This is just a short little poem I wrote the other day. It's one of very few with actual structure and rhyming so... savour it, yeah? It's about the wholly unoriginal notion that there is nothing original left to say in the world any more thanks to people bloody blogging about everything. Yea gods, who'd keep a blog, eh? Only a total berk. Big lolz.
Thought
I thought I had a unique thought, but then I Googled it.
The internet revealed to me a hundred, thousand hits.
A hundred, thousand people weblogging the same tired thought –
Having nothing left to say, so cutting themselves short.
Showing posts with label Short Poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Short Poetry. Show all posts
Thursday, 16 June 2011
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
Short Poems: Volume VII
Hello again! More longer poems will be forthcoming as I try and get my arse in gear with this whole thing (it took me ages to write that rap, you see - This One that is.
Here are some tiny morsels of poems.
68. Oh crap, thought the crap pedlar, that’s good.
69. Dave spewed vomit all over himself. ‘Lol,’ he said, before puking himself into a coma.
70. Herbert the Sherbet Dip Dab Dipstick coated his head in the sweet, sweet dust. Crunch. His brains went EVERYWHERE.
71. An ocelot raced down the motorway, going much, much slower than the cars.
72. Thomas Leslie parked his car, desperately sadly. His handbrake was sodden with tears. His face was strewn with mascara.
73. Graham marched across the open field. Unbridled joy! Glorious summer’s eve! He cried. An Owl swooped down, picked him up, dropped him on some rocks and ate his corpse.
74. Carlos then spat his words into a cup.
75. Insert poem.
76. He slunk into the haunted house. A ghost popped up instantly! But he wasn’t scared. The ghost possessed him. But he wasn’t scared. The ghost that was possessing him walked him into a room filled with corpses or something. But he wasn’t scared. He was blind; I forgot to mention that I think.
See you soon!
Here are some tiny morsels of poems.
68. Oh crap, thought the crap pedlar, that’s good.
69. Dave spewed vomit all over himself. ‘Lol,’ he said, before puking himself into a coma.
70. Herbert the Sherbet Dip Dab Dipstick coated his head in the sweet, sweet dust. Crunch. His brains went EVERYWHERE.
71. An ocelot raced down the motorway, going much, much slower than the cars.
72. Thomas Leslie parked his car, desperately sadly. His handbrake was sodden with tears. His face was strewn with mascara.
73. Graham marched across the open field. Unbridled joy! Glorious summer’s eve! He cried. An Owl swooped down, picked him up, dropped him on some rocks and ate his corpse.
74. Carlos then spat his words into a cup.
75. Insert poem.
76. He slunk into the haunted house. A ghost popped up instantly! But he wasn’t scared. The ghost possessed him. But he wasn’t scared. The ghost that was possessing him walked him into a room filled with corpses or something. But he wasn’t scared. He was blind; I forgot to mention that I think.
See you soon!
Tuesday, 22 February 2011
Sum ('some') Nu ('new') Shorties ('short poems' [in this context])
Hello, hello. Here are some more short poems for you and you alone.
55. ‘Take that!’ said the Pope, listening to Take That.
56. Nomadically, he brushed his teeth.
57. Dork alert, thought the Nerd.
58. Here come the Nerds, thought the Dork, to the tune of ‘Here Come the Girls’.
59. The Swot rubbed his hands with glee, looking for all the world like a Rotter.
60. Christopher cautiously climbed into his chrysalis, which clung to the rim of a chrysanthemum.
61. Having ingested the candle in his own inimitable way, Pedro sneezed, showering the front row with wax and wick.
62. Two dolphins were 69ing. When they blew air out of their blowholes, the force of it made them spin like a Catherine Wheel.
63. Dragging his doughy body around. Darren was disgustingly fat.
64. Duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, GOOSE! What the fuck are you doing here?
65. A monkey? Wearing a hat? Well I never? Well, I never.
66. A cheetah sits ‘twixt a rock and a hard place. It stayed there for the night. Then it moved on.
67. Not why, but when did the chicken cross the road? If he did at a peak time, on an off-peak ticket, then he must owe the council a fine. (note use of ‘peak’ which sounds like ‘beak’ which are on chickens)
See you soon. Hopefully something will happen soon that I can write a poem or something about.
