What If I Let Go
What if I let go
Take a ride
Shove off the side
With straining heels?
What if I let go
Give doubt a miss
Tip open this
Unchastened heart?
What if I let go
Of compromise
And alibis
And easy laughs?
What if I let go
Would I lose
My gift to shmooze
The casual eye?
What if I let go
Would the lines
I crossed define
A lonely space?
What if I let go
And form the words
That go unheard
Even by me?
What if I let go
Of every lie
I've lived byCould I hold on?
Day 21
Bank Holiday
When we got to Uncle Bernard’s farm
We’d tumble from the car, a screaming rush
Tear over cobblestones and chicken shit
To where the piglets rolled and squeaked and sucked
And Aunty Nancy’s kitchen, deep and warm
One corner full of eggs set out to hatch
Drawer on drawer of tippy-tappy shells
Cracking miracles for urban eyes
And then we'd trip across the rutted ground
Adventuring the tall, forbidden stacks
Vast towers, golden castles made for kids
To court the dangers of invincible youth
Once I holed-up quiet, at the edge
My brothers calling out my fugitive name
Till green turned grey and warm turned into chill
And I was found and scolded, cuddled, kissed
And in the evening everyone would come
With beers and smokes and tins of Quality Street
And I would sit on Granny's useless legs
As she smiled and pinched my puppy-fatted thighs
Dandelion and Burdock for the tots
And just a drop for Aunty Jenny's gin
And then we'd find the Welshness in our bones
Mafanwy, Bread of Heaven, Kum By Ya
And sometimes I'd steal through the kitchen door
My bare feet stealthy on the moonlit tiles
And cup a new-born chick in tender hands
As harmonies came singing through the walls
Day 20
Stage Fright
Each blunder is a blessing
It means that you’re progressing
It means that there’s one less mistake to make
Don’t worry if you screw it
Cuz it’s a chance to do it
Much better when they cue the second take
Remember you’re just human
It isn’t wise to rumin- ate
On all the things you know should have gone better
Like that last line not scanning
But it’ll work - I’m planning
A live performance poem, not a letter
Some prefer to carp on
And criticize and harp on
Than do something themselves for other’s pleasure
The mediocre love to
Pretend that they’re above you
But don’t listen - you're a real treasure
Everybody fumbles
Everybody stumbles
Except the ones who do nothing at all
So cherish every fuck up
Don’t get scared and chuck –up
They’re lucky you’re on stage - so have a ball
Day 19
Each blunder is a blessing
It means that you’re progressing
It means that there’s one less mistake to make
Don’t worry if you screw it
Cuz it’s a chance to do it
Much better when they cue the second take
Remember you’re just human
It isn’t wise to rumin- ate
On all the things you know should have gone better
Like that last line not scanning
But it’ll work - I’m planning
A live performance poem, not a letter
Some prefer to carp on
And criticize and harp on
Than do something themselves for other’s pleasure
The mediocre love to
Pretend that they’re above you
But don’t listen - you're a real treasure
Everybody fumbles
Everybody stumbles
Except the ones who do nothing at all
So cherish every fuck up
Don’t get scared and chuck –up
They’re lucky you’re on stage - so have a ball
Day 19
Stratford Shine
From the early carriage I catch the morning sun
It bounces off the griminess of Stratford's filthy hum
The girls in almost nothing, the guys' half-furtive glances
The cats basking on high-topped window-ledges, taking chances
The shopping centre isn't cool but then it never has been
Not unless you want cheap shoes or plastic stems of Jasmine
The buggies roll their whining way among the pound store aisles
Iced-lollies shoved in infant mouths to guarantee their smiles
And then into the Broadway's knock-off stalls and burger smells
It's apt the church there plays a loop of pre-recorded bells
The tufted land around it is the only hint of green
If you scrubbed till 2012, you couldn't get it clean
So this is the Olympian dream, the centre of the action
They've spent a zillion quid to try to make it an attraction
But when the hoo-hah's over and all the medals won
The only thing still shiny here will be the fucking sun
Day 18
On Love
I love deeply
Don't judge me by my smutty, light refrains
I’m a big fat ache of throbbing love
For family, for friends
I love every lover to the breathless,
Full-orchestral, ride into the sunset,
Big screen end
I love deeply
It's an in yer face, no messin’, starry beam
When those sweet souls kiss me in their different ways
Or throw unlooked for smiles, scattering light
The ocean's sheer abyss is nothing much
I love deeply
No, really
Don't be fooled by all that shallow stuff
I am a mine of love, packed tight
Constellations of unpolished gems
Lie here unclaimed beneath the vulgar guff
In seams much too far down
To be unearthed
Day 17
When England played against the USA
They put up a projector screen on the office notice board
And soon there was a roar and I knew Ing-Ger-Land had scored
But I was thinking of a lover I knew I'd soon be losing
