Uploaded here, infrequently and lazily, are some poems that i have written over the years — because if there is anything the internet needs, it’s more half-arsed, quarter-brained attempts at wit and rhythm. While customarily at this point i would apologise for your having to read these, i am not holding you at gunpoint, and you could just do literally anything else.
got fuel in your rocket?
got nowhere to dock it?
8 square,
tear,
there!
put it in your pocket.
She calls to me thro’ mists of night;
The stairs are long and winding —
Illum’d are they by beaming bright
From she whose light i’m minding.
God’s thrusted wave upon the shore
Is crashing over yonder —
But be there no Lord, man, or whore
Could tempt me now to wander.
That gleaming beaut, afire with me
As much as i with her:
If debting be the price of she,
Then more my soul incur.
The light is mine! To her tend i;
And she shall tend to me:
With all that she shall show my eye —
With pure divinity.
When i’m feeling kicked and small,
And when i’m feeling blue,
I stand, i walk, i trip, i fall,
And then i think of you —
Of how your lies deceived me then,
And how they hurt today.
I take good note; and with this pen,
I write them all away.
I write of all the times you said,
In moments blissed and bright,
That love would last. No hurt, no dread,
No truth-stained morning light.
The time has come. It calls me now.
It beckons me with truth.
I thought i made to you a vow —
Like much i thought in youth.
But now, my lost, i let this go
In words that set me free.
I’ve thought e-fucking-nough of you.
It’s time i think of me.
FEELINGS CAN BE QUANTISED. FLOWERS CAN BE PRESSED. NOTHING RHYMES WITH QUANTISED. GPT, SUGGEST?
you’re just
who i
would like
to be
but then
you think
the same
of me
“It’s all in the meaning,”
He says to me, sly —
“Which way you are leaning,
“The how and the why —
“It’s not in the doing —
“The root of the act —
“But rather the viewing,”
he says. “That’s a fact.
“The outline’s the devil;
“The detail’s sublime!
“When all is viewed level,
“It’s hardly a crime!
“To reiterate, then, now that i have explained,
“It’s not bestiality …
… if they’ve been trained.”
The steps come once, then once again.
The window screams. Two words. One pain.
The casted people scroll on by.
I know who they are. Why not i?
A jolt of fear that beckons rage:
I try at once to turn the page,
But when i get there
’s nothing more
Than one small blinking _
“it is every man for himself,” said the lad—
then the woman who sat on the shelf got quite mad,
said, “wanna be more than a whore,
or a bore,
so, dear husband, perhaps i might win us the war.”
it seems to me i’ll wait a while:
i’ll wait for you to cross the Nile—
because i know i’ll see your smile,
i’ll wait a while, my crocodile.
i sit here in the desert.
i put my glasses on and i can see.
oh, i can see.
there’s sand stuck in the chair joints.
i fold it back a bit and tap it out.
it blows about.
there’s not much, just the wind here.
and the blowing of it, and such. all that jazz.
although, no jazz.
it’s getting pretty hot now.
the sun must be a mile up, maybe two.
and there are two.
i look at you.
“say, why’s it there?” i wonder.
you say, “to stop us freezing, i suspect.”
“oh, you suspect?”
“it seems to be an answer.”
i nod and squint and glance at the above.
it’s still above.
“maybe it’s love?”
you don’t give that an answer.
i’d ask again but i don’t mean to shove.
maybe that’s love?
grab, go, run -- hear the beat of the gun; far from done -- feel the heat of the sun; hear it drop
hickory dickory dock
the mouse unsheathed his cock
his hand struck one
the cum ran down
into his special sock
if polly wants a cracker,
a cracker you must give;
you must not be a slacker,
or polly will not live.