55. ‘Take that!’ said the Pope, listening to Take That.
56. Nomadically, he brushed his teeth.
57. Dork alert, thought the Nerd.
58. Here come the Nerds, thought the Dork, to the tune of ‘Here Come the Girls’.
59. The Swot rubbed his hands with glee, looking for all the world like a Rotter.
60. Christopher cautiously climbed into his chrysalis, which clung to the rim of a chrysanthemum.
61. Having ingested the candle in his own inimitable way, Pedro sneezed, showering the front row with wax and wick.
62. Two dolphins were 69ing. When they blew air out of their blowholes, the force of it made them spin like a Catherine Wheel.
63. Dragging his doughy body around. Darren was disgustingly fat.
64. Duck, duck, duck, duck, duck, GOOSE! What the fuck are you doing here?
65. A monkey? Wearing a hat? Well I never? Well, I never.
66. A cheetah sits ‘twixt a rock and a hard place. It stayed there for the night. Then it moved on.
67. Not why, but when did the chicken cross the road? If he did at a peak time, on an off-peak ticket, then he must owe the council a fine. (note use of ‘peak’ which sounds like ‘beak’ which are on chickens)
See you soon. Hopefully something will happen soon that I can write a poem or something about.
Wednesday, 26 January 2011
New
Hello to you all. Thank you to all who said they liked my last poem, very good of you and, well, it means a lot to me, so it means a lot to me that it means something to you. Here's a new poem about new things.
New
I’ve a new New Year’s resolution.
To make new new stuff up.
Do new new things like more poems
But I’ll probably just give up.
Satire.
Here's some pick-up lines I might try on some girls.
Girl, you like Pidgeotto , cause you super-fly.
Girl, did you fall from the sky? 'cause you remind me of Clefairy
Girl, you're the Moon Stone to my Jigglypuff , allowing me to evolve into Wigglytuff, should I choose to.
Girl, you like Woobat, shit and a game designer running out of ideas.
And finally (mum look away)
Girl, you like Squirtle - 'cause I only ever seen you spit.
Whoops.
New
I’ve a new New Year’s resolution.
To make new new stuff up.
Do new new things like more poems
But I’ll probably just give up.
Satire.
Here's some pick-up lines I might try on some girls.
Girl, you like Pidgeotto , cause you super-fly.
Girl, did you fall from the sky? 'cause you remind me of Clefairy
Girl, you're the Moon Stone to my Jigglypuff , allowing me to evolve into Wigglytuff, should I choose to.
Girl, you like Woobat, shit and a game designer running out of ideas.
And finally (mum look away)
Girl, you like Squirtle - 'cause I only ever seen you spit.
Whoops.
Thursday, 16 December 2010
Frank Spurgeon: Meat Surgeon
Hark, ye fellows at the tragic tale of Frank Spurgeon, the butcher. Or as he poetically likes to call himself 'Meat Surgeon'. Me oh my, if you're not weeping by the end of this, may God have mercy on your soul. Also, some new short ones since you haven't had some in a while.
Frank Spurgeon: Meat Surgeon
Meet Frank Spurgeon.
Meat Surgeon.
He cuts meat, he cleans meat,
He stores meat, he adores meat.
But here’s the irony.
His tongue’s made of silicon.
And he can therefore never taste the fruits of his labours.
(No taste buds)
Short Ones
46. ‘Goal!’ Screamed the blind football commentator. Guessing.
47. The licentious ‘Gregor’ sat haphazardly amongst the blossom. What he was doing there, no-one is sure to this day. But they know this. He was very rude to the young Hispanic waiter who came to take his order.