Of other games, unsettled scores, and penalties, and choosing
Not to curl up in a ball but be bawdy and amusing
When England played against the USA
I moved across the office floor to try some joining in
Smiling back at friendly nods in the Vuvuzela's din
But I was thinking of the way a match can instantly ignite
How one pass, one touch, one scrambling sole can set the ground alight
A violent conflagration, very brief, but very bright
When England played against the USA
Day 16
They put up a projector screen on the office notice board
And soon there was a roar and I knew Ing-Ger-Land had scored
But I was thinking of a lover I knew I'd soon be losing
Of other games, unsettled scores, and penalties, and choosing
Not to curl up in a ball but be bawdy and amusing
When England played against the USA
I moved across the office floor to try some joining in
Smiling back at friendly nods in the Vuvuzela's din
But I was thinking of the way a match can instantly ignite
How one pass, one touch, one scrambling sole can set the ground alight
A violent conflagration, very brief, but very bright
When England played against the USA
Day 16
Fear of Increased Warfare as Drone Market Explodes (TV Headline)
They cost ten times less than a plane
But killing wise they're just the same
Except that they're not quite as pristine
For every fighter killed there's fifteen
Innocent civilians dead
The order books are running red
Even better, you can lie
Claim you didn't make it fly
Blame it on the other side
And gloat that none of our boys died
There's not much international law
On waging bloody robot war
But if we've got the wherewithal
The fly them anywhere at all
When not send some drones with food in
Break the mould and change the mood
In places harsher than we know?
That might be a way to go
Use the drones to shower bounty
On each province, town or county
Blankets, water, loads to eat
And something soothing for their feet
And back it up with helicopters
Stuffed with medicines and doctors
I've been told I'm just naive
It's stupid of me to believe
That 'Drones For Peace' could stand a chance
I get derided for my stance
But I have serious doubts on whether
Bombing's proving any better
Day 15
They cost ten times less than a plane
But killing wise they're just the same
Except that they're not quite as pristine
For every fighter killed there's fifteen
Innocent civilians dead
The order books are running red
Even better, you can lie
Claim you didn't make it fly
Blame it on the other side
And gloat that none of our boys died
There's not much international law
On waging bloody robot war
But if we've got the wherewithal
The fly them anywhere at all
When not send some drones with food in
Break the mould and change the mood
In places harsher than we know?
That might be a way to go
Use the drones to shower bounty
On each province, town or county
Blankets, water, loads to eat
And something soothing for their feet
And back it up with helicopters
Stuffed with medicines and doctors
I've been told I'm just naive
It's stupid of me to believe
That 'Drones For Peace' could stand a chance
I get derided for my stance
But I have serious doubts on whether
Bombing's proving any better
Day 15
Bus Stop Casanova
Jesus, whatcha doin' mate?
Just take yer foul paws off me
You seem surprised I'm unenthralled
By your attempts to boff me
No you cannot have a blow job
Cop a feel or a snog
I'd rather suck on broken glass
Than your untoothsome knob
My orifices aren't inclined
To stick your sad manhood in
What makes you think I'd want to touch
That dreary purple pudding?
Now listen Casanova
Go and get yourself a cab
I don't care how pissed up you are
You can't eat this kebab
Now rejection turns you nasty
And I'm ugly and despised
Still, I'd rather have a rabid dog than you
Between my thighs
Your insults bounce right off me
Fucking off would be my pleasure
And if the only man around is you
I am a lezza.
Day 14
He was all dressed in Armani with Italian leather shoes
Ingeniously customized for demonic, cloven hooves
He curled a taloned finger and I found myself drawn in:
Are you listening carefully, he said then I’ll begin:
You aren’t a wicked woman you shouldn’t be heading for Hell
But I have to say that, so far, you ain’t doin’ so well
You’re not too bad on most points the major mortal sins
But God’s not very happy with the sexual shenanigans
You accuse all men of being almost permanently priapic
But you and I are well aware that you’re the one who’s at it
Now, personally, I like a bit of rank hypocrisy
But God says knock it on the head or you’ll barbecue with me
He paused, his fetid, smokey breath filling up the air
Whilst I tried to look repentant, but he said – Hey! Don’t go there
Your inner thoughts are on display to devils and to deities
And by the way, they’re depravities, those thoughts you’re calling frailties
You need to reconsider your perilous moral state
Your memories alone mean I should burn you at the stake
And as for all those fantasies, I’m Beelzebub - and I blushed
Does your clit never take a holiday? Does your bush never get, well, bushed?
