Tuesday, 24 November 2009

FOR A LAUGH [a collection of 22 poems]

iv) Moon and Cock

vi) Dasein
vii) Toilet Poem
viii) Play the Game
x) The C Team
xi) Jeramiah the Medieval Monk
xii) Perversion
xiii) Fishes in Dishes
xvi) Little Cheesecake Again

xviii) Tear, Tear
xviiii) A Funny Thought
xx) Death of a Dull Cat
xxii) Train Journey




vi) Dasein

Being-with others.

vii) Toilet Poem

I felt a poem coming out.
I squeezed and squeezed... butoh! Oh no!
Then words finally dripped, but dripped slowly,
Onto a soul-white page, down in the below.
Then dribbled down
To find abstract meanings for their popous selves.

Then I flushed the stained sheet (that stank of the best inanities)
Down the tiolet's gullet.
To coalesce, too neatly, with other such shit.

viii) Play the Game

There was an MP
Who was very silly
He told the truth to all.
Until one election day
He was made to pay
'... because truth made the Party fall.'
He did not realise
That it was lies,lies, lies
That kept his Party tall.
And from that day
He has refued to play
'The Game, by boy, that's all.'


x) The C Team

C Men are we
Ready to go
Give us a chance
We're sure toflow.

Reading and willing.
Biding our time.
You'll do just fine.

No time for kisses
Or roses or wine
Make it short and sweet
Speed is no crime.

Come on, Big Boy
Give it a go
Just spread your seed
We're sure she'll know.

So thrust and thrust
With all your might
Don't waste our time
Ain't got all night.

Faster and faster
We're ready to run...
Your minute's up
And here we come!

xi) Jeramiah the Medieval Monk

Jeremiah the monk
Was certainly no hunk
But he had plenty of fun, for sure.

He was big, fat and bald
And his farts did appall
All within the monastery's door.

He wore clothes well torn
And sandels ten years worn
Like St. Francis, friend of the poor.

But Jeramiah the monk
Was inclined to flunk
His daily work and prayer.

He preferred to stay
On a hot Summer's day
Lazing in his tree-top lair.

While his fellow Franciscans
Being very good Christians
Were kneeling on the floor, so bare.

xii) Perversion

We shared everything that night.
The dreams and secrets of delight.
And with desires of things untold
We journeyed through ecstasies dark and bold.
Until we came upon a pleasure
With other joys it had no measure.
It gave us frills beyond control.
Turning our souls as black as coal.

And what is this sin of which I speak?
It's licking the soles of her smelly feet.

viii) Fishes in DishesFish is exciting things.
They swims a bit.
And they thinks a bit.
They have amazing features
(Like them scaly creatures)
On which they fly through water blue and red
(As has been said by poets dead).

Their golden teeth can slaughter
All things made of water
(As much they ought to do).
For this fishes be tough -
Much more than enough.

So if you have a pet fish,
Pray to God and wish
It didn’t end in your dish.
For it be you who’s to blame
All the damn well same.

Let little fish sing and do their thing
In waters warm and wet.
They’ll swim, you can bet.
Fishes is fishy birds which swim in water high.
Of that I’ll not lie.



xvi) Little Cheesecake Again
Little Cheesecake is often very far high.
But also often too down.
For to be too down is to be amongst those spiders
Which creep like creepers along her creeping floor.

You see, to be alive to life is hard.
For one, you need to be awake.
That is a trick she don’t know.
But when she do; she’ll no doubt try it too.

xviii) Oh tear, tear!

Those lovely little animals!
How deeply and truly I love them.
They're so much better and lovelier
Than the pigs I eat on so many occasions.
The cuteness guarantees their safety.
And my unadulterated love.

xviiii) A Funny Thought

Once upon that time, deep in the brain’s deepness,
Was a funny thought.
A very funny thought.
Small at first, but grew.
But grew and grew - like the weed it did.
It knotted him up inside itself.
Crept round its home as if it owned it.
Kept itself to himself.
Never did but hide in the inner parts of the floppy grey
Or under a synaptic bushel.
Day in, and both day out, it cried: “Me!”
Nothing more than “Me!”
It knocked on inside skull to see if he were in, when it were in.
As he was and will be from that day forward (for they never did part)
Its untrue mate.
It famished for attention.
“Think of me!” it cried.
“Think only of me.”
Until its voice echoed around each everything -
Each nook and cranny of the brain’s nether holes.
Soon there was a nothing (as only a nothing can be) but the funny thought.
And the thought was this: “No one like you, boy.
Me more than all.”

xx) Death of a Dull Cat

The cat, black and boring, always stared at the fire.
Until the fire died or was turned off.
Then off it went into tomorrow today.

At night, it had stalking feet.
A nose which sniffed fish from a mile.
Come morning, it be there, again, on the step -
Crying like a baby for food.

Last, in it came, again, to stake its place by the fire.
At which it stared, until it stared no more...
Until it be dead. Dead.


xxii) Train Journey
The train in monotonous motion.
Passengers silent. No commotion.
Half-hour captives on their chosen ride,
Grasping papers with fierce pride.

The collector comes with true cheeriness
To extract smiles from studied weariness.
All pretend not to notice each other
Hid behind their newspaper cover.

Men, now and again, fix me noose-tight stare-
Primeval way to say, You’d better beware!The drunk’s slumped, mouthing nothings
Stirring passengers in this moving coffin.

Then, finally, we arrive.
The drunk is still alive.
The rest grab luggage like dogs to a bone
Thinking they’ll soon be back home.

And me? I carry on.
Listening to the train’s song.

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