48. A lonely anteater, wondering the Gobi Dessert? Gobi Desert?
49. Spineless. Hatless. This had not been a good morning for Colin.
50. Plasters in swimming pools make me uneasy. Not to mention queasy. (autobiographical)
51. Sweet success, thought the Candyman.
52. With sweat, pouring down his pate, and blood seeping from his eyes, Mr. Sinclair reflected that maybe the coalition government wasn’t for him. (political)
53. You’re not happy are you? I’m perfectly happy actually. Oh, sorry to bother you. You are forgiven, father.
54. The phlegm slapped his cheek like a hot turd thrown by a chimp.
Good morning/afternoon/evening/night (depends what time you're reading this at.
Frank Spurgeon: Meat Surgeon
Meet Frank Spurgeon.
Meat Surgeon.
He cuts meat, he cleans meat,
He stores meat, he adores meat.
But here’s the irony.
His tongue’s made of silicon.
And he can therefore never taste the fruits of his labours.
(No taste buds)
Short Ones
46. ‘Goal!’ Screamed the blind football commentator. Guessing.
47. The licentious ‘Gregor’ sat haphazardly amongst the blossom. What he was doing there, no-one is sure to this day. But they know this. He was very rude to the young Hispanic waiter who came to take his order.
48. A lonely anteater, wondering the Gobi Dessert? Gobi Desert?
49. Spineless. Hatless. This had not been a good morning for Colin.
50. Plasters in swimming pools make me uneasy. Not to mention queasy. (autobiographical)
51. Sweet success, thought the Candyman.
52. With sweat, pouring down his pate, and blood seeping from his eyes, Mr. Sinclair reflected that maybe the coalition government wasn’t for him. (political)
53. You’re not happy are you? I’m perfectly happy actually. Oh, sorry to bother you. You are forgiven, father.
54. The phlegm slapped his cheek like a hot turd thrown by a chimp.
Good morning/afternoon/evening/night (depends what time you're reading this at.
Tuesday, 23 November 2010
On Inspiration
Sometimes inspiration will come from the most unlikely places. Here are a few poems, all with fairly clear sources of inspiration (depending on what you know/which blogs you read).
Poem the first:
Letters from a Norfolk Sanctuary (aka. On Pretension)
Oh my dear, my egos collapse, my ego's collapse.
Traffic through my brain shatters the truth like a love banned since 1931. The thirties, what a vintage decade!
(If) I could (bear/bare) fruit then surely you, my holy prisoner, my holey prisoner, could (bear) bare (bear/brie) thyself to me.
In Norwich Cathedral my heart slowly oscillates towards my egos, towards the feminine side. The love of my fear shatters the bioluminescence.
Like that time I was trapped in a cold, heartless city like a magnet (London) which suffocates my face like a thousand.
Could you ever forgive this near expert of The Heaven, The Beast, The Miracle. It Breathes. I Breathe.
(I)
Breathe.
The next two follow similar structures (ie. to each other, rather than that one) WARNING. SOME STRONG LANGUAGE.
Poem the second:
Horse in field
Since when could horses lie down?
I thought that was cows,
Who could lie down.
Horses sleep standing up (don't they?)
Fuck you horse, who's lying down.
Fuck.
You.
Poem the third:
Puddles
I just trod in a puddle whilst penning this poem.
Fuck you, puddle.
Fuck you.
Inspiration. Done.
Poem the first:
Letters from a Norfolk Sanctuary (aka. On Pretension)
Oh my dear, my egos collapse, my ego's collapse.
Traffic through my brain shatters the truth like a love banned since 1931. The thirties, what a vintage decade!
(If) I could (bear/bare) fruit then surely you, my holy prisoner, my holey prisoner, could (bear) bare (bear/brie) thyself to me.
In Norwich Cathedral my heart slowly oscillates towards my egos, towards the feminine side. The love of my fear shatters the bioluminescence.
Like that time I was trapped in a cold, heartless city like a magnet (London) which suffocates my face like a thousand.
Could you ever forgive this near expert of The Heaven, The Beast, The Miracle. It Breathes. I Breathe.
(I)
Breathe.
The next two follow similar structures (ie. to each other, rather than that one) WARNING. SOME STRONG LANGUAGE.
