Poem
If I could stop slow suicide
For long enough to be at peace
With the second law of thermo’s slide
I’d come to terms with life’s disease
I’d plan the projects I desire
To raise everyone’s living standard higher
I’d bypass the powerful overlords
And free the masses from their cords
Cheap transport’s how we all can win
Not software, we’re not all plugged in
So where to now? Where do I begin?
A scrounge through dusty patent bins.
Mr Train Cleaner
Why does the bubble gum stick
To the carpet that used to be clean?
I’m sure your pride has been pushed aside
Due to time or cost or greed.
I’m sure it’s not your fault that the trains
All stink, are wet and dirty
You can’t blame the travellers of the line
For getting bloody shirty.
It must have been a huge job.
Cleaning made the trains lose money.
Now that their privatised I’m sure
The situation will become even less funny.
The Broodin’ Days
Did I bypass adulthood
Shared by a million souls?
The fears stayed, but not the need
To act grown up and old.
I fancy I matured early
Mid-life crisis done
But what if I haven’t started yet
To lose my sense of fun?
I fancy women find me childish
Write me off too soon.
I’ve got more depth than they’d ever need
I just like to be a goon.
If I don’t act responsibly
What might happen to me?
The most that I can see ahead
Is I’ll act grown-up when I’m dead.
Smoking
Bubbling at the bottom of lungs worn past
Their supposed age by smoking gasps
Wheezing, breathing in then out
The final breath draws close, no doubt.
Tendrils claw through body rampant
Cancer renders organs rancid
Wasted only if their host
Had purpose - life had will to boast.
Power of One
Knowing limits to one’s ability
Is accepting the truth, being able to see
That reaching great goals cannot be done
Insisting on using the power of one.
Knowing others and helping them out
Keeping your aims in their mind intact
Will give you a better change to achieve
Any dream that your mind can possibly conceive.
Beautiful Stranger in a Laundromat
An icon of raw beauty on a table for two
Swinging her legs in a nice fashion too.
Patience in reading the age old chick mags,
Awaiting the load in the screeching Maytags.
I hold my breath in the presence of her.
Choked with a nervousness, unfounded fear.
One day I’ll be easy around such a sweet head,
But for now I’ll just have to write poetry instead.
Overshooting the Mark
The lure of the fixed-price job.
Money owing, wanted soon
You prostitute yourself for about two bob
You raving crazy loon!
The work’s not sex, far cleaner than that.
It’s programming, but the work’s the same.
You burn your time to provide some pleasure
To the person who thinks you’re just as lame.
Work per hour if you can, and don’t
Be trapped by money lust.
Don’t salary or fixed-price or you’ll find
Your financial arse is bust.
They’ll use you and screw you and take your time.
They breach and break your trust.
Because you agreed to let them squeeze
Your life until you bust.
Raw Comedy
To my friends, if you are here tonight
I hope you don’t get too big a fright
I know I said this was an AA meet
That after six months I would stand on my feet
And say I was sober, well, what the fuck
I didn’t fall off the wagon, I fell off a truck.
For Valentine’s Day I hedged my bets
Knew I wasn’t getting flowers, even from my pets
So I got all pissed till I couldn’t remember
And I rang Interflora while I held my member
And ordered a bunch of roses yea wide
Told them if I wasn’t home just to leave them outside.
Sure enough, when V-Day arrived
I sat there not expecting a single surprise.
Had a fuck of a hangover my head was ringing
Then suddenly the door rang, someone started singing…
“Hello, Mr Oshborne your flowers are here
Somebody thinks that you’re rather dear
They’ve sent you six roses by naked courier
Now come out and pluck them, they’re hurting my rear”
Obscure
I reckon my boss travels backwards in time
He doesn’t remember a thing I say
And he’s always sure he’s processed my pay
And he thinks he’s told me a hundred times
To do something, whatever, he stamped and swore
But I reckon he’d never told me before.
But his tomorrow is my yesterday
I tell you what, if I kick his arse
So hard he goes the other way,
He would not even remember
That the day before I pulled out my member
And told him to suck it because I knew
That was a day he wasn’t going through.
Right Shop Wrong Brand Blues
Standing so far from you
Yet sitting at the same table
I’m sure I should have learnt my lesson
From an old Greek’s fable
Keeping your distance, would you have
If I was someone else?
