogs
with their Doc Martened feet.
A preacher arrived,
the local man of God.
He said, ‘Stop in the name of the Lord’
and at the sky gave a nod.
‘HA. We’re agents of Satan’
said the head killer nun.
‘Now go meet your maker
with the aid of my gun.’
And as God’s sky pilot fell
and his life did depart.
The nun took her cross
and stabbed through his heart.
Then there rose such a yell
that could be heard in Siberia
From the throat of the evil,
Mother Superior.
And with no one left
to protect the town.
They looted and pillaged
and shot eveyone down.
Then they leapt on their bikes
and rode out past the dock
leaving nothing but death –
And Quentin Tarrantino,
..rubbing his cock.
She’s the toughest girl you’ve ever seen
who can snort more coke than Charlie Sheen.
Kung fu master,
Black belt:
10th Dan
She can kick ass better, than any man.
She can wrestle a yeti
and kick down walls.
She’s got so much clit
she don’t need no balls.
yes so much clit, she don’t need no balls.
She drives too fast
for formula one.
And once pissed in the eye
of the Devil’s son.
She likes to boogie woogie
on a roller coaster.
And at a gig leaps up and down
more than a pop-up toaster.
She once swam up
Niagra falls.
And has got so much clit
she don’t need no balls.
Yeah so much clit, she don’t need no balls.
She once lept the grand canyon
on the back of a frog.
And out danced Gene Kelly
whilst wearing her clogs.
She’s drunk more beer
than Oliver Reed
And smoked a King Kong bong
with Cheech and Chong.
She saw the pope’s arse
when he shat in the woods.
And found a bear that’s not catholic,
but wearing snappy duds.
She taught Bruce Lee
everything he knows.
And once gave the Terminator,
a broken nose.
She made Jack Bauer cower,
Beat up Stallone on her own.
Picked a fight with Chuck Norris…
…but obviously didn’t win that one. I mean, it’s Chuck friggin’ Norris, c’mon.
But, she’s still got so much clit, she don’t need no balls.
How come the world’s all gone to shit?
How come every poli-tician’s a tit?
How come there’s always someone at war?
And how come half the time we don’t even know what they’re fighting for?
How come prices keep going up?
And how come we don’t get pay rises,
that help us keep up?
How come bankers don’t seem to know how to count?
How come they lost our money…what’s that all about?
How come MPs are the loudest to shout?
Unless of course we’re talking,
about their expense account.
And how come Twilight makes me wanna drink bleach and gargle?
How come vampires don’t burn up,
they fucking sparkle?
How come Hollywood’s gone remake mad?
Are there no more original ideas to be had?
How come Firefly only got one fucking series?
And how come Eastenders and Corrie and all that bollocks
have been going on for year…sies?
How come Simon Cowell
makes me wanna move me bowel?
And how come Big Brother
makes me wanna murder me own mother?
In fact, how come reality TV
makes me wanna pee
on the screen?
Oh I wish it had never
ever, ever, ever EVER been seen.
And how come I don’t know
when to end this rhyme?
…OK, it’s time.
Now of course, the end is near
and we’re facing that final curtain.
So after 7 years of no stress and leaving our egos at the door
we’re not going to be doing this any more.
And this has been the place hasn’t it where we came to let it all out
and told each other what we were all about.
And just personally, I’ve dared to come up here on this stage,
opened my mouth wider
and most definitely got wiser.
And we’ve all chilled out in this lab with a spliff and a beer
and didn’t we make some great words and music for the listeners ear?
And none of us can progress unless we open our mind up
so we came up here, listened to the beat, and threw a rhyme up.
Over the years we’ve connected with so many great people.
Who have been a breath of fresh air and a release from the evil.
And I’ve seen so many people come on this stage
to the whistles and cheers,
and confront their fears
and step WAY out of their comfort zone.
…and it’s felt like home…
this Thunderdome.
And it sure does feel like sometimes we rode all night ’til the sun came up
and yeah, maybe now and again we drank too much and acted like a dog’s dick.
But you’ve got to admit it:
LJ really has rocked it every genre,
whatever the topic.
But now the end is nigh,
and what can one say?
Except
THANK YOU LJ.
’cause now
it’s all been said,
it’s all been done.
It’s been real,
…It’s been so much fucking fun.
One day my Joan of Arc will come,
and through the fields of battle, together we’ll run.
Defendnig the good, the weak and the kind,
and leaving the bodies
of the evil behind.
With armour gleaming, and swords aloft,
our battle cry, waking the Gods.
Evil men fear us.
Good people feed us.