Poem the second:
Horse in field
Since when could horses lie down?
I thought that was cows,
Who could lie down.
Horses sleep standing up (don't they?)
Fuck you horse, who's lying down.
Fuck.
You.
Poem the third:
Puddles
I just trod in a puddle whilst penning this poem.
Fuck you, puddle.
Fuck you.
Inspiration. Done.
Saturday, 11 September 2010
All New Short Poems!!!
Hey there,
Since I haven't done some in a while I thought I'd do some more short poems and put them here (on my blog)
Enjoy.
33. ‘That’s crazy,’ said Xavier. ‘I know,’ replied Colin, swallowing the last of the goose down, ‘I know.’
34. The ‘Go Compare’ guy stumbles home; pissed as fuck; disgracing his family name. His family name is Shit.
35. A fox with springs for feet, sprints across the path, being chased by three ducks with beaks made of lasers! Ah, what a Christmas that was.
36. Dark, dark, dark. The night. When it’s dark.
37. The moth flew in through the open window. Flapping. Flopping. ‘Vile fucking creature!’ exclaimed Nigel, whose room it was. Flapping. Flopping.
38. He was, to put it simply, gargantuan.
39. Digging around, snuffling for truffles. Please stop, mum.
40. Todd bit Carly and gave her malaria.
41. No signal. No licence. His girlfriend, gone, no note. No money. Not a friend in the world. And all this on September 11th.
42. Shit squirted into his eye. That’ll stain, he thought, peevishly.
43. ‘Well, I’ve found the problem,’ stated Dr. Johnston, coolly, ‘His, er, yeah, his bones were made of nougat.’
44. Keith Chegwin’s tiny cock, flaps briskly in the wind. Cheggers himself has been long dead.
45. ‘Come on, love, just a quick flash of those tits,’ squealed Phillip. ‘I can still have you beheaded you know, dear,’ snapped the Queen.
That'll do, pig. That'll do.
Since I haven't done some in a while I thought I'd do some more short poems and put them here (on my blog)
Enjoy.
33. ‘That’s crazy,’ said Xavier. ‘I know,’ replied Colin, swallowing the last of the goose down, ‘I know.’
34. The ‘Go Compare’ guy stumbles home; pissed as fuck; disgracing his family name. His family name is Shit.
35. A fox with springs for feet, sprints across the path, being chased by three ducks with beaks made of lasers! Ah, what a Christmas that was.
36. Dark, dark, dark. The night. When it’s dark.
37. The moth flew in through the open window. Flapping. Flopping. ‘Vile fucking creature!’ exclaimed Nigel, whose room it was. Flapping. Flopping.
38. He was, to put it simply, gargantuan.
39. Digging around, snuffling for truffles. Please stop, mum.
40. Todd bit Carly and gave her malaria.
41. No signal. No licence. His girlfriend, gone, no note. No money. Not a friend in the world. And all this on September 11th.
42. Shit squirted into his eye. That’ll stain, he thought, peevishly.
43. ‘Well, I’ve found the problem,’ stated Dr. Johnston, coolly, ‘His, er, yeah, his bones were made of nougat.’
44. Keith Chegwin’s tiny cock, flaps briskly in the wind. Cheggers himself has been long dead.
45. ‘Come on, love, just a quick flash of those tits,’ squealed Phillip. ‘I can still have you beheaded you know, dear,’ snapped the Queen.
That'll do, pig. That'll do.
Wednesday, 25 August 2010
More Pokémon themed Poéms
Good afternoon,
Here are some poems I've done about Pokémon. That age old theme. I like Pokémon. I hope you like poems about them. Inspired by them. Here:
Pokémon Poems, Vol. II
7.) You’re as lovely as a Polywag,
And as daunting as a Fearow.
Dear mother.
8.) ‘Nigel, use Thundershock!’
Try as he might, Nigel couldn’t.
He’s a human.
Not an electric/normal type Pokémon.
9.) When did you last see an Aerodactyl?
Never. Is the answer. He’s a dinosaur type Pokémon and thus
Extremely rare.