I shrugged a heavy shoulder - put my chips aside
And said Listen Mr Satan try to understand my side
It’s true that my libido could rival any rabbit’s
But God made me in his image, right? So what about his habits?
Why give me all these urges then tell me to desist?
He may be feeling tetchy but I am really quite pissed
Frankly, as he’s omnipresent it’s the outside of enough
To chide me for my wanderings when he’s up every chuff
The Devil sighed, igniting several comfy chairs
And said, That’s quite a novel view, but not one that God shares
He sent me as a warning because he cares for you
But if you choose to blank it, there’s not much I can do
Dousing down the upholstery, I said Thank you for the tips
But I’d rather come downstairs with you than put away my tits
The thing about that Heaven is, none of my mates’ll be there
So I’d like to book a place with you if you’ve got one you could spare
The Devil pondered my requestfrom his damply smouldering seat
Then grinning, moved in closer and said, You’re very sweet
I like a girl who’s not afraid of going the whole hog
Day 13- WARNING - If you are offended by 4 letter words beginning with C, I have thoughtfully provided some of these **.
Dream
I have a dream
And you can make it come true
This isn't exactly a poem
Although it may seem superfically like a poem
Because it comes from the heart
My heart
Reaching out to you
There is a game
Oh,
So exquistly simple
That I long to share with you
And here,
Here is the promised land
I've dreamed of bringing it to
I hope the creative minds out there
Will let their light shine through
And this, if you are so inclined
Is all you have to do...
Think of a title from a film or book
Something we'll all know
And swap one word with C**t or C**ts
To change the narrative flow
So, for example - Gorrilas in the C**t
Is a most refreshing twist
(Though I think it's funnier the other way - as in
C**ts in the Mist)
I hope you see the way this goes
Have you got the gist?
Ok then, if you've got the time
Feel free to start a list...
Day 12
Revenge
I used to be a kindly girl
With no revenge to cool
But recently I’ve come to think
I’ve been a fuckin' fool
Why should you get away with it
Why should you go scot free
Why shouldn’t you be damned to Hell
In perpetuity?
You stole my heart, you stole my soul
You stole my credit card
It’s time to roll my sleeves up
And come down really hard
I’ll start with a couple of phone calls -
The Inland Revenue
Is bound to be quite interested
In what I know about you
I’ll give the benefit line a ring
They’re sure to be enthralled
By all those times you were signing-on
Whilst holidaying abroad
And the police will want to have a word
Once I lead them to your dope
Then there’s the CSA and the Council tax
You haven’t got a hope
And then I’ll flex my fingers
Across the internet
You never did change your passwords -
Did you think that I’d forget?
I’ll email all those juicy sites
To everyone you know
And all those webcam moments ...
I saved – didn’t you know?
I’m certain friends and family
Would love you all the better
If they knew you like to get a slap
Whilst dressed up as 'Loretta'
You said you left because I failed
To love you like I should
So I’m gonna try to right that wrong
And really fuck you good.
Day 11
Last Night
Just before the first spring day surrenders Vicky Park
I tramp across a bumpy mulch of trees
The low-slung light
A spangled, watery balm
Spills orange charms across the daffodils
I sink into the musk and spicy earth
Grow cooler under heavy-lidded skies
Can almost hear the budding soil at work
Beneath the edging traffic’s sterile hum
Home then, along the shabby-netted streets
But even here the slabs are crazed with green
And blossom trees nod sighs of infant pink
To coloured pots that dot the flaking sills
Day 10
Poetry Night
I'm pigging on poets
Glugging poetry wine
Snorting a big fat poetry line
Striking up a poetry smoke
Taking a nifty poetry toke
A poetry party
In my poetry throat
It's a poetry jam
It's a poetry pie
No poetry joke
Hear my poetry cry
It's a poetry thang
Dig that poetry funk
Fuck that poetry slam
This is poetry dunk
I'm poetry high
I'm poetry drunk
See my poetry lips?
That's poetry spunk
That is
shIT
When my washing machine goes wrong
Somebody comes to repair it
They don't expect me to know how it works
Nor do they attempt to share it
They leave me relaxed in my ignorance
I pay them a fee
And when it's done they leave, I wash
That's how it's meant to be
But when my PC's on the blink
Different rules pertain
They ask me if I've tried to switch it off
And on again
They ask for serial numbers
Always found right at the back
At the bottom, 40 digits long -
So I'm kneeling like a twat
With a phone clasped in my left hand
And a torch clasped in my right
Whilst they bark out cryptic orders
Getting me to do their shite
I'm a girl of many talents
It isn't that I'm daft
But I object when IBM
Seconds me to their staff
I don't care how the fucker works
I couldn't give a wank
I can't locate my interest
In your database/file/bank
Just get the bastard working please
Put on your anorak
And get your arse round my place
Why can't you manage that?
