Newness
she walks slow
I sit on a bench
waiting for her
in cracks I see
the beginning
of newness
among *** butts
office worker
sits here when
there is a break
today is sunny
I face the new sun
she catches up
sits slowly down
and speaks
we need a new kitchen
Categories:
fag, adventure, age, anti bullying,
Form: ABC
Any Sunday 2015
Long is Sunday, empty streets
a tunnel of silence,
damp pavement, water trickles
into gutters.
Burnt matches, *** butts and
yesterday's leave forms a rust
brown dike, it bursts and floods
tiny pebbles-
flowers on the window sills
admire the rain on glass.
A life spent in a pot fear
no weed and see no evil.
A black cat decides not to
cross the road,
a child in yellow wellies
dreams of tomorrow.
Categories:
fag, absence, boxing day , child,
Form: Free verse
Dependence
Looking out of the window
at the doctor's waiting room
his receptionist had gone outside for a smoke
she wore black underwear
under a white nylon dress
Faux pas?
What do I care, who dresses in a black T-shirt
jeans and a yellow silk scarf
in the hope of looking seedy but elegant
She inhaled the smoke deeply
I am filled with lust, my lips dry
oh, a kingdom for a drag
She saw my lust, drew the wrong conclusion
stumped her ***
Inside, she looked at me with contempt
Categories:
fag, absence, abuse, anxiety,
Form: Blank verse
Where the white gnaws
a brook,
black Ash trees sink
waist high
in a smoking frost.
My coat is a rook's shadow.
I need to thaw a fumed silhouette,
warm my breath
from old body embers.
Ahead, robin red-flames
tattoo creaking water.
Between the tinder
and the cold flare,
a *** end of sun
ignites icicles
in a brief day-blush.
Categories:
fag, poetry,
Form: Free verse
Form the habit of using a bag:
Along the road hide your ugly rag,
About the contents of the bag brag,
Ready to lies and arguments drag
Or would you like Nasty Tongues to wag:
The Press you would have loved to gag…
Learn to price bag and pick up the bag:
Watchers won’t glimpse in your world your lag,
Even as you might soon out ***
In your night dreams nothing else but bag…
From tomorrow start using a bag:
Cheaper ones which had begun to sag;
About it no true girlfriend would nag,
Let alone an old cargo or hag.
Categories:
fag, education, missing, money, wisdom,
Form: Rhyme
It is time to get fresh America,
to be plucked wriggling out of that shining sea,
a fresh baked humanity, moon-beam buckled.
Pass no more pay-day-loans
into the purses of the pawn-shopping poor,
give no witness nor evidence
of city shame, and house crud.
America, you can do this.
I am a being from across the world
I am from the ***-end of times,
my transformation, a promise of our mutual destiny,
rampant & manifest, our fate falters
let us be unbridled from
both the prideful and the lackluster,
un-arrested and unmolested
by the land grubbing snipes
or the false-fronted back slappers.
We are better than this blare of ourselves,
and if not
we can make a wooden wagon wheel
from all our legendary days,
It’s not too late, wipe your ass America,
wipe your dirty face. the dusty empire is crumbling
yet our first day is not yet done.
I am ready, ready to soar out of a hundred landfills,
a prismatic dodo embossed upon a tarnished coin
my downy head newly scrubbed of old-time blood.
Categories:
fag, poetry,
Form: Free verse
I think smoking is quite funny,
Stuck in the mouth, like a dummy
Smoke billowing out from the ***
After every single drag
Eyes get tired from the smoke
You cough so much you nearly choke
Tobacco rolled up on a piece of paper
Sir Walter Raleigh started this caper
One wonders if this Raleigh bloke
Thought of cigarettes as a joke
As he saw people cough and splutter
And once or twice, was heard to mutter
I have started a trend
That some will not comprehend
Or understand
They were aware it could be addictive.
If afflicted,
And will always need a cigarette at hand.
Some thought smoking was sophisticated
And not related
To a threat to one's health
The sellers were only concerned with the wealth
Not the health of the user,
Perhaps Sir Walter didn't know
How much the sale of cigarettes would grow
Why is smoking so attractive
When it can make smokers inactive
When your lungs get full of smoke
And you want another Puff
Will you think it is a joke
And realize enough is enough
Categories:
fag, 10th grade,
Form: Rhyme
Litter here, litter there
Piles of litter everywhere.
Bins half empty or piled high
Too much packaging in supply.
Plastic, paper, metal cans
Liquid spillage in sea and lands.
Waters full of micro beads
Man-made plastic, choking seeds.
Wasted food turns to stench and rot
Flies and rats love those spots.
Wrappers, *** butts, strewn about
Selfish litter louts without a doubt.
Dumping rubbish is our failure
A lazy, filthy human behaviour.
We are failing earth and nature
Can we change or even save her?
Written 01.04.23 (Not For Contest)
Categories:
fag, environment,
Form: Rhyme
The Day After Christmas
It’s the day after Christmas and all round the gaff
Lay the wrappings from presents, both splendid and naff.
Bottles upended and glasses on stairs,
Stains on the carpet, the curtains, the chairs.
Christmas tree fallen and blocking a door.
Bedrooms resounding to thunderous snores.
The remnants of turkey and all of its trimmings
Where e-coli blooms its unnoticed beginnings.
Upon the detritus, all twinkly and bright,
Shine fairy lights, forgotten, left on overnight.
Booze fumes and *** smoke still hang in the air.