10.) Professor Oak promised he would never do that again.
He said, ‘I only do it because you push me to it!’
Charmander shivered in a corner,
Praying that next time it would be different.
11.) Clutching a bottle of fine Scotch,
Tangela pissed on a Metapod,
By mistake.
He thought it was a bollard.
12.) ‘Run free, Ponyta!’
Screams Brock.
Loading his rifle and taking aim.
Here are some poems I've done about Pokémon. That age old theme. I like Pokémon. I hope you like poems about them. Inspired by them. Here:
Pokémon Poems, Vol. II
7.) You’re as lovely as a Polywag,
And as daunting as a Fearow.
Dear mother.
8.) ‘Nigel, use Thundershock!’
Try as he might, Nigel couldn’t.
He’s a human.
Not an electric/normal type Pokémon.
9.) When did you last see an Aerodactyl?
Never. Is the answer. He’s a dinosaur type Pokémon and thus
Extremely rare.
10.) Professor Oak promised he would never do that again.
He said, ‘I only do it because you push me to it!’
Charmander shivered in a corner,
Praying that next time it would be different.
11.) Clutching a bottle of fine Scotch,
Tangela pissed on a Metapod,
By mistake.
He thought it was a bollard.
12.) ‘Run free, Ponyta!’
Screams Brock.
Loading his rifle and taking aim.
Wednesday, 7 April 2010
Pokemon Poems
Hello. I know it's been a while; I shall make no excuses and can only apologise, so by way of recompense I have written six poems on the theme of 'Pokemon'. I like Pokemon. I hope you enjoy them.
1.) Pikachu wakes up.
Next to Jigglypuff.
‘Well, that’s a mistake I won’t be repeating,’ he thinks.
2.) The buzz you get,
When seeing a Doduo in full flight,
Is one you can scarce get,
Anywhere else in the world.
3.) The Snorlax slowly scarpers.
Lazy fat bastard that he is.
4.) Ash sits, gently stroking Pikachu.
Too gently, if anything.
5.) ‘Please don’t let me see her,’ thinks Bulbasaur.
He sees her.
‘Bulba. Bulbasaur,’ he says.
She leaves.
‘Stupid, stupid, stupid, why do I always say the wrong thing?’ he thinks, as he watches her go.
6.) Everyone was very sad to see Farfetch’d go.
But this was one mission he’d have to conduct alone.
Regards.
1.) Pikachu wakes up.
Next to Jigglypuff.
‘Well, that’s a mistake I won’t be repeating,’ he thinks.
2.) The buzz you get,
When seeing a Doduo in full flight,
Is one you can scarce get,
Anywhere else in the world.
3.) The Snorlax slowly scarpers.
Lazy fat bastard that he is.
4.) Ash sits, gently stroking Pikachu.
Too gently, if anything.
5.) ‘Please don’t let me see her,’ thinks Bulbasaur.
He sees her.
‘Bulba. Bulbasaur,’ he says.
She leaves.
‘Stupid, stupid, stupid, why do I always say the wrong thing?’ he thinks, as he watches her go.
6.) Everyone was very sad to see Farfetch’d go.
But this was one mission he’d have to conduct alone.
Regards.
Sunday, 14 March 2010
Coming Up... and A Bumper Issue of Short Poetry!!
Hello, hello, hello. I've been busy for a while, so sorry I've not updated in a while, I will get back on track this week, with some highlights to come, such as... A poem about Iggy Pop baiting (follow me on twitter if you want to know more, see top right); a series of political haikus, since the last one was so much fun; a continuation of my blog-novel 'Gritty Northern Drama'; and, I'm sure, many more short poems of joy - like these - A Bumper Issue of Short Poems!:
17. A Premiership footballer walks in to a bar. I’m not saying which bar. And I’m not saying which footballer.
18. A coiled spring shoots up from nowhere. Or does it? It does.
19. Morrissey ties himself to a chair. 'Now I’d like to see them try and catch me,' he thinks, conspiratorially.
20. Oh! Cruel king! How he sits! With whale-blubber slicking back his hair!
21. A family of woodlice crawl under the floorboards. No-one notices them. Everyone in the house above is dead.
22. A baby hovers in the night sky. Possessed? Is anything truly possessed? Yes, this baby was. It was later burnt at the stake.
