Sunday 6 December 2009

The Ballad of Robson Green

I am watching the tv
Robson Green is a cop.
There is a man pointing a gun at Robson’s head
But Robson isn’t scared
He is calling the man a coward.
I am fearing for Robson’s life
The man might shoot him in the face.
But I am not so scared
I read the other day
That Robson has signed up for a new series
Unless they plan to do something shit
like make him come back as a ghost
Robson Green will live.
But then the window smashes
as a cop fires a bullet through it
And the man’s head explodes
And his brains splatter all over Robson’s face.
What an ending
What a great fucking show.
I CAN’T WAIT FOR THE SECOND SERIES.

Saturday 5 December 2009

When I Am In Da Club

With every grimace of pain
And reddening of skin, as blood.
Flows in to localised areas of
My arms and my chest and my legs.
I hold in my head, a dream of days
When I will decend from the ceiling
Into your line of vision
Like a pseudo 50 Cent
And though I know what you will see.
I wonder what you will look like
And indeed under what circumstances
Such a situation could come to be.

Wednesday 23 September 2009

Selective Memory

When you knock
the righteous chip on your shoulder
and it sends you flying
it is only me who notices
your stumble, or
maybe everyone else
just can't believe it happened.
So they delete as is appropriate
to their choice of perception
of the events in question.

Sunday 13 September 2009

Why I Deleted My Facebook

I won't do a quiz on which member of The Saturdays I'm more like
Not will I plant fake crops and rear pretend pigs on farmville
I won't make friends with that tramp that won't speak to me at school
just so some guy she's after can see that lots of people think she's cool.

Nor will be "become a fan" of some band of skinny jeaned
roly smoking, scruff bags who mince round my school
pulling sickies to go to sick bay and slyly wank
while waiting for the final bell.

I don't want people who've never spoke to me
to know what my favourite books or films are
and I won't have anyone posting photos of me
falling drunkenly out of some shit bar.

That I only went to because it was that
or stay at home and go on Facebook like a twat.

Saturday 12 September 2009

Worm

My friend is a worm
he lives at the bottom
of a bottle of tequila.

He is unstoppable
leaves a trail of shit behind him
but the girls all love him

even when they see him
standing up alleys saying
"smell the fish"

and waving his index finger
and middle finger together
a gloating gesture

the smell might waft casually over
hit you so hard
you'll have black eyes all week.

But he's a worm
he'll play until he's
on a fish hook
or carried away in some bird's beak

Wednesday 9 September 2009

You're Way of Repeating

Saying what I say
after I've said it
would be less impressive
if people wouldn't respond
like it was the first time they'd heard it

Sunday 6 September 2009

Inside on the Outside.

Reminding me that her friends are her friends
and that some of mine are now hers
I see them gather outside the shop I'm in
and all go away together laughing.

The overactive blow heaters whir between
drying out the air and letting it soak
The sun blasts through the windows
dividing shadows up between itself and the strip lights.

I won't walk home when I leave here.
I can have wine in the park by myself.

Friday 4 September 2009

In The Park

I've set this website up to share my poetry with everyone.

When you and I near meet together lip to lip,

Through the intoxicated haze of mingled breath,

what seemed inevitable is interrupted

as your parting mouth let’s slip

a question whether this would be clever

and what felt like it could only be true love

or something seen on television

becomes suddenly something unshared,

and tomorrow, to avoid embarrassment and upset,

we will agree to forget it, as a drunken thing.