It’s a mess that would make the most pious saint swear.
Under the sink on their cheap plastic tray,
Lurk brushes and sponges, the all-surface spray.
For after the fun, the excess celebration
Comes the down-side, the chore, the clean-up operation.
Sanity must be returned to the house
Where nothing’s displaced, not even a mouse.
Was it worth it for one day of party and cheer?
You bet! And we’ll do the same nonsense next year!
Categories:
fag, celebration, christmas,
Form: Rhyme
I am not sure when I was given the Gift of the Gab,
I know my brother was first to take it out of the bag,
As soon as he was able to grab.
It took me longer to take a peek into the bag,
But when I too decided to grab,
I saw no reason to lag.
I don't like to brag,
But it soon replaced the need for a cigarette (***),
And took away my fear of wearing a tag.
With the gift of the gab in the bag,
I was seldom out in the cold without a decent garb,
Or a friend to suggest, it could be time to put my gift back in the bag,
While I recovered from jet lag.
Whoever discovered the gift of the gab,
Late one night in their lab,
I can't thank them enough for letting it out of the bag,
To give confidence, to so many to brag,
About the time they talked themselves out of a paper bag.
Without the gift of the gab,
Life would be quite a drag,
Not being bold enough to wear any colorful garb,
Or even run in places, where those with the gift of gab,
Have no fear of opening their bag.
How many more would be leading the life of a lonely old crab,
But for the gift of the gab.
Categories:
fag, age, america, appreciation, baptism,
Form: Carpe Diem
three hundred thousand unsmoked fags
since i took the plunge and stopped
i did it cold turkey mates, suffered as
my nicci levels plunged and dropped.
no nicci patches,
no nicci chewing gum,
no electric cigs,
good enough for some,
no therapies to help,
they just didn’t exist,
all those placebos
i so sadly missed.
so i went cold turkey mates
mainly through short cash
so why do i still dream of
lighting up, crashing the ash.
i dream i still smoke,
enjoy every single one
memories flooding back
from years long gone.
every single pilsner
accompanied by a ***
nothing quite like a grosse
and a long deep drag.
its sad really;
just a sick joke,
because in real life i just can’t
stand the smell of ciggie smoke.
i did it cold turkey mates, suffered
as my nicci levels plunged and dropped
three hundred thousand unsmoked fags
since i took the plunge and stopped
Categories:
fag, celebration, dedication, success,
Form: Rhyme
Many times on my couch I lie
In a vacant mind or pensive drift
Wondering and pondering
Why the thought of my mom
Doesn’t go off my busy mind;
Ever after she is no more
Is it ‘cause of being a chip off the block,
Physical bond, blood relation,
Evolution - in womb,
Umbilical connect, love,
Care and grooming.
In many instances stepmother
Or a sibling, or a dad or others
Have filled the void caused by
dead mothers or adoption per se
Is is because of gratitude or
selfishness or emotion or admiration
Is it food, clothing, shelter, love
Security, protection and support
Nothing withstanding.
Very surprising that this love for mom
exists till the *** end of one’s own life.
Why and how?
For sure I don’t have an answer.
Mothers may know it best!
Categories:
fag, appreciation, birth, caregiving, childhood,
Form: Free verse
Not all tongue that wag
You dishonorably gag …
Of course not that of my Neighbor
Which assigned to itself Christ’s Labor
For it doesn’t behind lag
And will ever out ***,
While demolishing knickers that sag;
Women that fripperies drag,
Hundreds of cosmetics bag,
Fun always pokes at a hag
Or lanes walk that zigzag
And in the church read a mag!
The tongues that sensibly wag
Should about it richly brag,
Even as their victims nag,
Their anger rocky crag.
Categories:
fag, character, god, wisdom, women,
Form: Rhyme
every tap and scratch of chalk upon the blackboard
every tick tock tick tock of the classroom clock
every bored yawn, restless fidget, impatient sigh
these were...
every reprimand for running, telling off for not
every hymn sung, register taken, detention served
every hundred lines, six of the best, clipped ear
the best...
every white tache and bubble in our cartons of milk
every sly drag of make you feel older playground ***
every conker conquered, knee graze, girl kiss-chased
days of...
every seven times table, count to fifty, crossed fingers
every love letter, Valentines card, flash of knickers
every muddy shoe, inky shirt, nasty rumour
your life...
every period of logarithms, Shakespeare, cookery
every rustle of sweet wrapper, cough, drop of pencil
every excruciating scrape of chair at lesson’s end
these were, these were, these were...
23.5.2011
Categories:
fag, memory,
Form: Free verse
She has a tumbledown deck, a creaky rocker.
Dandelion seeds carry memories
from one neglected garden patch to another.
She’s not that old, but her wine has mulled,
a hard sun has scoured her features.
There were children once. They play
now upon her mind
as crippled backwoods memories.
The ‘law’ took them, and the grinding years
brewed more bitter coffee, while on the decking
coffee cans were filled with cigarette butts.
‘No-good lovers’ still occasionally
practiced their shoddy dance steps,
but even the one night stands have dwindled
to hasty matinee tumbles.
Few life choices were well made or unpaid for,
yet in the ***-end of each day
she wanders upon her dandelion patch,
and prays to the girl she once was,
then she retires to a tousled bed
to sleep with the rootless shadows
that float as light as air
through her ramshackle nights.
Categories:
fag, poetry,
Form: Free verse
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