23. A juvenile crocodile plays hopscotch with his pals. He cheats. He is cast out of the game. He is sad. He cries. Real tears.
24. ‘Tally ho!’ cried the Queen, drunkenly stumbling about the palace, ‘Tally ho!’ Everyone else had gone out for the night.
25. Given the circumstances, Paul was lucky to get off with a double life sentence.
26. Once upon a time there lived a man.
27. A duck sits, considering himself, his pond, and what constitutes ‘duck-feed’.
28. He lounged in the hammock, ironically. He was a haddock.
29. ‘Terrible. Terrible, terrible, terrible.’ And all this from a nun with a gammy knee. (A Runner Reflects.)
30. Concubines; I wish they were still socially acceptable. Then my wife wouldn’t be so upset.
31. Consider this.
32. A man named Larry sits atop a church. He claims he wants to get closer to God. That’s fine. But did he really have to sit with the point of the spire going up his arse?
And Finally, a small 'story poem' as a bonus feature, sort of thing.
A zoo in Berkshire.
The 'Monkey World' Section.
A grouse flies, fluttering up from a nearby scrub (ie. bush)
A monkey sagely observes this, from behind his cruel cage of iron.
Savagely, the monkey flings shit at the grouse.
The shit misses
And lands 'pon a Land Rover in the car park.
The grouse's plan had worked.
17. A Premiership footballer walks in to a bar. I’m not saying which bar. And I’m not saying which footballer.
18. A coiled spring shoots up from nowhere. Or does it? It does.
19. Morrissey ties himself to a chair. 'Now I’d like to see them try and catch me,' he thinks, conspiratorially.
20. Oh! Cruel king! How he sits! With whale-blubber slicking back his hair!
21. A family of woodlice crawl under the floorboards. No-one notices them. Everyone in the house above is dead.
22. A baby hovers in the night sky. Possessed? Is anything truly possessed? Yes, this baby was. It was later burnt at the stake.
23. A juvenile crocodile plays hopscotch with his pals. He cheats. He is cast out of the game. He is sad. He cries. Real tears.
24. ‘Tally ho!’ cried the Queen, drunkenly stumbling about the palace, ‘Tally ho!’ Everyone else had gone out for the night.
25. Given the circumstances, Paul was lucky to get off with a double life sentence.
26. Once upon a time there lived a man.
27. A duck sits, considering himself, his pond, and what constitutes ‘duck-feed’.
28. He lounged in the hammock, ironically. He was a haddock.
29. ‘Terrible. Terrible, terrible, terrible.’ And all this from a nun with a gammy knee. (A Runner Reflects.)
30. Concubines; I wish they were still socially acceptable. Then my wife wouldn’t be so upset.
31. Consider this.
32. A man named Larry sits atop a church. He claims he wants to get closer to God. That’s fine. But did he really have to sit with the point of the spire going up his arse?
And Finally, a small 'story poem' as a bonus feature, sort of thing.
A zoo in Berkshire.
The 'Monkey World' Section.
A grouse flies, fluttering up from a nearby scrub (ie. bush)
A monkey sagely observes this, from behind his cruel cage of iron.
Savagely, the monkey flings shit at the grouse.
The shit misses
And lands 'pon a Land Rover in the car park.
The grouse's plan had worked.
Friday, 26 February 2010
On 'Eggheads'
I was watching 'Eggheads' the other night, because I couldn't sleep. I then wrote three poems relating to 'Eggheads'. I hasten to add the words in these poems are in no way indicative of the characters of the actual Eggheads, who I'm sure are wholesome, professional people.
Eggheads one.
Judith from Eggheads sat alone.
Daphne (from Eggheads) ambled past.
Judith coughed.
Daphne pretended not to notice her.
But she had noticed.
She had noticed.