Why do I have to click and save
And import/download bits?
The IT mafia, figuratively
Is getting on my tits
It may be fascinating if you're electronic-ee
But I don't make you sit through
Fucking hours of poetry
I couldn't be less curious
It's not like it's a crime
So just shut up and fix it
Or I'll have to go off-line
Fruedian Sleep
I dreamed I fed you honey
Your mouth an amber sigh
But I slipped when it got runny
And the spoon took out your eye
Not Quite
When you're just a saggy bag of flailing hormones
It's hard to feel alluring in a basque
Especially when you just..can't . quite.. get in it
Cuz you can't.. quite.. reach. the fucking, bastard clasp
Day 9
Later
Later, under London's stoic Eye
I slip aglisten from your knowing arms
A film star frame, our silhouetted kiss
Against the sleepy wheel's ravishing blue
Then, ragged as the river's pitch and swell
I rattle down the urgent last train steps
To ride in hurtling light and thundering sound
Along the midnight city's thrilling veins
Another rush beneath new-bruising skin
My raging blood some fresh, miraculous brew
When slick across my neon-haloed mouth
Salt finger tips give up the taste of you
Day 8
Day 6
Bum Fun
I want to tell you frankly, though it may cause a hum
There isn’t much in heaven or earth I love more than a bum
My penchant isn’t primitive – I’d say it’s elemental
There’s lots of us who like a taste of something fundament-al
That Shakespeare liked a backside; he said so in a speech
Or why would he have penned that line – Once more unto the breach?
Some people like a shapely leg or hair that’s wild and lush
But I’ve a flair for derriere, for empennage, for tush
Once you’ve had my special touch, it doesn’t get forgotten
I am the Empress of all things concerning sex and bottom
I want to spread it open, I want to squeeze it shut
I want to play for hours and hours with your delightful butt
I’m not like other women, attention–seeking-ly
I like it when you come to bed and turn your back on me
If you don’t like insertion, I’ll just flick round the rim
And snog it like the star it is, (whilst avoiding going in)
Or if you like it deeper then likewise, I’m your girl
If you want a garden hose up there then I’ll give it a whirl
I’ll do relaxed and gentle, I’ll do ready and rough
As long as you are happy lying face down in the buff
I don’t have any nasty bugs, there’s no need to be wary
I’m not a syphilitic or some kind of Sigmoid Mary
So if you’d like to learn some more or put paid to your fear
Let me know and later on I’ll meet you in the rear
I hope you haven't been bummed out - it's just a cheeky rant
I’m off to do the paperwork for my Arse Council grant
Day 5
Day 2
Day 1
Day 1
Jesus, whatcha doin' mate?
Just take yer foul paws off me
You seem surprised I'm unenthralled
By your attempts to boff me
No you cannot have a blow job
Cop a feel or a snog
I'd rather suck on broken glass
Than your untoothsome knob
My orifices aren't inclined
To stick your sad manhood in
What makes you think I'd want to touch
That dreary purple pudding?
Now listen Casanova
Go and get yourself a cab
I don't care how pissed up you are
You can't eat this kebab
Now rejection turns you nasty
And I'm ugly and despised
Still, I'd rather have a rabid dog than you
Between my thighs
Your insults bounce right off me
Fucking off would be my pleasure
And if the only man around is you
I am a lezza.
Day 14
Devil-ishI was minding my own business, eating chips - watching TV
So I was fairly unprepared when the Devil came to tea
He didn’t play the big guy or stand on ceremony
Just flicked his tail, took a seat and fixed his eye on me
So I was fairly unprepared when the Devil came to tea
He didn’t play the big guy or stand on ceremony
Just flicked his tail, took a seat and fixed his eye on me
He was all dressed in Armani with Italian leather shoes
Ingeniously customized for demonic, cloven hooves
He curled a taloned finger and I found myself drawn in:
Are you listening carefully, he said then I’ll begin:
You aren’t a wicked woman you shouldn’t be heading for Hell
But I have to say that, so far, you ain’t doin’ so well
You’re not too bad on most points the major mortal sins
But God’s not very happy with the sexual shenanigans
You accuse all men of being almost permanently priapic
But you and I are well aware that you’re the one who’s at it
Now, personally, I like a bit of rank hypocrisy
But God says knock it on the head or you’ll barbecue with me
It is a tad unfortunate but I don’t make the rules
That stuff’ll mean you end up where it never, ever, cools
Those (rather disturbing) erotic thoughts that come, as it were, to you -
Are they really worth eternity in a fire and brimstone stew?