We shall never sleep, until the World is at peace.
With golden hair, and a cloak of fire,
and a heart that’s as pure as one could ever desire.
To Hell and back, I’d happily ride.
With my Joan of Arc
by
my
side.
Intro/scene setting
Simon Cowell pulls up
in his 200 thousand dollar Cuntmobile.
He steps out
and waves to the twats that wanna suck his cock
They bray and scream like he’s fucking God.
Then he goes inside,
as hard as a rock.
‘They fell for it again,’ he thinks, ‘the foolish wankers’
‘I can’t wait to take their money, to my bankers.’
Then ‘hello my showbiz people,’ he says
‘my lovely sycophants’
‘let’s get this freakshow on the road…
But first. Who wants to smell my underpants?’
Me, me, me
say the sheep.
So they take their places
and the lights go down.
For the first act the crowd are screaming,
like the Beatles are back in town.
The judges say, ‘tell me young pup
what do you want to be
when you grow up?’
‘I want to sell more records than Take That.’
TWAT.
Do you not wanna make great music
and entertain people with your sound?
‘Nah, I just wanna make a million pound.’
OK, show us…
He opens his mouth
and smeg comes out.
We’re all covered in it:
a hundred tons of talentless bullshit
The crowd have an orgasm,
‘oooh, look he’s so pretty’
No one seems to care that the music’s
fucking shitty.
‘He dances better than Beyonce’ they say.
And he’s got the abs of a young Brad Pitt…
BUT HE’S FUCKING SHIT.
Meanwhile The Cowell’s got pound signs in his eyes,
whereas anyone with sense hopes he eats shit and dies.
‘That, he says was world class in anyone’s book
and I like it a lot.
Whilst thinking, ‘fuck it, money for old rope.
And I could do with a new yacht.’
‘you’re a facking Diva,’ Cheryl Cole says.
Oh trust me girl, if that were true. This’d be
the End of Days.
Then it’s time for act two…
They’re the comedy value arsehole crew.
No talent, no style
no fucking clue.
80s moves and music too.
And they’re about as in tune as my
fucking left shoe.
The judges hound them into the ground.
But then mocking the afflicted,
is what makes their pound go round.
The parents storm the stage,
the crowd breathes in.
This is where, the Jerry Springer shit
doth begin.
‘How dare you diss my child.
She’s a god-dam princess.’
Too ugly to be a WAG
so I’ve made her do this instead.
‘She’s gonna be famous, she’s gonna be rich.
I’ve been grooming her for this since she was fucking six.’
And as the deluded parent goes in a rage.
The security people drag her off stage.
And then act three comes on screen
…but I’m nowhere to be seen.
you see I’ve gone outside,
I’ve been driven to fucking suicide.
I like fucking swearing
it’s good fucking fun.
But I wouldn’t fucking do it,
in front of me fucking mum.
I love saying fucking fanny
But not near me fucking Granny.
And as for fucking wank,
I wouldn’t say that in a fucking bank.
Never say fucking twat
when you’re trying on a fucking hat
And don’t say fucking cocks
when you’re buying your fucking socks.
Bollocks is fucking fine
now and a fucking gain
Unless you’re fucking reading
the News at fucking Ten.
You can say fucking tosser
but not to a fucking copper.
Else you’ll find his fucking truncheon
bringing up your fucking luncheon
If you really fucking want to
you can say tunel of fucking fudge
But whatever you fucking do
not when you’re before the fucking judge
So remember the rules and I’m sure you’ll be fine…
don’t do it in front of your mum
no fanny for your granny
no wankin’ in the bank
No twats in hats
or cocks in socks
or bollocks on the news
and never toss on a copper.
And if it all goes wrong
and you find yourself in trouble:
You can always try packing
a judge’s fudge tunnel.
We’ve got pikeys and scallys
and don’t forget chavs.
They think they’re the have nots
and wanna be the haves.
‘We hate you. How did you get so rich?’ They say
iunno *shrug*
Maybe it’s because they work every day?
So get of your lazy arses
and stop sponging off the state.
Find yourself a job
and maybe you’ll lose some of that hate.
’cause you pick on innocent strangers
and hit them in the face.
In cowardly attacks that can only be described
as the worst of the human race.
You’re like a pack of wild animals
roaming around the town.
You make even the most placid like me,
wanna fucking put you down.
An ASBO’s not a badge of honour
you’re supposed to wear with pride.
It’s something that should make you ashamed,
deep down inside.
And then you were the rioters rioting.
Or were you looters looting?
Of course you fucking were:
This weren’t no Rodney King thing.