Eggheads two
CJ and Kevin on a lawn,
Playing lawn tennis.
Kevin loses a point,
Picks up the ball, folornly.
But a happy day, a joyous scene!
Later, whilst taking drinks,
Their hands brush. Their eyes meet.
Why doesn't he just kiss me?, thinks CJ.
Why don't I make my move? - Kevin - Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But the moment had passed,
And it was CJ's serve.
Eggheads three
Chris wheezed as he stood. His tongue, lolling.
Sweat oozed from his bald scalp,
Forming drips and drops that dripped and dropped onto the leather of the sofa.
He picked up an apple. Tossed it, casually, in the air.
Caught it, calmly. His gaze elswhere.
'Same time tomorrow?' He implored, putting on his glasses.
'Yes,' replied Daphne, with a wry smile, tugging up her gusset.
Barry watched on, seething with envy.
Another normal day,
In Eden.
Eggheads one.
Judith from Eggheads sat alone.
Daphne (from Eggheads) ambled past.
Judith coughed.
Daphne pretended not to notice her.
But she had noticed.
She had noticed.
Eggheads two
CJ and Kevin on a lawn,
Playing lawn tennis.
Kevin loses a point,
Picks up the ball, folornly.
But a happy day, a joyous scene!
Later, whilst taking drinks,
Their hands brush. Their eyes meet.
Why doesn't he just kiss me?, thinks CJ.
Why don't I make my move? - Kevin - Stupid, stupid, stupid.
But the moment had passed,
And it was CJ's serve.
Eggheads three
Chris wheezed as he stood. His tongue, lolling.
Sweat oozed from his bald scalp,
Forming drips and drops that dripped and dropped onto the leather of the sofa.
He picked up an apple. Tossed it, casually, in the air.
Caught it, calmly. His gaze elswhere.
'Same time tomorrow?' He implored, putting on his glasses.
'Yes,' replied Daphne, with a wry smile, tugging up her gusset.
Barry watched on, seething with envy.
Another normal day,
In Eden.
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
On 'Radish' and Some More Poetry
Ok, bear with me on this one.
I hate the word 'Radish'. There I said it. It's such a monumentally displeasing word. Say it a few times with me. Radish. Radish. Radish. Really get your mouth around the sounds of the word. Radish. Radish. Radish. Yuk. Doesn't it leave a bitter taste in your mouth? Doesn't the sound of its composition send shivers cascading down your spine, make your skin crawl? The two composite parts 'Rad' and 'Ish' just don't fit comfortably side by side at all. They don't lend themselves to being said consecutively. The word just doesn't work on any level. It even looks wierd.
I've nothing against radishes themselves. In fact, horseradish sauce is very nice with a side of beef. I'm not even averse to them in salads, say. A very nice garnish. But the word itself is frankly disgusting, and might even be driving me to giving up radishes in terms of my consumption, for fear I have to say their names. Awful. Who looked at a radish and thought "Let's call this a radish, yeah, that's a nice name for something." Because that's what happened. Some idiot thought 'radish' would be a nice thing to call something.
Sorry about that. But I suppose that's the beauty of language. One man's 'Radish' (horrible) is another man's 'Lanolin' (pleasant).
Please do let me know words that offend you from a purely aesthetic or aural point of view.
A few more poems (short), to sweeten the atmosphere.
11. His skin, slack. His eyes, vapid. His breath, dense with raw meat. I miss you, dad.
12. A lamb grazes in a field. A hat falls, far away. The two events are unconnected.........?
13. Twenty three tiny chicks enter a bar. They implode. It was a bar in outer space.
14. DNA - Do Not Ask. 'Incorrect,' says the schoolmaster, exhaling.
15. One day, in Rome, Gaius Maximus is out walking. He sees a dormouse. Tasty looking thing. Put it on a stick, didn't he?
16. Funny, thought the plastic surgeon, I shouldn't have breasts. Someone, somewhere had made a serious miscalculation.
Sleep well. I may not with the rattling cough someone is producing downstairs.