That stuff’ll mean you end up where it never, ever, cools
Those (rather disturbing) erotic thoughts that come, as it were, to you -
Are they really worth eternity in a fire and brimstone stew?
He paused, his fetid, smokey breath filling up the air
Whilst I tried to look repentant, but he said – Hey! Don’t go there
Your inner thoughts are on display to devils and to deities
And by the way, they’re depravities, those thoughts you’re calling frailties
You need to reconsider your perilous moral state
Your memories alone mean I should burn you at the stake
And as for all those fantasies, I’m Beelzebub - and I blushed
Does your clit never take a holiday? Does your bush never get, well, bushed?
I shrugged a heavy shoulder - put my chips aside
And said Listen Mr Satan try to understand my side
It’s true that my libido could rival any rabbit’s
But God made me in his image, right? So what about his habits?
Why give me all these urges then tell me to desist?
He may be feeling tetchy but I am really quite pissed
Frankly, as he’s omnipresent it’s the outside of enough
To chide me for my wanderings when he’s up every chuff
The Devil sighed, igniting several comfy chairs
And said, That’s quite a novel view, but not one that God shares
He sent me as a warning because he cares for you
But if you choose to blank it, there’s not much I can do
Dousing down the upholstery, I said Thank you for the tips
But I’d rather come downstairs with you than put away my tits
The thing about that Heaven is, none of my mates’ll be there
So I’d like to book a place with you if you’ve got one you could spare
The Devil pondered my requestfrom his damply smouldering seat
Then grinning, moved in closer and said, You’re very sweet
I like a girl who’s not afraid of going the whole hog
So I smiled into his hot-coal eyes -
And gave the Beast a snog.
Day 13- WARNING - If you are offended by 4 letter words beginning with C, I have thoughtfully provided some of these **.
Dream
I have a dream
And you can make it come true
This isn't exactly a poem
Although it may seem superfically like a poem
Because it comes from the heart
My heart
Reaching out to you
There is a game
Oh,
So exquistly simple
That I long to share with you
And here,
Here is the promised land
I've dreamed of bringing it to
I hope the creative minds out there
Will let their light shine through
And this, if you are so inclined
Is all you have to do...
Think of a title from a film or book
Something we'll all know
And swap one word with C**t or C**ts
To change the narrative flow
So, for example - Gorrilas in the C**t
Is a most refreshing twist
(Though I think it's funnier the other way - as in
C**ts in the Mist)
I hope you see the way this goes
Have you got the gist?
Ok then, if you've got the time
Feel free to start a list...
Day 12
Revenge
I used to be a kindly girl
With no revenge to cool
But recently I’ve come to think
I’ve been a fuckin' fool
Why should you get away with it
Why should you go scot free
Why shouldn’t you be damned to Hell
In perpetuity?
You stole my heart, you stole my soul
You stole my credit card
It’s time to roll my sleeves up
And come down really hard
I’ll start with a couple of phone calls -
The Inland Revenue
Is bound to be quite interested
In what I know about you
I’ll give the benefit line a ring
They’re sure to be enthralled
By all those times you were signing-on
Whilst holidaying abroad
And the police will want to have a word
Once I lead them to your dope
Then there’s the CSA and the Council tax
You haven’t got a hope
And then I’ll flex my fingers
Across the internet
You never did change your passwords -
Did you think that I’d forget?
I’ll email all those juicy sites
To everyone you know
And all those webcam moments ...
I saved – didn’t you know?
I’m certain friends and family
Would love you all the better
If they knew you like to get a slap
Whilst dressed up as 'Loretta'
You said you left because I failed
To love you like I should
So I’m gonna try to right that wrong
And really fuck you good.
Day 11
Last Night
Just before the first spring day surrenders Vicky Park
I tramp across a bumpy mulch of trees
The low-slung light
A spangled, watery balm
Spills orange charms across the daffodils
I sink into the musk and spicy earth
Grow cooler under heavy-lidded skies
Can almost hear the budding soil at work
Beneath the edging traffic’s sterile hum
Home then, along the shabby-netted streets
But even here the slabs are crazed with green
And blossom trees nod sighs of infant pink
To coloured pots that dot the flaking sills
Poetry Night
I'm pigging on poets
Glugging poetry wine
Snorting a big fat poetry line
Striking up a poetry smoke
Taking a nifty poetry toke
A poetry party
In my poetry throat
It's a poetry jam
It's a poetry pie
No poetry joke
Hear my poetry cry
It's a poetry thang
Dig that poetry funk
Fuck that poetry slam
This is poetry dunk
I'm poetry high
I'm poetry drunk
See my poetry lips?