Where was your political motivation?
And trust me you wont find it
in that stolen Playstation.
So take to the streets and fight for a cause
if bad shit happens or you disagree with the laws.
but you can’t go out and give it some welly
just ’cause you want, a fucking free telly.
so take a look at your lives
you bullies and you thieves.
If you’re not gonna contribute,
just leave.
You’ve had your 15 minutes of shame
Now stop acting so fucking lame.
Life don’t owe you shit:
If you want it, earn it.
I’LL NEVER HAVE SEX WITH THE NOLAN SISTERS
She was a girl called Ameeeelia
We were trying necropheeeelia
She didn’t have much vigour,
but BOY did she have rigor.
I touched a guy
on his japs eye
and did things to his bum
that made him beg for his mum.
I ate the flesh of a human
it tasted like Gary Numan
And had sex with a donkey…
…or was it a monkey?
*shrugs*
I snorted coke off the belly of a fat bloke
and came back for more
from a crack whore.
I tried group sex
with some geriatrics
hey, they might have been 82
but they still knew what to do.
Up skirt
down blouse
I like that camel toe
in your trous
2 girls one cup?
Give it here and I will sup.
I’ve tried solo sex
until I got blisters
but I’ll never have sex with the Nolan sisters.
He’s got worms in his eyes and a beetle up his nose.
He’s missing 3 fingers and 4 of his toes.
His flesh is rotting and his teeth have fallen out,
he’s lost both of his ears so if you speak you’ll have to shout
He smells like death and he’s empty of joy.
We’re talking of course about Little Corpse Boy.
He shuffles along after the sun goes down
scaring all the little boys and girls in town.
He loves to hear them scream and run in fear.
Or at least he might enjoy it if he had an eye or an ear.
He neither eats nor drinks so doesn’t have to wee or poo
he just shuffles along, and doesn’t even say boo.
No, all he’s ever wanted, is to be like me and you.
But many years ago he was killed by cancer.
And then was resurrected by a passing necromancer.
For the folks in town it was bringing them down.
They couldn’t go out at night in case they died of fright.
So they came up with a plan that would bring them joy.
They were going to get rid of the little corpse boy.
They chose a pretty little girl and dressed her in rags,
Then peeled off half her skin and made her look like a hag.
They plucked out her eye and broke one of her legs.
They had to make her attractive to the little boy that’s dead.
So one night when it got late, they sent her out as bait.
She hobbled around with nowhere to go
waiting for the little corpse boy to show
When she finally saw him through her one good eye.
she was so darned scared, she wanted to cry.
But she kept her nerve, she had to be brave.
’cause otherwise the Mayor had threatened to put her in her own grave.
So she moved a little closer to let him get her scent.
As for Little Corpse Boy, he thought this crippled wreck was heaven sent.
He’d finally found someone like himself, with many a scar and broken bone.
She was battered, scarred, lonely and alone.
All he wanted to do was take her home.
But she led him through town on the route she’d been shown.
Up into the field where the crops were grown.
The villagers were waiting with clubs and sacks.
And they covered his head and gave him plenty of whacks.
Then they tied him to a cross of sticks and hoisted him in the air.
Then planted him firmly in the ground with very little care.
The poor little girl could only watch and feel sad
She didn’t think the Corpse Boy was really that bad.
A little scary and smelly, yeah, that he may be
But now that she’d been broken, so was she.
The villagers turned to go when one looked at the girl
‘You know’, he said, ‘it might have been our doing, but she sure do make my toes curl’.
‘Me too’ said another, ‘She makes me want to hurl’
‘Look at her she looks just like a Little Corpse Girl.’
‘Oh dear’, said the girl.
Epilogue
And now, my dear friends, let me tell you a fact.
Do you want to know where the best fruit and veg grows?
It’s up in that field with its two scary scarecrows.
Never trust a bishop,
they wear funny clothes:
they like little boys
and look at you down their nose.
Men wearing dresses
should be in a tranny bar.
Not stood up on a Sunday
telling you how bad you are.
Confess all your sins,
all the sex and more.
While he plays with his willy
in the confession next door.
Yeah, tossing himself
in the booth next to you.
While you tell your indiscretions…
I bet you they do.
They’re not supposed to marry,
wank or have sex.
But if that were true they’d have balls
the size of a T-Rex.
They come round to your house
and stay for tea.
And ask your little nephew
to sit on their knee.
They bounce ’em up and down,
and it’s all just for fun.
But if anything else happens…
Don’t tell your Mum.
ELSE GOD’LL COME DOWN
AND STRIKE HER DEAD.
