Poems That Don't Rhyme

I read somewhere,
Poems that don't rhyme,
Are taken very seriously,
So now I know why,
My attempts at humourous poetry,
Always fail to raise a smile.

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She Has Such A Wonderful Facility For Words (Thesaurus Rex)

She has such a wonderful facility for words,
With a sauna, gym, cafe,
and revolving Japanese roof garden,
Complete with a haiku maze!
She has the most magical facility for words,
This side of town,
Pity my facility's such a pedestrian
two-up-two-down.

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Celebrities In Need Appeal

Celebrities In Need,
Is a charity,
That aims to raise,
Awareness in the non-celebrity communities,
About the wonderful charity work,
That celebrities do,
On their deeply deprived civilian behalf.

Out of every pound raised,
For,
Celebrities In Need,
Ninety-one pence,
Will go directly to front line celebrities,
Their managers, and agents,
And P.R.,
On the ground,
Guaranteed.

Remember,

Celebrities need your love all year round,
Not just at Christmas.
Think about it:
All year round.

Let's allow them to let you let them help you,
And it's so easy too:
All you need do is set up a direct debit,
By going to:
www.celebritiesinneedappeal.com/gak
and they will do the rest.

-------------------------------------------------

Loyalty Card

You wont believe this,
But I've just added,
One hundred and seventy points,
To my personal club card total,
No lie!
Which means that if I collect just another
thirteen thousand and nineteen,
More loyalty points,
I will get a forty percent discount,
On all the supermarket's "World Of Wonder Gourmet Range" products,
On special offer,
Up to the value of eleven pounds,
As long as my loyalty points are redeemed,
Within six months, four days, and three hours from now,
This very minute,
Exactly.

I know what you're thinking:
You're thinking, it wont be easy.
I know!
But I suppose,
It would spoil the fun if it was too easy.
So if I stay motivated and target oriented,
and positively mercenary,
I'm incredibly optimistic,
It is within me,
To achieve this.

And,

At this point,
Allow me to say this to you:
If I can do this,
I'm sure you can too!
You can!
So best of luck to you.

And,
As well,
Please ignore those strange people,
That claim loyalty cards,
Are a so-called complete brain washing, marketing scam,
Who are they anyway?
I'll tell you who they are:
They are the same cynics,
Who would have you believe,
Princess Diana,
Was killed by her drunk driver,
In a blameless drink/drugs driving accident!
No conspiracy!
Oh really?

How negative is that?

My friend calls such kinds,
Unrevolved.
I don't hate them for that:
Being unrevolved.
(That's a great description isn't it?),
Actually,
I just feel slightly sorry for them,
That's all.
Difficult childhood probably.
We shouldn't judge them too harshly then.
It could have been us.

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Illegal Downloading Kills Poetry

I sincerely,
Hope,
You are not,
Considering,
Illegally downloading this poem,
For free.

I mean,
You would never dream,
Of physically shoplifting a poem,
With your own bare hands,
Would you?
Of course you wouldn't.

Okay,
Thank you.
Just pop down,
To your local, friendly,
Good poem shop,
Every shopping mall has one,
And purchase this poem,
With cash or credit card.

I know you want to sleep,
With a gloriously clear conscience,
At night,
Don't you?
Of course you do.

May I say,
God bless you?
God bless you.

Help your tragic poet
help you.

And yes,
I feel your love,
As I cry for you.

It's not easy,
Being an authentic tragic poet,
There are so many different kinds
to choose from these days:
What kind should I be?
I know it's not meant,
To be,
Easy.
It's my vocation
Tragically.

So please don't download,
All this sorrow,
My sorrow,
For free.
One day you will thank me,
You will,
Honestly.

Let me say,
One tragic poem bought,
Will allow me,
One quarter a slice of dry bread,
A single squirt of very average shower gel,
And two industrial rose petals,
That's not too much to ask,
I don't ask for much anyway,
I don't believe in it.

It's up to you.
It really is,
Up to you.

All that's left for me to say,
Is take care,
And I love you.

Product Placement with New and Improved Disclaimer

Please rest assured,
that all product placement integrated
within these poems,
will be handled with the utmost sensitivity,
and aligned aesthetically,
within the artistic bodies of the poetry
as unobtrusively as possible.
All products are advertised subliminally,
and,
flashed underneath the poetry
for a few nano seconds only.
So in all probability,
you will not be consciously aware,
of the advertising placed igloo
on ice this cream poetry site.
We recognise that this is as it should be,
and the advertisers are happy to compromise,
for the sake of delivering
as pleasing a tragic poetry experience as possible.