I hate the word 'Radish'. There I said it. It's such a monumentally displeasing word. Say it a few times with me. Radish. Radish. Radish. Really get your mouth around the sounds of the word. Radish. Radish. Radish. Yuk. Doesn't it leave a bitter taste in your mouth? Doesn't the sound of its composition send shivers cascading down your spine, make your skin crawl? The two composite parts 'Rad' and 'Ish' just don't fit comfortably side by side at all. They don't lend themselves to being said consecutively. The word just doesn't work on any level. It even looks wierd.
I've nothing against radishes themselves. In fact, horseradish sauce is very nice with a side of beef. I'm not even averse to them in salads, say. A very nice garnish. But the word itself is frankly disgusting, and might even be driving me to giving up radishes in terms of my consumption, for fear I have to say their names. Awful. Who looked at a radish and thought "Let's call this a radish, yeah, that's a nice name for something." Because that's what happened. Some idiot thought 'radish' would be a nice thing to call something.
Sorry about that. But I suppose that's the beauty of language. One man's 'Radish' (horrible) is another man's 'Lanolin' (pleasant).
Please do let me know words that offend you from a purely aesthetic or aural point of view.
A few more poems (short), to sweeten the atmosphere.
11. His skin, slack. His eyes, vapid. His breath, dense with raw meat. I miss you, dad.
12. A lamb grazes in a field. A hat falls, far away. The two events are unconnected.........?
13. Twenty three tiny chicks enter a bar. They implode. It was a bar in outer space.
14. DNA - Do Not Ask. 'Incorrect,' says the schoolmaster, exhaling.
15. One day, in Rome, Gaius Maximus is out walking. He sees a dormouse. Tasty looking thing. Put it on a stick, didn't he?
16. Funny, thought the plastic surgeon, I shouldn't have breasts. Someone, somewhere had made a serious miscalculation.
Sleep well. I may not with the rattling cough someone is producing downstairs.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
First Up.
And, to get the ball rolling, I thought I'd share ten small poems that I wrote just recently. I hope you like them.
1. He trampled the candles underfoot. Bollocks, he thought, that's going to take ages to clear up.
2. Roaming across a mountain, a sheep slips on some shingle. That was close, he reflects.
3. If I'm leaving, I'm taking you with me, thought the enthusiastic shopper.
4. Two mothers meet. Mothers meeting? Yes. Mothers' meeting? No.
5. Disgusting slop, thinks the nurse. Old bitch, thinks her patient.
6. An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman frequent the same bar without ever meeting.
7. Happy Birthday to you, thought the spider, eating a fly. Alone.
8. 'Time flies when you're having fun,' said the Elephant, splashing the Hippo. 'Please stop splashing; my allergies are acting up,' replied Hippo.
9. Roses are red, bruises are bluey-purple. Please don't give me either. I have hayfever, and I don't like being hurt.
10. The other night whilst handling nitro-glycerine I slipped. This could be problematic, I considered.
And finally, a haiku to finish it off.
The Spring beckons soft,
Not likely in Brown's England,
Political one.
1. He trampled the candles underfoot. Bollocks, he thought, that's going to take ages to clear up.
2. Roaming across a mountain, a sheep slips on some shingle. That was close, he reflects.
3. If I'm leaving, I'm taking you with me, thought the enthusiastic shopper.
4. Two mothers meet. Mothers meeting? Yes. Mothers' meeting? No.
5. Disgusting slop, thinks the nurse. Old bitch, thinks her patient.
6. An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman frequent the same bar without ever meeting.
7. Happy Birthday to you, thought the spider, eating a fly. Alone.
8. 'Time flies when you're having fun,' said the Elephant, splashing the Hippo. 'Please stop splashing; my allergies are acting up,' replied Hippo.
9. Roses are red, bruises are bluey-purple. Please don't give me either. I have hayfever, and I don't like being hurt.
10. The other night whilst handling nitro-glycerine I slipped. This could be problematic, I considered.
And finally, a haiku to finish it off.
The Spring beckons soft,
Not likely in Brown's England,
Political one.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)