That's poetry spunk
That is
shIT
When my washing machine goes wrong
Somebody comes to repair it
They don't expect me to know how it works
Nor do they attempt to share it
They leave me relaxed in my ignorance
I pay them a fee
And when it's done they leave, I wash
That's how it's meant to be
But when my PC's on the blink
Different rules pertain
They ask me if I've tried to switch it off
And on again
They ask for serial numbers
Always found right at the back
At the bottom, 40 digits long -
So I'm kneeling like a twat
With a phone clasped in my left hand
And a torch clasped in my right
Whilst they bark out cryptic orders
Getting me to do their shite
I'm a girl of many talents
It isn't that I'm daft
But I object when IBM
Seconds me to their staff
I don't care how the fucker works
I couldn't give a wank
I can't locate my interest
In your database/file/bank
Just get the bastard working please
Put on your anorak
And get your arse round my place
Why can't you manage that?
Why do I have to click and save
And import/download bits?
The IT mafia, figuratively
Is getting on my tits
It may be fascinating if you're electronic-ee
But I don't make you sit through
Fucking hours of poetry
I couldn't be less curious
It's not like it's a crime
So just shut up and fix it
Or I'll have to go off-line
Fruedian Sleep
I dreamed I fed you honey
Your mouth an amber sigh
But I slipped when it got runny
And the spoon took out your eye
Not Quite
When you're just a saggy bag of flailing hormones
It's hard to feel alluring in a basque
Especially when you just..can't . quite.. get in it
Cuz you can't.. quite.. reach. the fucking, bastard clasp
Day 9
Later
Later, under London's stoic Eye
I slip aglisten from your knowing arms
A film star frame, our silhouetted kiss
Against the sleepy wheel's ravishing blue
Then, ragged as the river's pitch and swell
I rattle down the urgent last train steps
To ride in hurtling light and thundering sound
Along the midnight city's thrilling veins
Another rush beneath new-bruising skin
My raging blood some fresh, miraculous brew
When slick across my neon-haloed mouth
Salt finger tips give up the taste of you
Day 8
Not Summer
Hackney stinks like something going bad
Cheap chicken joints, a fat bin-bag decay
And, drifting through, a Sensimillia fug
The stench of dogs that strut the Narrow Way
Not summer, yet I feel a rising heat
Thickening my sticky, tarmacked journey
The train's a glittering rush into the east
The buses will be ovens by ten-thirty
Pragmatically, I settle at my desk
To watch Olympian follies kick their dust
Whilst hapless girls in thin, Primar-ni vests
Pass by the sealed window's dirty crust
The palm trees laugh outside the old Town Hall
The Empire a mighty, broken joke
The cuts making a pyre for us all
Not summer, but the heat of fire and smoke
Day 7
Hackney stinks like something going bad
Cheap chicken joints, a fat bin-bag decay
And, drifting through, a Sensimillia fug
The stench of dogs that strut the Narrow Way
Not summer, yet I feel a rising heat
Thickening my sticky, tarmacked journey
The train's a glittering rush into the east
The buses will be ovens by ten-thirty
Pragmatically, I settle at my desk
To watch Olympian follies kick their dust
Whilst hapless girls in thin, Primar-ni vests
Pass by the sealed window's dirty crust
The palm trees laugh outside the old Town Hall
The Empire a mighty, broken joke
The cuts making a pyre for us all
Not summer, but the heat of fire and smoke
Day 7
So Long
The journey broken
I left them then and stepped down to the shore
A long, tide-out trek to that grumbling edge
The cloud an upturned sea
Rumpled shades of Celtic grey
Not even the local dogs out here today
The air cut me and I opened my mouth
Gulped it in
Chill brine prickling my tongue
The wind an insane scream
I took off my coat and held on
As it danced above my head
A cartoon flame
Turned a clumsy, comic pirouette
And put it on again
Laughing as I wrestled it around
Felt the sand congeal
Sucking heavy kisses from my unsuitable shoes
I didn't know I'd be here
Unprepared for the raw
Fine whipping to my hair
I hadn't realised it was so long
The journey broken
I left them then and stepped down to the shore
A long, tide-out trek to that grumbling edge
The cloud an upturned sea
Rumpled shades of Celtic grey
Not even the local dogs out here today
The air cut me and I opened my mouth
Gulped it in
Chill brine prickling my tongue
The wind an insane scream
I took off my coat and held on
As it danced above my head
A cartoon flame
Turned a clumsy, comic pirouette
And put it on again
Laughing as I wrestled it around
Felt the sand congeal
Sucking heavy kisses from my unsuitable shoes
I didn't know I'd be here
Unprepared for the raw
Fine whipping to my hair
I hadn't realised it was so long
Day 6
Bum Fun
I want to tell you frankly, though it may cause a hum
There isn’t much in heaven or earth I love more than a bum
My penchant isn’t primitive – I’d say it’s elemental
There’s lots of us who like a taste of something fundament-al
That Shakespeare liked a backside; he said so in a speech
Or why would he have penned that line – Once more unto the breach?