* Legal Disclaimer
The advertisers indemnify themselves
against any liability,
for any psychic disgorgement,
the poetry consumer may experience,
due to any unforeseen disruption to flow.

Never Again

Eventually,
I went to a stand up poetry gig,
Never again,
Never again.

Every audience member around me,
Listened,
The way you would listen,
To an answerphone message,
While you are drowning in a bath,
Mutual water boarding,
Rumsfeld jazz,
The repeated administration of legitimate force.
I had to leave,
Thank God I lost the will to breath,
It's worse than stand up comedy,
Never again.

Do You Believe In Miracles?

I've three new emails,
One from a dying Nigerian colonel,

He wants my bank details,

So he can send me fifty-four million pounds.

Wow!

A saucy pharmacist from Los Angeles,

Is offering a huge discount on "adult pills",

She promises they'll give me,

"A thicker, stronger member,

as hard as tensile steel, all night long..",

Promising!

And the third?

It's a threat:

I will be cursed forever,

If I don't open the attachment,

Immediately!

I'm not scared though,

Not now.

For soon I'll be a multi millionaire,

With sexed up magic pills.

Game over!

My personal bailiff told me,

That I should be due for some good luck,
Soon.

Shows,
There are still,
In this world,
Kind strangers.

All I need now?
A bank account,
And a girlfriend.
But I believe in miracles.

I hope you do too.

This Is Not A Poem

This is not a poem,
Poem, not.

Martian Astrology

What does Earth represent for Martian astrologers?

For their astronomers,
I'm sure,
It's war.

Wish Fulfillment

Wish,

I wish to re experience,
That memory,
Again,
But,
Without the yearning,
Wistfulness foretold,

Then.

Don't You Know Who I Am?

"Don't you know who I am?"
The hotel receptionist
drew a blank,
The celebrity looked at the blank
that she drew,
And said,
"No wonder I forgot,
But thanks."

"Keep it."
She replied,
"I often draw blanks
for amnesiac celebrities,
emotional and tired."
"Which other celebrities are those?"
He enquired,
"I can't remember."
She smiled.

Imagine (part 2)

Socialised banking
everywhere,
Bankers socialised
neverywhere,
Yin Yang,
A nice compromise,
Man.
Imagine their possessions,
They don't have to try.

Hari Rama,
Hari Krishna,
Hari Hari Krishna.

Dreaming Lemmings

Do Australian lemmings,
Fall up,
Into the sky,
And crash,
Head first,
Into the moon?

Do dreaming lemmings,
Sleep walk,
To the horizon,
And drop,
At sunset,
Off the edge,
Of the world?

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These questions,
And more,
Will be answered,
On tonight's edition
Of,
"When Grannies Attack!"

Now with high definition,
3D,
C.C.T.V.,
Footage.
Real-to-life violent grandmother action,
In your living room.
"When Grannies Attack!"

These Words Aren't Mine

Guess what?
I don't think these words are mine,
Have I ripped this poem off?
Will I get sued,
And thrown in jail?
Such Humiliation!
Perhaps I may never return,
To my flat again,
For I reside,
In the nonsense poetry quarter,
There will be posters,
Of my disgraced face all over this place.
What if these thoughts aren't mine?
Should we be held accountable,
For our unconscious mind?

Standing at the bus stop,
I mentioned to a cute girl,
Next to me,
The bus is late again,
And she screamed back,
Excuse me!
Did you just say the bus is late again?
Did you? Did you?
Yes, I replied,
Why,
Do you disagree?
She turned deep crimson,
Disagree? Ha! Ha!
She exclaimed,
Those are my words,
Actually,
I said them just yesterday,
And you were standing,
There,
Right beside me!
You better watch it,
'Cause my boy friend,
Or ex boy friend,
If you must know,
Has mates,
And they are extremely,
Extremely vicious poets.
You've been warned,
Don't you steal any of my,
Creative juices again,
I'm from the left bank of the Thames.

Lesson learned.
I hope to never, ever,
Make such a stupid mistake again,
But, you know,
There is a part of me,
A small part,
But a part none the less,
That almost enjoyed it,
Now what does that say about me,
And my subversive unconscious?

Actually,
Thinking about it now,
I think it best,
If I throw away this poem,
So you can never read it,
So you can never know,
Because,
Living in the nonsense poetry quarter,
You can never be too careful,
The daffodils gossip like triffids,
Round here.

Those French Poetical Asylum Seekers

The prejudice,
Against so called blog poets,
Really is,
In my book at least,
The last acceptable form of racism,
It really is.

