A Sonnet on The Apprentice

So we all know who won. It was marvellous of course. Here is where I imagine the business will be in, say, a years time (in sonnet form).

Made in Taiwan

"You think that this is good enough, do you?"
Howled Tom Pellereau at the sweatshop kids
He'd bought in secret to bring his back-chair through,
"You don't have a fucking clue about business!"
Nick watched on, tutting disapprovingly,
Whilst Karen crunched the numbers in the back.
Nick needed these chairs made and damn quickly
(He probed his spine, his vertebrae went Crack)
"Sometimes you've got to walk before you run."
The sagely wisdom of Head Salesman, Jim.
Nick pistol whipped him with a massive gun,
"You talk to me again, I'll break your chin."
In Head Office, Lord Sugar filed his nails
Obliviously, pleased with this months' sales.



Keep your eyes peeled, as I will be doing a video of me doing a topical ballad (in the poetical, rather than the power sense) and I'm also writing my first ever Diss Rap. Who is it about? It could be you? (it's not you, probably)

THANKSBYE

Edinburgh and a New Poem

Hello there everyone.

Hope you're all well? Ah, that's good/sad.

Well, here is some news - I'm going up to the Edinburgh Fringe Festival with the good people at Misshapen Theatre - there are to be two plays performed, on Love, Sex, and the Internet. I'm involved with Phillipa and Will Are Now In A Relationship (directing) and the other one is be-named The Sexual Awakening of Peter Mayo. Both written by award-winning playwright Jon Brittain, and both extremely funny plays about. Well. Love, sex and the internet. (Look at the website for more info - IT'S UP THERE!) I do need to do a little bit of quasi-begging for any monies that can be spared... If you could visit our WeFund page (click the word 'WeFund') and have a look at the video, see if you agree, maybe give some money (incentives are listed there). THANK YOU.

RIGHT. A poem. This is a vilanelle, for some reason.

Friend

I had a friend who came to stay one day
But now it seems he simply won't go home.
I only wish that he would go away.
I go for breakfast - he's there - I say, "Hey
You're still around. I thought you might have gone."
I had a friend who came to stay one day.
I mean, it's great when he brings up a tray
With supper. I really don't want to moan.
I only wish that he would go away.
I went to Europe for my holidays
And he was there when I returned from Rome.
I had a friend who came to stay one day
And now he's hanging round me like a stray
Cat I once fed milk, but now can't send home.
I only wish that he would go away
But no such luck, I guess he's here to stay -
Maybe I'll pack my bags and hit the road.
I had a friend who came to stay one day.
I only wish that he would go away.

Thanksbye.

Wedding Poems

Hello there,

My two excellent friends Tom and Jemma got themselves married (to each other) yesterday. A wonderful time was had by all and I'm genuinely honoured to be have been part of the day (I was an usher). I wrote them a couple of poems which I then said which I shall now put here. These:

Marriage

Two people are married, happily.
Let's call them 'Tim' and 'Gemma' (with a G).
Everyone cried at the ceremony.
Mainly due to the poetry.

Wedding List

Wedding, a wedding, callooh and callay!
We're all at a wedding, pip pip hooray!
The best thing about weddings is all the booze,
It's that or the food, I can't really choose.
Or all of the ushers who've ushered so well
And the two - two! - best men who've turned up, as well.
It's all of you present and all of the gifts
You've given so gladly; you've all made my list.

And of course, I'm forgetting, no wedding's complete
Without bridesmaids to catch the bouquet!
And of course Tom and Jemma, together
Forever. My list just says 'This is their day'.

On Having Nothing Original Left To Say

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.

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!

NEW RAP

Exciting news! Here's a new rap! So have a watch.

RAP VIDEO

I Am A Romantic

I'm currently in the Lake District, glorious part of the country, beautiful. Majestic. Sweeping. And, just as Wordsworth was those many moons ago, I have been inspired to write a poem eulogising nature and such.

On Nature

Oh babbling brook, your whispered path scythes
Through this dale.
And my heart.
Oh bumbling bee, with your wings so small
And body so big.
And my heart.
Oh skittering slate, your cracked, gnarled face
Supports my weight.
And my heart.
Oh well worn path, you guide my way
Through history.
And my heart.
Oh Sky TV with your many channels,
I never need see any of that other shit
With you doing all the babbling for the brook
And the bumbling for the bee.
I needn’t step on slate,
And I can see the path
From 32 different angles.
In HD.

I'll also point you in the direction of my Eggheads poetry trilogy in performance. (Those three words are links to the trilogy in order)

THANKS