Posh 'ouse.
Shit floats in loobloo. Its not mine.
Stinking island in a springclearfresh ocean.
Bobbing.
On its Northern shores tiny turd people munch on giant sweetcorn chunks.
From bakedbeany lumps they erect statues, giant characaturds of their gods.
They dont mind the smell, they have all they have their squables to entertain them, their little wars and grumbles over the disaffected yoof.
Odd isnt it, i think, when i find a sight so displeasing that i dont want to piss on it, defile my piss.
I smother them with an ultrasoftcushionquilted sheet of colourcoordinated skatrag.
A dense fog blankets down on the tiny turd folk and their winnet babes cry as the oceans rage and i flush them away.
Bye tiny little islanders.
Tuesday, March 20, 2012
Killed slowly by comfort food
Killed slowly by comfort food
She just wanted stuffin, a lust for foodie loving.
A good old plumping up.
Shoveling it in, near gagging and gobbling every drop.
To feel full up; full to bursting with sausage rolls of love.
A cuddly kind of loving; to have her cake and eat it, clotted cream on top.
Just another stuffin for her lust filled, love lost, lonely muffin.
Meat and 2 veg, with gravy.
Plum duff; 2 wobbly pink blancmanges, cherries on the top.
It was not the fat or sugar that killed her,
nor one last long, long, hot, glistening black pudding.
Just one long forgotten spotted-dick.
She just wanted stuffin, a lust for foodie loving.
A good old plumping up.
Shoveling it in, near gagging and gobbling every drop.
To feel full up; full to bursting with sausage rolls of love.
A cuddly kind of loving; to have her cake and eat it, clotted cream on top.
Just another stuffin for her lust filled, love lost, lonely muffin.
Meat and 2 veg, with gravy.
Plum duff; 2 wobbly pink blancmanges, cherries on the top.
It was not the fat or sugar that killed her,
nor one last long, long, hot, glistening black pudding.
Just one long forgotten spotted-dick.
Words again
Im growing to hate words - again... Ive started so i ll finish.
Words get me into trouble.
Sometimes i think i like them. I think they are saying one thing but it seems that i am not (using them write, fuckoff if you think im not).
I used not to understand them much; and they mainly seemed to threaten.
Bracketting my feelings, knocking thoughts into letter shapes.
Sentencing them to pale imitations, summarised, paraphrased, devoid of ompf and ah, nnnn and grrrr.
Boundaries of meaning, mean means of communicating not really what i meant to say.
Words get me into trouble.
Sometimes i think i like them. I think they are saying one thing but it seems that i am not (using them write, fuckoff if you think im not).
I used not to understand them much; and they mainly seemed to threaten.
Bracketting my feelings, knocking thoughts into letter shapes.
Sentencing them to pale imitations, summarised, paraphrased, devoid of ompf and ah, nnnn and grrrr.
Boundaries of meaning, mean means of communicating not really what i meant to say.
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Coppers
I found that tiny copper kettle you gave me in a box of old, forgotten, once precious things.
Its lid had fallen off but it is still full to the brim with the pennies you had collected. I don't know now quite when you gave it to me. And I can't recall what the pennies were for. I know it was about remembering and yes I had forgotten it.
I picked it up, hard and cold, and I knew how much thought and time you had put into it - and I know there was love and care though I can hardly bare to bring it to mind. I guess it was when we shared our pain, more pain that we could bare - you were thanking me and I had no words for my thanks.
It was a token of your remembering the closeness we shared. I guess its more than 30 years now since you put that pot together. Its been sitting in a box, always with me, found occasionally and soon forgotten once again.
I couldn't hold it for the sadness. There is no week that passes since that time that I don't think of you. I wonder do you ever think of me or why you filled that small kettle? And yes, when I think of you and that time it hurts - hurts for the thought of you, the loss of you, and for the pain I had then too.
I offered understanding and friendship and I see now the conditions I applied. Understanding and friendship were easy to offer and mine to give and with them I gave you an obligation that you did not accept. You left it and me far behind.
And you gave me that tiny copper kettle carefully filled with pennies. A gift for remembering and then you let me go. Perhaps I should do the same - say stop, put the pennies towards a beer and drink you farewell.
Its lid had fallen off but it is still full to the brim with the pennies you had collected. I don't know now quite when you gave it to me. And I can't recall what the pennies were for. I know it was about remembering and yes I had forgotten it.
I picked it up, hard and cold, and I knew how much thought and time you had put into it - and I know there was love and care though I can hardly bare to bring it to mind. I guess it was when we shared our pain, more pain that we could bare - you were thanking me and I had no words for my thanks.
It was a token of your remembering the closeness we shared. I guess its more than 30 years now since you put that pot together. Its been sitting in a box, always with me, found occasionally and soon forgotten once again.
I couldn't hold it for the sadness. There is no week that passes since that time that I don't think of you. I wonder do you ever think of me or why you filled that small kettle? And yes, when I think of you and that time it hurts - hurts for the thought of you, the loss of you, and for the pain I had then too.
I offered understanding and friendship and I see now the conditions I applied. Understanding and friendship were easy to offer and mine to give and with them I gave you an obligation that you did not accept. You left it and me far behind.
And you gave me that tiny copper kettle carefully filled with pennies. A gift for remembering and then you let me go. Perhaps I should do the same - say stop, put the pennies towards a beer and drink you farewell.
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