So where are our human rights,
Then?
It makes my blood boil,
It does.

Political correctness gone mad,
We're not girly and artistic enough,
Oh no.
But I suppose if,
If I was one of those French poets,
Who spoke,
And wrote,
In that,
If you please,
And I visited brothels,
And so called houses of ill repute,
And I contracted shag-syphilis,
Or some other sex fiend,
Degenerative brain illness,
You know what would happen don't you?
That's right,
The government,
Would give them free groupies,
On the N.H.S.,
Yes!
That's what would happen.

And this is why we invaded Iraq?
I'd like to see those,
French symbolist poets,
Take on suicide bombers,
With their frilly shirts,
And decadent tresses,
And eye liner.

You know they,
Shat out their,
So called windows,
Don't you?
And if they came here
To this country,
To claim some poetical asylum,
If they weren't still dead,
We,
The British blog poets,
Would have to write their poems for,
Them!
Probably in their lingual too,
Translations paid for with,
With your council tax,
You know what I'm saying?

And you know,
And I have to say this,
This really makes me laugh.
Really. Makes. Me. Laugh.
Is that,
I'm not allowed to say,
What I've just said,
Because,
Apparently,
That makes me,
Some kind of racist.
And,
As for the Pharaohs,
Don't even get me started on them,
With their parchment pyramid cats.

The Scream

Looking at the gorgeous women,
Is more dangerous that staring at the sun,
You get blinded,
Needles twist your eyes,
Many good men become undone.

Crashing off into a ravine,
Falling into a manhole,
A manhole!
Sleep walking onto a busy road,
Or we just turn away,
And sigh,
Everything spins, swirls and melts,
We're their rabbits frozen,
In our own headlights.
It just isn't right.

One time,
I walked smack into a wall,
For example.

Another time,
It was a Christmas tree,
In Stratford Shopping Centre,
The little children,
Around Santa's grotto,
Didn't seem to mind.

More recently,
I saw a man bang into a lamp post,
Stealing a furtive glance,
At his girlfriend's behind.
There's fidelity in action!

Gorgeous women -
The kamikaze distraction.

Politician's Farewell Speech

Thank you s'very much.

It's been a long night,
hasn't it?
for all of us,
an amazing journey,
with a purpose,
we had that blue sky dream,
together with the greens, purples and yellows,
and,
together,
we almost,
almost,
made it,
and for that you should feel justly proud.

Almost isn't gonna do it though,
and so, I,
with a heavy heart have decided,
to step down..
no please, please, allow me to finish..
to step down,
so a new leader,
can reignite the flame,
and,
then,
with firmness of thought,
thrust that flame,
into the engaged mouth,
that is the yeti of hope,
eternally,
the dragon's breath,
in a glorious new spring time,
like flowing bees,
mounting the flowerpots,
to pollinate the new honey dew,
of positive ambition,
and to cast aside,
the broken ankles of negative penguins,
as we dare to dream,
like a successful vacuum cleaner,
that sucks away,
the exhaust pipe of negative negativity,
and as it extinguishes,
that,
a phoenix fridge-like in its furnace,
that's a pregnant woman with a small child,
inside it,
we will unite again,
we will beget those lost sheep,
like the cage-ed flower,
untamed,
like a holy cow with a gun,
but in a good way,
with love,
with compassion,
with healing,
to deliver on the promise,
of a brighter tomorrow,
and a day after tomorrow,
and after that,
and after that too,
and so on,
so that there shall,
never again,
be,
never again,
no yesterday's for everyone,
like today will,
tomorrow.

So, then,
as I leave you tonight,
as we spill away,
off different bridges,
as we sigh on the vegetation below,
smiling sadly,
like an upside-down rainbow,
smiles sadly,
under its gainful cloud of moonlight,
I'll take my leave of you,
and thank you so much,
God bless you all,
God bless you all,
thank you, thank you,
goodbye,
and thank you again.

Corporate Plants

A new contractor,
has taken over,
the maintenance,
of corporate planting.
Entree Plants,
have noticed,
that in some areas,
plants are being watered,
in between routine contract visits.

With immediate effect,
then,
staff are requested,
not to water corporate plants,
or,
pour tea/coffee,
or other refreshment dregs,
into the plant pots,
we will smash your face in.

The Heart Break Line

Sinking into place,
On the Heart Break line platform,
Still waiting for the delayed train,
To arrive,
But it doesn't arrive.
How strange.