HE’LL CUT OUT HER HEART
AND PISS ON HER HEAD.
.
.
.
They’re hypocrites
and full of shit
and liars too.
Should we trust the bishops?
Well I don’t.
Do you?
In 41 years I’ve done so many gigs.
I’ve seen far many more than all the other kids.
I thought I’d done it all.
Seen all there is to see.
But then a certain old crooner
came calling to me.
He was the Jew who wrote the Bible,
he lived in a Tower of Song,
he wore a Famous Blue Raincoat
and never put a word wrong.
I decided to make the journey,
(well, more of a pilgrimage)
so I loaded up the car
and together we crossed the bridge.
I had to meet my brother.
my mate.
Our kid.
The fact I’d been the night before as well
was something that I hid.
We met in town,
we hung around.
Waiting for the show to start.
The lights went down
the curtain up.
The man did sing
and his voice we did sup.
His voice was velvet,
gravel and bass.
I doubt there was a dry eye
in the whole place.
He sang to my heart,
he sang to my soul.
Until that day…
I’d never been whole.
There was an intermission
we went out for a smoke.
We were filled with so much joy,
we hardly even spoke.
Then round two started,
we both went back inside.
Ready for the next part
of music’s greatest ride.
We took a walk down Boogie Street,
saw a Future that is Murder.
And then that honey coated voice
took us even further.
Raptured, captured, enslaved and caught.
Every line he sang to me.
Every word I bought.
It was the sound of an angel,
a devil and a man.
Surely no one sings like that?
Surely no one can?
But then the show was over,
we were the last to go.
There was nothing left to see or hear,
nothing else to know.
The stage door beckoned,
a handshake would have been nice.
But he’d already gone
and if we’d met him any way
we’d have prob’ly turned to ice.
So I got in the car,
our kid was on the bus.
And we waved goodbye to each other,
until we couldn’t see us.
I was heading home,
I hadn’t gone far.
When wouldn’t you know it,
Leonard Cohen killed my car.
He killed it with his voice
he killed it with a song.
Mr Peugeot knew as I did too.
Any gig after that would be wrong.
Its radiator wept
hot tears of steam.
A gasket blew and it lost its view
when it cracked its window screen.
The exhaust was exhausted,
the tyres were deflating.
Mr Peugeot knew,
as I did too,
this one was the king.
It had taken us to gigs
so near and far.
And I wonder if it was destiny
that Leonard Cohen killed my car.
So I sat by the side of the road,
waiting for the AA.
Whilst watching Mr Peugeot
bleed his life’s blood oil away.
We got towed back to our kids.
I stayed there for the night.
I met my bird the very next day,
she tried to make it right.
She wasted her voice,
she wasted her time.
That night of beauty,
was the car’s, our kid’s and mine.
So I left it there
for our kid to deal.
When he told me it’d been crushed,
Oh, it all became so real.
So farewell Mr Peugeot,
I drove you so far.
And I’ll never forget the day
that Leonard Cohen killed my car.
Heading down to London
for the Sawsound gig.
Driving in Shanti…
..That’s Harry’s rig.
There’s Seb & Kim
Ben and me
and Harry at the wheel,
raging at the road:
‘GET OUT OF THE WAY YOU FUCKING TOAD.’
We’ve gotta be there by five
if we want a sound check.
But look at this traffic..
Oh flippin’ ‘eck.
A service station pit stop
to gather the crew.
Then we’re gonna hafta bomb it
…but after this brew.
So then the convoy heads of
as fast as fuck.
With everyone arguing
over who’s gonna be Rubber Duck.
Breaker one nine
said the Duck to the Goose.
Get a bloody move on,
you’re driving like a moose.
But then disaster struck
about half way there.
And it was much much worse
than a bear in the air.
The music stopped,
we said change the CD.
He said, ‘I’ve only got one’
We screamed, ‘FUCK ME!!!’
Breaker one nine
said the Duck to the car in front.
We’ve only got one disc
they said, ‘You stupid…..person’
Panic set in,
I nearly shit me pants.
’cause there’s only so many times
I can listen to Eminem’s rants.
But then the day was saved
from a certain death blow.
Kim had her laptop,
She’s in a band, don’t you know.
So banging out tunes
with our foot full down.
While the golden sunset
poured honey on the ground.
Breaker one nine
said the Goose to the Duck.
You’re car looks like a disco.
WHAT THE FUCK???
———————–
With dodgy phones
and aching bones.
We made it to London
with it’s weird parking zones.
Drove around for hours
looking for a spot.
Cos their one-way systems so easy
……NOT
I can’t wait till I get old
and I smell of wee and poo.