Some people like a shapely leg or hair that’s wild and lush
But I’ve a flair for derriere, for empennage, for tush
Once you’ve had my special touch, it doesn’t get forgotten
I am the Empress of all things concerning sex and bottom
I want to spread it open, I want to squeeze it shut
I want to play for hours and hours with your delightful butt
I’m not like other women, attention–seeking-ly
I like it when you come to bed and turn your back on me
If you don’t like insertion, I’ll just flick round the rim
And snog it like the star it is, (whilst avoiding going in)
Or if you like it deeper then likewise, I’m your girl
If you want a garden hose up there then I’ll give it a whirl
I’ll do relaxed and gentle, I’ll do ready and rough
As long as you are happy lying face down in the buff
I don’t have any nasty bugs, there’s no need to be wary
I’m not a syphilitic or some kind of Sigmoid Mary
So if you’d like to learn some more or put paid to your fear
Let me know and later on I’ll meet you in the rear
I hope you haven't been bummed out - it's just a cheeky rant
I’m off to do the paperwork for my Arse Council grant
Day 5
Cash Flow Blues
My money isn’t stretching
I can’t paper the cracks
I’m all out of potatoes
Baked beans and own-brand snacks
It doesn’t matter how I try
To end up breaking even
By the time the month is done
I’ve morphed into a freegan
I didn’t think I'd end up
Rummaging in bins
But I’ve ebayed every DVD
And I don’t have ‘spare’ gold rings
My wage stays in the doldrums
My bills go up and up
And I can’t take on an evening job
Cuz I’m a poetry slut
I suppose I could try mugging
But it doesn’t sound much fun
And anyway I’m just not built
To break into a run
I researched going on the game
But there’re blokes even I won’t fuck
I’m running out of ways and means
To make an extra buck
It seems, at least financially
I can’t be sentimental
So I’ll have to wave ta-ta to steak
And learn to love a lentil
My money isn’t stretching
I can’t paper the cracks
I’m all out of potatoes
Baked beans and own-brand snacks
It doesn’t matter how I try
To end up breaking even
By the time the month is done
I’ve morphed into a freegan
I didn’t think I'd end up
Rummaging in bins
But I’ve ebayed every DVD
And I don’t have ‘spare’ gold rings
My wage stays in the doldrums
My bills go up and up
And I can’t take on an evening job
Cuz I’m a poetry slut
I suppose I could try mugging
But it doesn’t sound much fun
And anyway I’m just not built
To break into a run
I researched going on the game
But there’re blokes even I won’t fuck
I’m running out of ways and means
To make an extra buck
It seems, at least financially
I can’t be sentimental
So I’ll have to wave ta-ta to steak
And learn to love a lentil
Day 4
Me
There's the me who loves an off-key joke
The filthier the better
The sentimental wanker
Hoarding every card and letter
The one who's down and dirty
And loves to play the whore
The one who aches for tenderness
The one who knows the score
The woman who is brave and kind
And generous and willing
The little girl who's furious
She didn't get top billing
The one who picks the party up
The one who drops the ball
The one who sometimes isn't
Thinking anything at all
The bit of me that's crying
For the unchangable past
The brutal realist who knows
She isn't built to last
The one who craves the silence
The one who seeks the dark
This me, who loves an audience
And wants to leave a mark
The villain and the hero
The witless and the wise
So I'm rather like this poem (day 4)
I'm a bit of a compromise
There's the me who loves an off-key joke
The filthier the better
The sentimental wanker
Hoarding every card and letter
The one who's down and dirty
And loves to play the whore
The one who aches for tenderness
The one who knows the score
The woman who is brave and kind
And generous and willing
The little girl who's furious
She didn't get top billing
The one who picks the party up
The one who drops the ball
The one who sometimes isn't
Thinking anything at all
The bit of me that's crying
For the unchangable past
The brutal realist who knows
She isn't built to last
The one who craves the silence
The one who seeks the dark
This me, who loves an audience
And wants to leave a mark
The villain and the hero
The witless and the wise
So I'm rather like this poem (day 4)
I'm a bit of a compromise
Day 3
For Non-Mothers On Mother's Day
On Mother's Day, don't call me childless
Cuz actually, I'm child free
The difference to you may seem guileless
But it's starting to irritate me
So let me give vent to my prejudice
You may say it's bad and it's wrong
But the truth, although very depressing is
I'm not very keen on the young
I didn't like young when I was it
And my feelings remain fairly icy
Whilst others will cuddle and cosset
I treat every infant as dicey
Who know when they'll next fill that nappy
Or sick up some porridgy bile?