Dawdling near the edge,
Kicking soul heals,
Through this fog,
A distant signal steams red,
Still,
Why the delay?
Strange,
So I turn away.

Bam!
I'm sucked in,
Hit.
By what?
I'm under.

Was I looking the wrong way?
Again?
My heart bursts open like a cluster bomb,
As dazed gargoyles in Club Class,
Morris dance though me,
Like phantoms in a fountain.
This must be The Heart Break Bullet Train,
With my name on it.
Choo choo

Luggage is reminded,
to keep passengers with you.
Please familiarise yourselves,
with the safety notices,
pinning you under your train.
In case of emergency,
please wait until a few seconds,
before your train crashes,
before you pull on,
the emergency cord of prayer.

Be warned,
The Heart Break,
runs on Devil's Mean Time.
And when delayed,
if you look away,
you will pay.

You will pay.

..Still here..

Until

Warning.

Please don't read this message,
Until..

Until..

Until..?
So sorry,
I've forgotten the nature of,
The "until".
I'm sure you'll be okay,
If you've read up to here.

I work such strange hours,
Writing these helpful warning notices.
In years to come,
I believe,
This time will be regarded,
As an era, golden,
A golden era,
In other words,
A golden era of helpful warning notices.
Just like the Shakespearean era.

What I mean,
Is,
It was such a great time for him,
Wasn't it?
Bet he counted himself lucky,
To be born in Shakespearean times!
Can you imagine,
If,
Instead,
He was born in,
Say,
Dickensian times,
No one would have heard of him.
Not even Charles Dickens.
Crazy!

Oh,
I'm going to interrupt myself again,
Sorry, but,
I remember now!

Okay.

Warning.

Please don't read this message,
Until,
Tomorrow.

Can't believe I forgot that.

Cheers, then.

Chocolate Beer Flavoured Tandoori Pizza

Chocolate beer flavoured tandoori pizza,
That can help you lose weight,
Is that really too much to ask?
And who will send the first granny,
To knit a cardi in space,
China, Russia, U.S.A.?

As sideways I drift on this tube,
I dream up such thoughts,
And miss my stop,
To,
A zero gravity knitting pizza,
Fired into space,
And a chocolate beer flavoured,
Tandoori nanny,
That can help you lose weight.

This AstroTurf

This is the best simile,
In the world,
There is absolutely,
Nothing else like it,
Metaphors in our dreams,
Make sense in themselves,
Like a gardener vacuuming AstroTurf.

She Said

She said,
"You provided me with the most spectacular,
Oral,
Within the M25 orbital,
You fed and watered my garden gnomes,
Like they were your very own,
But now I need a man,
Who can provide for me,
Shiny bespoke ultra organic vegetables,
From those boutiqu-ee type farms,
To mop up those free radical munchkins,
Really,
This career girl needs a sensible man,
To settle down.
So thank you for blowing..,
My mind,
For listening,
For being so kind,
But now it's time to say,
Thank you,
And.."

"Yeah,
I know,
"Fuck off."..."

Three Poems about Mad Cows' Disease

"Three?"
Her eyes swivelled
a dinner lady's,
Whose loose false teeth
boldly declared U.D.I.,
And jettisoned atrociously,
Like a depth charge,
Into an unsuspecting
boiling vat of industrial sink estate school custard.

"Thu..reeee!"
She exclaimed,
Again,
Shaking with the almighty shock,
Of an elderly nun,
Confessing to experiencing her first,
And might the blameless sister add,
Hopefully last!,
Non induced,
And completely unwelcome,
Multiple orgasm of three,
(Or was it four?).

"Three?
Why have you written,
Written,
Three poems about,
Mad Cows' Disease?"

People around us shuffled uneasily,
And turned to each other like daleks,
The barman dived below the bar,
And the D.J. jumped into
one of those erotic dancer cages,
The gyrating Romanian dancer shrieked.

I circled my right arm,
Gathering in the appalled throng,
Swaying with the lascivious dread,
Of a lap dancer,
At a footballer's stag night.

"I've written three poems,
About mad cows',
Because.."

"Because?"
Her eyebrows levitated,
Like a raised Tower Bridge,
The loved-up dalek dolls,
Sashayed ever closer,
With the studied coyness,
Of the Bollywood-style temple maid.

I waved my empty glass,
"Barman!",
The crouched being hiding by the steam washer,
Suggested,
"Don't you think you've had enough sir?",
I shrugged,
And drained the last of my milk stout,
Wiping my left purple sleeve across my lips,
"I've written three poems,
About mad cows' disease,
Because,
Because,
I have yet to write my fourth."

There.