Tag Archives: poetry

Revenge Shit

All day he sleeps

Anywhere except his bed

Bites you when you try

To pat him on the head

He’s a grumpy old sod

But loveable in his way

Except when it comes

To the end of the day

Into bed

Settle down with the wife

And that’s when he chooses

To spring to life

He demands attention

A carry on

But we’re too tired

And can’t take him on

He becomes unreasonable

His eyes become black

He squeaks and

Folds his ears back

He lashes out

Blood is spilled

We’d have rather he’d

Sat with us and chilled

Out he’s sent

Into the hall

Door firmly closed

He begins to yawl

Thundering up and down

The length of the flat

Such unearthly sounds

He continually spat

Then before we know it

The scrape in a tray

Lined with litter

No egg does he lay

But something abhorrant

With a powerful odour

The nightly present

From our dear friend Gozer

He knows what he’s doing

He’s not daft

You have to admire

How swiftly it wafts

Hold your nose

From this powerful stun

Humans nil

Gozer one

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Broken Circles

Broken circles turn no more

Wakened sleepers pound the floor

Friends and strangers rearrange

Some wounds heal some weep with shame,

Broken circles have an end

They have no effort left to spend

Fight the urges to repair

Leave the pieces over there

Unprepared for Despair (#NationalPoetryDay)

I wanted to pen something

For poetry day

But lately I feel

Like my brain’s gone away,

I’m struggling to find joy

Or ideas to inspire

I feel like a phoney

An inveterate liar,

No use will come of the

Words I commit

But defeat is a thing

I refuse to admit,

So with nothing to say

I march blindly along

Not entirely certain 

Of where I belong

Sexy as a Toaster

Online comments can be very strange and I do get my fair share. Some really nice ones and downright evil ones! I wrote a poem inspired by one that was left on a picture on Facebook last night which simply said “Sexy as a toaster”. Now what on earth does that mean? I couldn’t decide if it was derogatory or not but I had a good old chuckle at it and before I knew it…


‘Sexy as a Toaster’

I’ve known some hot kitchen goods in my time

I once had an oven that blew my mind

And a frying pan that never quit

When I cracked a sexy egg in it

And don’t get me started on my fridge

What a sassy big bugger it is!

Teasingly cold and playfully solid

I’m sad when he’s empty – I feel plain horrid

 

My washing machine also rocks

It has me in a spin plus it gives me clean socks

I’ve never had a dishwasher – that’s like whoring out my plates

I caress each one individually in spite of the jealousy that creates

The kettle also does it for me every time without fail

Its steam is as mysterious as a bridal veil

But on the microwave I’m not so keen

I’ve never known a smugger machine!

 

In my mind there is no doubt who will reign supreme

The toaster is probably my wettest dream

Hotter than Racquel Welch or indeed the sun

I know exactly where I’m parking my bun(s)

Come bask in the warmth of its bready glow

Melts me like butter I’d like you to know

‘Am I as sexy as a toaster?’ I coyly request

I suppose I’ll never know but I could hazard a guess

The Health Service Drove me to Drink

I’m a decent person I like to think

but the NHS has drove me to drink

I’m not saying I’ve never drank before

but recently I’ve been drinking more

I tanned a bottle of cider last night before tea

whilst trying not to let it get to me

my rum intake has dramatically increased

in an attempt to subdue this many headed beast!

 

If I had to offer advice to a novice

I’d tell them not to work in an office

they’re definitely not for the faint of heart

they’ll most likely tear your soul apart

like a Cenobite or a spoiled angry child

they claw me with drivel and drench me in bile

it’s a nest of vipers with little respite

try not to move suddenly or they’ll bite!

 

Perhaps they were once decent like me

or am I overdosing on diplomacy?

Surely they weren’t always as difficult as this

forever lost in a crimson mist,

grumpy, unstable with tempers short

I’m sure you know the sort

I do wish they’d stop and consider

the plight of my poor liver

 

*Obviously this ode is not directed at the Health Service itself – as an institution it does some sterling work. It’s primarily aimed at figures who are corroding this great organisation from within 🙂

Bus Stop Poem (First Draft)

The following is a first draft of a poem I’ve been thinking about for a little while now. I seem to spend a lot of time waiting for and then sitting on buses late at night these days. It’s possible I could continue it further if I could find the time…

My eyes flick between my watch

and the deserted road ahead

how lovely would it be just now

to be all tucked up in bed?

I try to change the subject

instead reflecting on the day

more or less the usual shite

dressed up a different way

my hands began to shake

but not in the formal manner

as anger rose within me

like if I was David Banner

my face was incandescent

the rage was hard to rein

more difficult than quantum physics

or a semen stain

there should have been two buses by now

I stamp my little feet

The sound echoes noisily

down the empty street

I contemplate my lack of faith

in everything – myself included

I’ve far more diverse concepts and areas

in which I am deluded

my flight from god was easy

that’s god with a small ‘g’

are the lies I tell myself

worse than the lies that they tell me?

Errant vegetation hits me in the face

blown on an icy breeze

and I wonder distractedly if leaves

are called leaves because they always leave

I ask myself out loud

and get no definitive reply

then I notice some other people

standing nearby

a cis couple – not talking

as if in a mood

an older guy – thoroughly pished

tucking messily into some takeaway food

I think it’s chips

as I’m hit with a vinegary aroma

I close my eyes to concentrate

promising to control my

urge to seek solace in a bag myself

I’d have to abandon my post

I’ll just wait till I get home

and I can maybe make some toast!

Then out of the gloom a cheerful sight

the bus magically appears

I search my pockets for my pass

and inwardly cheer 🙂

The Poem Poem

‘The Poem Poem’

Most words I write have already been writ

I’m pretty prepared to admit

not every poem that rhymes is shit

that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it,

sometimes it’s like they’re built from a kit

sticking it together bit by bit

sometimes the pieces refuse to fit

so on forgotten pages they resignedly sit,

some write like a dream and are bursting with wit

if they were singles they would be a hit

or if they were villains your throat they would slit

and from their mouths evil laughs emit,

they’re never so long that they have to be split

before then I would surely have quit

like a hypocrite who learned to knit

whilst stuck in a pit that was filled with grit 😉