When I have to I try to look happy
But there's horror behind that fixed smile
The next stage, the Boisterous Toddler
Equally fills me with dread
One moment you're wildly popular
The next there's turd on your head
They shove sticky fingers in sockets
Start screaming before it gets light
And make easy work of your pockets
As they grow like bamboo every night
Then they morph into acned teenagers
How I feel about them you can guess
They loudly dissect all your failings
Bleed you dry and exist to distress
They slouch and complain through the building
Allergic to manners and light
And insist that they're adults, not children
As they argue, sulk, bicker and fight
When they leave home you might be forgiven
For thinking you've earned a long rest
But the silence will always be riven
When they bring laundry back to the nest
Over time they recruit further forces
Adding partners and offspring and dogs
Draining all your remaining resources
As you babysit more fucking sprogs
So good luck to the Mums who are reading
I hope that your Day is the best
But it's not an event I'll be grieving
Cuz I'm child free, not childless
On Mother's Day, don't call me childless
Cuz actually, I'm child free
The difference to you may seem guileless
But it's starting to irritate me
So let me give vent to my prejudice
You may say it's bad and it's wrong
But the truth, although very depressing is
I'm not very keen on the young
I didn't like young when I was it
And my feelings remain fairly icy
Whilst others will cuddle and cosset
I treat every infant as dicey
Who know when they'll next fill that nappy
Or sick up some porridgy bile?
When I have to I try to look happy
But there's horror behind that fixed smile
The next stage, the Boisterous Toddler
Equally fills me with dread
One moment you're wildly popular
The next there's turd on your head
They shove sticky fingers in sockets
Start screaming before it gets light
And make easy work of your pockets
As they grow like bamboo every night
Then they morph into acned teenagers
How I feel about them you can guess
They loudly dissect all your failings
Bleed you dry and exist to distress
They slouch and complain through the building
Allergic to manners and light
And insist that they're adults, not children
As they argue, sulk, bicker and fight
When they leave home you might be forgiven
For thinking you've earned a long rest
But the silence will always be riven
When they bring laundry back to the nest
Over time they recruit further forces
Adding partners and offspring and dogs
Draining all your remaining resources
As you babysit more fucking sprogs
So good luck to the Mums who are reading
I hope that your Day is the best
But it's not an event I'll be grieving
Cuz I'm child free, not childless
Twat
He said, Hey, when you was on the stage
You was just like Stevie Nicks
I said, Sorry to seem mystified but
I'm Stevie Nicks times six
He said, Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, I mean
I really dig fat chicks
I'd like to like take yer out an' that sometime
It ain't no lie
I said I feel I should point out young man
You're a staggeringly drunken twat
He said, What the fuck yer talkin' about?
I said I loathe ya like, an' that
Given the choice of you or death,
I'd really rather die
And as for digging fat chicks - here's a newsflash
So do I
He said, Hey, when you was on the stage
You was just like Stevie Nicks
I said, Sorry to seem mystified but
I'm Stevie Nicks times six
He said, Nah, nah, nah, nah, nah, I mean
I really dig fat chicks
I'd like to like take yer out an' that sometime
It ain't no lie
I said I feel I should point out young man
You're a staggeringly drunken twat
He said, What the fuck yer talkin' about?
I said I loathe ya like, an' that
Given the choice of you or death,
I'd really rather die
And as for digging fat chicks - here's a newsflash
So do I
Day 1
Day 1
Thirty poems, one a day, until the end of April. You'd think I'd have more sense, it's not like people will be grateful. It sounds less like a challenge and more like a prescription, although my doctor says it doesn't count as an addiction. But now, each April morning, I'll have try my best to weave some words together that mildly arrest. Who knows what could transpire before we get to May? You never know, it might turn out I'll have something to say!
awesome collections..
ReplyDeleteEnjoyed this, awesome talent.
Invite you to join poets rally week 42 by sharing a free verse today.
Hope to see you in!
Have A Blessed Tuesday!
xxx