In All Good Book Shops

This piece of poetry,
Is,
In fact,
No such thing.
What this is,
Is a highly contentious,
Pseudo virtual reality,
Installation art artifact.
And as such,
Right now,
At this very unique moment,
In space-time,
(Greenwich Mean Time space time),
A panel of cultural experts,
Are discussing,
Animatedly,
On Newsnight Review,
On BBC 2,
Katie Price's,
Latest,
Semi-autobiographical,
Ghost-written novel.

Katie Price has admitted,
That,
(Unlike some of her critics),
She hasn't had time to read her novels,
But she knows her ghost-writer really well,
And Katie outlined the storyline idea to her.

The novel has already received good reviews!
And one book reviewer,
Ironically,
Apprehended,
Apprehended that Katie,
(If she ever has the inclination),
May not enjoy reading her second,
Semi-autobiographical,
Ghost-penned novel,
For its playful, cheeky,
Bite-the-hand-that-feeds-me humour.

Her ghost-writer has real talent,
And they loved it!

Her novel is now available,
In all good book shops,
But honestly,
I don't know,
How available it is,
In all the bad ones.

All Your Ideas

"Wonderful breath-taking photography"

"Beautiful soundtrack..Amazing and life-affirming film"

"Never a dull moment..I laughed. I cried.."

"Stellar acting, spectacular stunts: a work of true genius!"

"Magical!"

Health and safety Awareness, Unit 2, Level
1 (intermediate):

"Hidden Fire Hazards in Workplace Toilets
Awareness"

After you have all watched the film,

I want you to break up into 3 groups of 4,

And 1 group of 3,

3, because there are only 3 of you left in the last group,

Which is a bit unfair,

So I'll join you to make up the numbers,

So in a very real way you will be 4.

So:

1,2,3,4,

1,2,3,4,

1,2,3,4,

And,

1,2,3,

Plus me equals 4.

And,

Can the 1's go over there please,

With the 2's going over there,

The 3's over there,

But the 4's,

You stay here with me please,

Okay?

And what I want you to do

Is,

On your flip charts,

Brain-storm,

(I can never remember whether that is one word or two,

Which is kind of ironic in a funny kind of way,

If you think about it,

But never mind..)

Brain-storm,

All your ideas,

About...,

Uh..

An Ordinary Saturday Night-Shift Lunch Break

An iridescent snow-white full moon,
Shimmers and spotlights the River Thames,
Silvery black oil inflected waves,
Snake and lap and undulate,
Lazily but curiously,
Around the neon party boats,
Booming music and soundtrack laughter,
Drum on my erotic thoughts,
On my night-shift lunch hour.

As I stroll to the newsagents,
For my crisps and chocolate,
Generic Latino beats mix in,
Simmer,
And blow down dark heat from that club.
Wonder what the girls look like,
I want to go imagineering,
The most spectacular oral pleasures they will ever know,
Or at least better than so-so,
Whoah!
Where am I going with this?
No, No, No!

Oh,
But I want my chocolate-chip flavoured crisps also.

Thank you.

Now I must return,
My Saturday night-shift lunch break,
Will soon be over,
I stroll back to the Dalek's head,
The waves surround-sound,
A cosmic sweep of a thousand distant, deep bells,
Ethereal,
Melting chimes sigh down,
Splashing from the moon steeples,
Showering the drunken choirs,
Floating on their rainbows rising.

Away!
I feel presence:
The swooping, gliding lunar shadows,
As,
Winged and dancing angels' feathers,
Touch,
Touch.
I'm not even drunk.

Yes,
The night-shift has its benefits.

If America Can Bomb The Moon For Water We Should Bomb An Asteroid For Milk

The Americans have just bombed the moon,
For water,
"They've murdered the fucking Clangers!"
"How can Barack Obama win the Nobel Peace Prize,
When his country's just bombed the shit out of the Clangers?
Even Bush never did that!
Isn't that alienist or something?"
Scream the battalions of deeply traumatised
T.V. shut-in channel-surfers,
Well maybe it is.
And of course the American scientists will be perplexed:
"We seem to have bombed subterranean soup mines,
Hidden in craters on the moon,
Our satellites indicate plumes of strange soup,
And remnants of a dead dragon caterer,
Spraying up into the lunar sky!
Oh, and we've bombed a bit of water as well.
WTF?!"

WTF indeed.

As a glorious subject of America Junior,
I contend:
If America can bomb the moon for water,
We should bomb an asteroid for milk.
We must join in,
Shoulder to shoulder.
It's only right.

The liberal student clanger
retro loving agenda,
Is so over.

And when it's economically prudent,
But not a moment before,
Let's bomb Mars for custard,
And let's bomb Jupiter for gravy.

Just as a present to ourselves really:
As a kind of reward to all humanity,
For the fiscal discipline we are currently suffering,
To ensure a viable future for all our children,
And in turn their children,
When our children fuck and are blessed with child.

The Ex Factor

She's the most beautiful,
Most exotic,
Most sensual,
Most voluptuous,
Ex-girlfriend,
A man can ever have,
I will never need for
another ex-girlfriend again.

Fallen Blancmange

Have you ever vacuumed a fallen blancmange?,
Don't do it.
Last Thursday,
(It's always last Thursday's strange things happen to me),
I vacuumed a fallen blancmange -
Vegan strawberry flavour -
It crash-splurged tragically
on the unforgiving floor,
Splattered uniquely,
Jackson Pollockly,
I ran like a crash team doctor,
Untethered the vacuum,
And plugged it in,
I shouted at the witnesses "stand back!",
But as I nozzled the vegan strawberry blancmange,
The vacuum motor screamed,
Then imploded,
The blancmange in its dust bag exploded,
One witness fainted,
So another punched my nose in,
Surgically.

Reflections Of An Ex-Banker

A former banker,
For Lehman Brothers,
Was interviewed on the news,
To talk about how she felt,
On the anniversary of the collapse of her bank,
That precipitated the global financial meltdown,
And from where the term Credit Crunch,
Born kicking and screaming,
Rudely gate-crashed into the lexicon,
And lives,
Of billions of poor souls,
Who will now be indebted for,
Forever.

She,
This ex banker reflected,
And after a few deep seconds of that,
Concluded,
The near collapse of the economy,
Had - ironically - done her,
And her former Lehman Brothers' colleagues,
The world of good:
She has re-prioritised her life,
She now realises,
It's not all about the money,
After all.

And as I sat there,
Listening to this ex banker's spiritual epiphany,
I don't mind sharing with you,
I felt all warm inside,
Gooey, even,
And at one with creation and nature.
I'm so glad for her,
And I hope you too will join me,
In wishing her well,
Pleased that her new cafe venture,
Is the stunning success it is.

So well done to her,
And her former colleagues,
All still friends,
Sticking together after all that unpleasantness.
They have all moved on now,
And she assured the interviewer,
Are not sad or regretful,
No, not in any way:
What's the point?

That's the spirit!

Golfism

I Don't trust people who play golf,
Not at all.
Maybe I'm golfist,
Or should that be golfphobic?,
Although I've nothing against golfers being gay,
So I'm definitely not golfophobic.

The golfer ruthlessly yanked his clubs,
From the jammed turnstiles,
And walked away,
Just like that!
The nazi.

Cod Philosophers

Vegetarians that eat fish:
Are you cod philosophers?

Fish eating vegetarians:
Please stop!
Not all vegetarians eat fish, you know.