’cause then I’ll get on the bus
and sit next to you.
I’ll jabber all the way
about all my friends deaths
while breathing in your face
with my stinky old breath.
I’ll moan about the youths
and shout at the kids,
‘Pull your bloody pants up.
I can nearly see your skids’
I’m gonna get in your way
and ignore everything you say.a href=Look at her she looks just like a Little Corpse Girl.
I’ll get selective hearing,
and, BOY will I start leering.
’cause I’m a harmless old fool
who poses no threat.
So I’m gonna look down your top
every chance I get.
I’m gonna order something
the shop don’t sell.
And when they don’t have it,
I’ll play merry hell.
I’ll swear and flick the V’s
and never say please.
’cause I’ll be old and grumpy and cantankerous too.
And whatever you say…I won’t listen to you.
You see I fought in the war
and earned my place.
To say whatever I want
and say it to your face.
So your music’s too loud
and your dress sense stinks.
Things were better in my day…
whatever you think.
She’s a big boobed barmaid bird
buxom and bountiful
and bouncy too.
Boing boing
go the breasts of bliss.
Beckoning blokes with balls.
‘Bring me those balloons’
begged Bertie Bassett.
‘Bloody bugger off’
berated the big boobed barmaid bird.
Buy a beer and blimp
but be warned, because
the big boobed barmaid bird
has bionic bazongas.
They’ll blind you by crikey
you bastard bikey
(that’s a pikey on a bike by the way)
Because blokes that blimp
big boobed barmaid bird’s boobies
belong behind bars.
So behave, be brave.
Be bold and don’t blink.
Just blimp those big boobed barmaid bird’s baps
Till you’re over the brink.
Do you all know Sarah?
She’s sitting over there-a
With her purple hair-a
You know,
the one that’s hotter than Christina Aguilara
She’s Miss Mana Nights
where she takes all the shots.
And makes the crowd and the bands
look hot.
She’s got a guy called Sean
that she loves from dusk till dawn.
And the feeling’s mutual…
…erm…but nothing rhymes with that.
Well she just turned twenty
just the other day.
And her teenage years
now prob’ly seem so far away.
Yeah, she’s no longer a teen
and I bet she thinks that’s mean.
But hey, wait till she catches up,
to this here old has been.
’cause she’s got many years to go
before retiring and being dead.
So hopefully in the meantime,
she’ll figure that fucking sofa bed.
So yeah she’s part of the family.
She’s one of the crew.
And I just wanna say mate,
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU.
You know our mate Sean,
he should be making porn.
Any girl sees him…
she gets the horn.
He’s prob’ly built like a mast
and I bet he can last,
our Sean.
From dusk. Till. Dawn.
He learnt from Q
a lot of what he knows.
And loves rock ‘n’ roll
from his head to his toes.
And now he plays the guitar, does Sean.
Just like Stevie Ray Vaughn.
Yeah, just like the master…
only faster.
He loves T from T
just like me.
And can even make a bed
from a fucking settee.
He’s a secret, stealthy ninja monkey
so don’t start on him else it’ll all get funky.
And if you do upset him,
you’d better quickly make it right.
’cause otherwise he’s gonna start,
a big old bar fight.
So let’s all praise
the day he was born.
And please join me in wishing
HAPPY BIRTHDAY SEAN.
She’s a lovely lady
That we all love
And I think she’s rather swell.
I once ‘did’ Charlie
Just so you know
But with my nose it played merry hell.
She’s a demon with a hockey stick
But doesn’t like no willy dick,
She’s got more sense than that.
She likes the proper things in life
Like a lovely fluffy
Pussy cat.
And on this day of her birth
Up in the sky
I hope she sees colours that glow.
‘Cause thanks to her mate Poppy
We now all know.
There’s always a pot of boobies
At the end of a lesbian rainbow.
But I bet she’ll never read this
And chuckle with mirth
Because, it’s on the Internet
And we all know…
Charlie don’t surf.
I want a fit bird
that the baddies can kidnap.
And as they drag her away I’ll shout,
“I’LL BE BACK.”
And I will.
With guns.
Lots of guns.
And as I shoot the baddies,
I’ll make witty puns.
I wanna say, ‘YIPPEE KI-YAY MOTHERFUCKER’
in a bad guy’s face
as I push him off the roof
and he falls through space.
I want a day off
with Ferris Beuller.
And to meet Steve McQueen
in the cooler.
I wanna fly through space
on the Starship Enterprise.
And be like Ray Miland
and have X-ray eyes.