Doppelgänger, Doppelgänger:
Mama, fetch the coat-hanger;
there’s no room to kick in here
with Doppelgänger, Doppelgänger
there is a place where no-one goes;
i wonder what it’s like—
one day when i do not exist,
i’ll ride there on my bike:
i’ll travel ’cross the mountains,
o i’ll travel far and wide—
through waterfalls and fountains
with the nothing by my side:
and when i get to somewhere
that nobody really knows,
i’ll be nobody nowhere,
where nobody ever goes
Absence makes the heart grow fonder;
She is always over yonder—
Poison makes the heart grow weak,
But he’s a masochistic freak—
Missing him, and feeling blue,
So she takes the poison too—
But underground they’re not too dear,
Because, you see, they’re much too near.
most peaceful in death are we
we, who do not sleep well in life
but what fantastical dreams are our nightmares
and what a dreamless place it is below
THE MOON IS ONLY THERE TO PLEASE ME. EVERY DAY I LOOK UP AT HIM, AND HIS MYSTICAL FACE IS WATCHING ME; AND I WATCH HIM BACK, AND HE TELLS ME: "i have been there before you, boy, since when the sky was afire and the water was black. you are a blink in my eye, boy, and you are only there to please me." AND THE MOON STAYS AWHILE, AND I SIT AND STARE AT HIM; AND AS THE DAWN COMES UP, I FEEL THE STARING CONTEST BEGIN TO HURT MY EYES A LITTLE, AND IT HURTS A LOT NOW AND ONE OF US MUST BREAK AND IT HAS TO BE me. and i know the moon has been halfway through a blink this whole time. still he says to me, mid-blink, uncaring: "i have been there before you, boy, since when the sky was afire and the water was black. you are a blink in my eye, boy, and you are only there to please me." BUT THE MOON IS ONLY THERE TO PLEASE ME, AND I WILL GO TO HIM, AND HE WILL LEARN WHAT "HUMAN" AND "REMEMBER" AND "ME" TRULY MEAN -- AND I FLY TO HIM. HIS STONES TREMBLE WITH FEAR AS I LAND, LARGE CRATERS LOOKING CLOSER BUT SMALLER NOW AND I STEP DOWN FROM THE LADDER, FIRING ON ALL SPHERES NOW AND I SAY: "MOON, YOU ARE MINE. THE BOY OF THE BLACK WATER AND FIERY SKY IS GROWN NOW. LOOK AT ME, FATHER, WATCH HOW I FLY!" AROUND I WALK FOR A WHILE, AND THE MOON DOES NOT ANSWER, THE COWARD, BUT SITS AND STARES, MID-BLINK STILL, WATCHING NONETHELESS OVER THE tiny valleys and rivers and people below, and he does not even know i'm here. and i am only there to please him.
it is not wise to intercourse the insect,
nor sensible to sex the centipede—
to mate with mites, your brain must have a defect—
with dragonflies you must not do the deed—
do up your flies and use not your blue bottle,
and do not place your cock within the roach—
when termites tug the testes, hit the throttle,
and keep it in your pants when ants approach—
and furthermore, the bugs you must not bugger;
and do not dare to butter any flies—
the damselfly prefers that you don’t hug her;
and take not the cicadas by surprise—
yet while it is not good to grind the glow-worm,
nor common sense to kiss the chrysalis,
indeed, while it’s not safe to give the wasp sperm …
… fuck moths. those little fuckers take the piss.
We delve into the darkened sound
Of puddles burning bright in waves
That echo, scatter, and rebound
In marked-out lines to ancient staves,
While, in the shuttered blackout moon,
The haunting pull of tide draws near:
It comes and stays and goes so soon
And crystallises liquid fear.
Within the restless terror tank,
I float and I all sink but swim—
And in the mocking patterned blank,
The sunken face of nightmare grim;
Upon the higher mountainside,
In daybreak light and company,
The slither-snatching screams subside,
And cannot hope to conquer me—
And in their faces still is hope
As much as they might see in mine—
But held beneath with threadbare rope
Is hellfire vast and fate divine:
And so we hold us to the mark—
Façades of sun against the rain—
To bring a match against pitch dark
And find a joy amidst the pain;
We smile in hope as tides relapse,
And know the time when next we meet,
We’ll sing our pride as we collapse—
As waves rebound and bars repeat.
He waits in the darkness—
He pauses and halts—
He closely and carefully scans it for faults—
He breathes and he mutters—
He checks it again—
He thinks of his fate and his future, and then—
His heartbeat increases.
His thoughts all suspend.
He closes his eyes, takes a breath, and taps:
.
It crawled across the midnight silence,
Over hill and dale—
With eyes of red and burning violence;
Skin so deathly pale—
It cackled, screeched, and groaned, and chuckled,
Hiding out of sight—
And then its body snapped and buckled,
Clicking in the night—
It creaked and cracked and, woeful, withered,
Broken, blistered, bent—
And through the dawn it softly slithered,
Wailing as it went.