Are you scared of love itself
Or just the brand stocked on my shelf?
I got the right shop wrong brand blues.
My packagings all wrong for you to choose.
My marketing’s crap, the advertising rank
I got the right shop wrong brand blues.
Friendship Love
All I really want to know
Is if there’s any chance
To carry on our friendship
Through the wall into romance.
If you’ve made it bleeding obvious
OK, so I’m a dunce
Taking naivety into account
I’ll ask again (just once)
It’s easy to say no
When nothing has to change at all.
No fears faced, no hurts embraced
No need to have the gall…
To find an honest answer
To a very scary question:
“If I break my outer shell
Will someone love the yoke within?”
If his nibs turns round and says, “You’re it.
Let’s make this more than sport.”
Then all the best, I’m glad
You both have found a decent sort.
If there’s zero chance for us
I’ll end this romantic flotsam,
Get back on track with jokes and flak
And keep our friendship’s clothes on.
Long Live the Queen!
Short grey hair and a shaven muff
A man among girls, she knew her stuff
Labia rings and a nose stud, too.
She blew me away and wrung me through.
Bright light shone on the hard dance floor.
Sweat beads glistened under mirrored ball.
Boom Boom shake the room bored my mind
Till my eyes cast down on her tight behind.
I fought for control of my wandering hands
I couldn’t hold them back from her shapely stance.
A hand on her butt, a half Janet on her tit
She spun and sucked my mouth till I tasted shit.
She grabbed my rod and made like a vacuum
As far as I cared no-one else was in the room
She swallowed like a bird and I growled like a lion
Then she wiped her mouth and said goodbye like it was nothing.
I zipped myself up and chased her down
I spun her around and she tore her gown
Before the ball finished we funky medina’d
Oh, God Save The Queen! And thank you, Regina.
Eye Aversion
Like a metal detector beeps more urgent
The closer to gold it gets
The joining of eyes, the locking of souls
Causes the heart alarms to rent.
Squashed in the personal space of each other
A comfort can only be trained
And fear that grips and strangles the will
Can be stopped only by father or mother.
Writing or reading, typing or sleeping
Or staring between the gaps
Can be safe, yet lonely, defeating the people
Whose bonding would be their safe-keeping
Sitting on the Edge
Motion transports us
TV taunts us
Conscience dictates
Tortures then waits
Drowning sorrows kill
Lonely moments still
Plenty more to come
Before life comes undone
Site on a wire
Stay still in the fire
Don’t lay down the law
Don’t show them your fall
Lock your coccoon
And surely, soon
The door to nowhere
Will lead you there.
Action Reaction
Inaction sanctions your body’s rape
By self the yearnings can’t escape
Creatures of risk destined to fate
Soft padded lives lead minds irate
To destroy the shell, the living hell
Of anonymity, alone and at home
Lashing out on the one who cannot fight back
The office boy kicked his own cat.
Final Flight
Against will and current deceleration
Workload seems more of an abomination
Of gratitude for effort, making yourself seen
As a whinging bastard, void of sweat sheen.
But, you are thankful for your experiences and skills
Thankful for the after hours thrills.
If you fall out of contact, don’t think it means
That your friendships are over, if that’s what it seems.
It’s just that the breaks between chats will be longer
And, hell, it may just make their hearts grow fonder.
If they want to catch up, you can just drop a line
Find a medium to speak to the other side.
And what will you take with you as you depart?
Well, for one thing, the generous gift of your farts.
The memories and skills from a long drawn out fight
To be the best of the best under critical light.
Poem
A long time has passed since you felt the need
To express your emotions in written decree.
You have dulled the senses and limped along
To be encouraged to accept all your past wrongs
Trustings life’s process and stilling the mind
Opening your heart to be more kind
Disciplining the body and feeding the soul
Is an easily forgotten, unrealistic goal
Changing the world without changing yourself
Being loved and protected, looking after your health
Attaining worthwhile purposes without giving much
Gaining the world on the cheap, is it asking too much?
And doing it yourself so you don’t have to fight
Against the egos of others on the same side
And taking the glory at the end of the day
To be forgotten eventually anyway.
Poem
Writing toward a new age of cyber-checkout,
Establishing a foothold on both sides of the divide
Between cyber and physical reality.
And then bridging the two,
Like thin strands of threads flashing out between two distant cliffs,
Enmeshing, becoming one.