I wanna drive a car in the sky
with Marty McFly.
And discover old bones
with Indiana Jones.
I want a Transformer
my own metal man.
Who’ll kick the shit out of baddies
and blow up everything he can.
I wanna travel in time
and chat with Einstein.
And help make a monster
with Baron Frankenstein.
I want Joe Strummer back alive,
Dimebag ‘n’ Gary Moore.
And to replace them dead…
Justin Beiber, JEdward, Rhianna, Cher Lloyd, Cheryl Cole…
…and oooh, so many more.
I want Simon ‘fucking’ Cowell,
whipped with a wet towel.
Then let’s disembowel,
the arrogant little shit.
I wanna smoke a spliff
the size of the sky.
Then go for a swim
in a massive custard pie
I wanna marry the sound
of Dave Gilmour’s guitar.
And have rock n roll babies with it
born in a star.
I want an end to war,
trouble and strife.
And Milla Jovovich
to be my wife.
I want to break free from your lies
You’re so self satisfied I don’t need you
I’ve want to break free
God knows, God knows I want to break free
I want. I want. I want…
I wanna play ping pong with king kong
Have a bar fight at night.
Injure a ninja.
Take tea with the queen.
Eat spaghetti with a yeti
and a lolly with Stan and Ollie.
.
.
.
But more than this – and above them all…
I want just one kiss – from Lauren Bacall.
Jesus was a hippy
Yippie-kay-a
He had a big beard
and wore sandals every day.
He didn’t have a job
just went from town to town.
And I bet he played his guitar
as the sun went down.
Mary, Mary
quite contrary
I’m gonna roll a ten-skinner
Do you dare me?
Matthew, Mark, Luke or John
Do us a favour
and put the
space cakes on
You see
He wore a kaf-tan
Preached peace and love
and I bet his favourite bird
was a pure white dove.
He was a chilled out, laid back
hippy kinda guy.
Who wasn’t a spaceman
and didn’t come from the sky.
Half a glass of Jack
and an empty bottle of pills
are all that’s left
on the dead-fly window sills.
We’re in a dingy basement,
dark, quiet
and with melancholy rife.
Witnessing the end
of a lonely girl’s life.
She tried to fit in
from the day she was born
but she always knew
she’d never be the norm
Kids at school would
always make fun.
Things that didn’t help
were no breasts and a dead Mum.
Bullied in the playground
abused at home.
But none of it touched
her empty soul.
She had greasy hair
and a dead girl stare.
Wrapped in the frame
of a stick thin crane.
Work didn’t change her
it only made her stranger.
She toiled every day
whilst
wishing her life away.
Colleagues made jokes,
the girls and the blokes.
Thinkin’ she was a sport
with no regard to what she thought.
Water off a ducks back
is what they’d say
not knowing that she stored
every jibe away.
She had a seething cauldron
deep inside.
where she stashed the hurt
that she tried to hide.
She was a pressure cooker
waitin’ to blow
But this was something
no one else could know.
So the slings and arrows,
she weathered them well.
Whilst living inside
her own personal hell.
Things weren’t always bad though.
They’d sometimes start off good.
Until she found the guy she’d met
wanted her blood.
He’d use her
abuse her.
Make her feel like a kid.
Rememberin’ all the bad things
her foster folks did.
And at work next day
she’d explain it away.
By sayin’ that she fell down the stairs
yet again and again and again and again
AND AGAAAAAAAIIINNNN.
—————————————
It wasn’t always misery
in this girl’s life though.
She had a moment of beauty
(not that you’d know)
He was a random stranger,
tried to save her from a fight.
he actually stood up for her,
she knew THAT wasn’t right.
She could tell he wasn’t used to it:
takin’ the shit.
She saved him from savin’ her:
She took the hit.
Her blood had flown,
and he took her home.
She expected nothin’ less
than the usual abusive mess.
But his touch was tender
as he tried to tend her.
And he never even once
tried to offend her.
He got her cleaned up,
she poured him a beer in a cup.
But they had little to say
so she sent him on his way.
But she thought of him
next day and all night.
And how she’d saved him,
from her fight.
So she asked him over
about two weeks later.
And he came round
and didn’t hate her.
For the first time in her life
she found someone she liked.
someone to confide in,
without expectin’ a hidin’.
They got on well
through the next weeks of hell.
But the peace couldn’t last
she’d already breathed her last.
Then the final day dawned
and the world just yawned.
It had no idea
it was losin’ a dreamer.
She called the guy
Said, do you wanna come by?
He said, course I do
She said, I’ll confide in you.
That night was intense:
She told him what she meant.
The guy he sobbed
but of death, she wouldn’t be robbed.
She told him of her life
with all its strife.
He said, the future’s bright
She said, That’s utter shite.
All her scars were displayed
she told how they were made.
Internal.
External.
And all points in between.
He tried every way
to make her see sense.
But the darkness inside her
was far to dense.
She threatened,
cajoled
begged & pleaded.
Leaving this life
was what she needed.
You have a choice, she said
to his messed up head:
I’m gonna go away
no matter what you say.
So you can be my mate
and my exit gate.
Or you can say no to me
and I’ll hate you
for etern-ity.
And thus she wore him down
with her tales of woe.
Until he finally agreed
to let her go.
He was going to let her take
that final train.
So she’d never have to fall
down the stairs yet again and again and again and again and
AGAAAAIIINNNN.
———————————-
She came over to the sofa,
laid her head in his lap.
and despite the beer and drugs
even managed a nap.
But then she woke up screaming.
with her head still in his lap.
Thought the bad times were back
and gave him a slap.
But then she saw who she had hit
and felt like shit.
So paid the price
with a kitchen knife.
He didn’t say a word,
just tended the wounded bird.
She said, It’s time to go.
He said, I love you, you know
There was silence in the room.
He didn’t dare breath.
Then she said, Don’t ever use those
fucking words again to me.
Love is something nice
and full of beauty.
And it doesn’t belong
to the likes of me.
Now I’d like you to go,
I need to be alone.
And what happens to night
Is…
well…
right.
At the door she hugged him
and held him tight.
Then in his ear she whispered,
Good night, my Knight.
All you need is the armour
from your head to your feet,
and you, my Prince,
will be complete.
But be careful with THOSE words
they stab like swords.
Don’t use them like this:
They’re the Devil’s kiss
Now do me one last thing,
before you let me be.
Remember not what I am
but how you see me.
And with that he walked out
into the night.
Not knowing if he was a coward
or a shining Knight.
And in the basement all was still.
And on the window sill.
Was half a glass of Jack
and an empty bottle of pills.
.
.
And walking in the distance.
under the pouring rain.
Was the only memory
of a lonely girl’s pain.
So banging out tunes
with our foot full down.
While the golden sunset
poured honey on the ground.
Breaker one nine
said the Goose to the Duck.
Youiss.
em up and down,
and it
ll all get funky.
And if you do upset him,
yousee me.
“Has there been anybody inside?”
Asked the talking corpse outside.
“Oh gracious, no”
Said the empty soul
“There’s no-one in here but me.”
“That’s just as well”
Said the voice from hell
“For an empty soul is cold”
Quiet and dark and empty.
No love to keep them warm.
Just the way I like them
As dead as the day they were born.
“Have you had any feelings lately?”
“like joy or faith or hope?”
“Oh gracious, no”
Said the soul once again.
“Only the usual pain”
“That’s just as well”
Said the voice from hell
“For a painful soul is cold”
Quiet and dark and empty.
No love to keep them warm.
Just the way I like them
As dead as the day they were born.
“Have you touched anybody lately?”
“But not in the physical way”
“Oh gracious, yes”
Said the soul, for a change
“but I seem to cause dismay”
“That’s just as well”
Said the voice from hell
“For a dismal soul is cold”
Quiet and dark and empty.
No love to keep them warm.
Just the way I like them
As dead as the day they were born.
“Have you had any passion lately,
From anyone to you”
“Once again, no”
Said the crumbling soul
“Nothing to make me whole”
“That’s just as well”
Said the voice from hell
“For a wholesome soul’s not cold”
Quiet and dark and empty.
No love to keep them warm.
Just the way I like them
As dead as the day they were born.
“Have you thought on my proposal,
How I can make you warm?”
“I trust in you”
Said the broken soul
“How could that cause more harm?”
“That’s just as well”
Said the voice from hell
“For I would not lie to a soul so cold”
Quiet and dark and empty.
No love to keep them warm.
Just the way I like them
As dead as the day they were born.
“Have you taken your medication?
And laid your head to sleep?
“Oh yes indeed”
Said the dying Soul
“I’ll soon be yours to keep”
“That’s just as well”
Said the voice from hell
“For my soul is also cold”
Quiet and dark and empty.
No love to keep us warm.
Just the way we like it
As dead as the day we were born.
It comes out of the mist,
all silent and stealthy.
It kills the poor,
an’ it kills the wealthy.
Is it a beast?
Or is it a man?
It’s neither dude;
it’s Ninja Sam.
Kickin’ ass here
and kickin’ ass there
it’s Tired Little Sam
in her ninja underwear.
She’s faster than Leon
and twice as hard
you won’t even see her
till she’s punched your card.
No women, no kids?
No way, fuck that.
She’ll clean you and your kids
and even your cat.
Yeah, she’s Secret Ninja Sam
and if I were you I’d cower.
’cause she could even kill
Jack. Fucking. Bower
People seem to like me
Why don’t I?
They say I do good things
I only see bad.
They like me
I don’t.
It’s as simple as that.
What can I do to change this
what can I do to be good?
I try to do right
It always backfires.
I seem to do wrong
and it’s always my fault.
I annoy my friends
I piss them off.
I love them whatever
why don’t they?
I’m me
they’re them
I make no bones
I love them whatever
Why don’t they?
They sometimes annoy me
even pee me off.
I couldn’t give a shit
They’re my friends you see.
They like me
I don’t
It’s as simple as that.
What can I do to change this
What can I do to be good?
I’m running out of options
I’m running out of time.
One day I’ll get too annoyed
and then I’ll be gone.
(Annoyed at me
but never at them)
I couldn’t hate them
if you paid me to
I can only hope they’ll understand
I can only hope they’ll know.
They like me
I don’t
It’s as simple as that.
What can I do to change this
What can I do to be good?
I love them more
than they love me.
I love them more
then they’ll ever know.
At moments I see
through these suicide filters
But they’re usually just glimpses
of the other side.
They like me
I don’t
It’s as simple as that.
What can I do to change this
What can I do to be good?
Tell me what can I do to change this
Tell me what can I do to be good?
The blood & the pain
Together again.
Like two old friends
from back in the day.
“I missed you mate”
“I missed you too”
I never thought I’d miss
the pair of you.
But I welcome you back
with open arms.
You both embrace them
with your special charms.
It’s good to have you home
back where you belong.
’cause since you both been gone
Every thing’s gone wrong.
so come into my house
come into my home.
I’ll close the curtains
and I’ll hang up the phone.
Sit down there next to me.
And I’ll play with you
if you’ll play with me….
This is the way
it was meant to be.
You silly old fucker,
where are you now?
You’re wallowing in your own piss,
covered in shit.
You’re dripping blood,
you’re full of scars.
What planet are you on?
It must be fucking Mars.
You broke your own hand
when you punched the door.
How much pain do you need?
“Plenty, plenty more?”
You cut your leg,
you burn your arm.
What good does it do,
to do yourself harm?
You do it and you do it,
’til you end up screamin’
do you really think
it gives your life meaning?
Stop it now,
put away the knife.
Before you end up
takin’ your own life.
You’re on a ‘Downward Spiral’
‘Straight to Hell’.
Just like Trent said……
and Joe, as well.
Pain should be measured,
but never self pleasured.
It’s what people do to you.
Not what YOU do to you.
Stop it now
and stop it fast.
Cos your friends are scared
that you wont last.
We all still love you
even if you don’t know.
so please give it up
‘cos we’d hate for you to go.
Yes, please give it up
cos we love you…..you know?
I like who I was, not who I am.
Since ten years ago I’m a very different man.
Am I grown up or am I grown old?
I no longer fear the heat and I embrace the cold.
I can no longer say who I am today.
I’m lost in a world of hurt and pain.
And I doubt if I’ll ever see
the light again.
My friends don’t know it
They only see it.
If they’d been there, they’d be more fair.
‘Stead of looking in my face
and seein only my disgrace.
There’s a person inside, all this pain.
And I’d really like to see, the light again.
Somebody find me.
Somebody save me.
Somebody please….
rescue me.
All I really need is a friend indeed
Yes a friend indeed, is all I need.
Me legs are hurtin,
my arms are on fire.
I’m stuck in the mud,
I’m in a mental mire.
My brain doesn’t do
what I want it to.
It tells me fibs
and it feeds me lies.
Outside this shell
I know not what lies.
I hear different things,
to what people say.
I hear, You’re a fool
but they’re sayin, You’re OK.
I’ve got suicide filters
running through my brain
They’re tellin’ me nothin’
will ever be as good again.
I know it’s not true,
I try not to listen.
But enough gets through,
to make the knife glisten.
I pick it up.
I look in it’s eye.
It says to me,
I don’t want you to die
I trust it and I thrust it
both at the same time.
Before I know it,
I’ve crossed the line.
There’s no going back.
It’s way too late.
I never should have dug
that old Self Hate.
It’s your god-damned worst, fuckin’ enemy.
Please don’t trust it……..
Trust ME.creation
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