Crystal Orchards Scintillescent

The fire.
The fire decants hands warmer bluer.

The chiller-sky Thor ice-picks Wind Tunnel Alley raw;
Bolder flames entwine like heat-seeking lovers enfolding dispersing warmth.

A man of parchment and drip-dry tears and fingerless gloves stokes the fire;

The dowsing expires anaemic tangerine sparkler-arc streamer rosaries.

The night bowls howling ghost-wail-ricocheting sheet-steel whiplash;
Subterranean deep-freeze phantoms slice their life-likes on the run.

The almost people huddle dejected: paparazzi penguin waiters;
Winter fuel allowance: no tipping.

Frosted glass mirrored streets reflect flip-side-down illuminated orchards.

Grass crystal slivers underfoot shatter distant firework crackers.

The moon glimmers opaque iridescence;

The lunar ice-rink winks on her absolution scintillescent.

Soap-dish marbled streets delicate neon aura splashes;
Neapolitan car lights swarm, fan-out, fade, dissolve.

Dimpled mannequins slide out department stores;
Smeared perfumes vapour-trail heady-scented passionista moles.

Snake-charm takeaway-fumes chimney out expelling doorways.
Coriander, mint and charcoal insinuate meer cats' drunken garble-swirls.

Mister Shimmering Smog choo-choo's his Mini-Moog,
While snug-togged commuters, like spies, murmur incantatory mobile-Babel music.

Ding-a-ling.

Injure-a-lawyer4u

Would you like to injure,
An ambulance-chasing,
Litigation-whore lawyer?

Then give us a call.
We,
At,
Injure-a-lawyer4u,
Have been injuring real lawyers,
For nearly ten years now -
That's all we do.

So,
Give us a call;
It won't be your fault.
We understand.
Our trained specialists will pay the lawyer
who has upset you a visit.
Simple. Quick.
Injury guaranteed.
No win. No teeth.
Injure-a-lawyer4u.

So.
What are you waiting for?
Go on give us a call:
You know you want to.
Remember we're open all year round,
Three-six-five.
We even injure lawyers on Christmas Day!

So go on,
What are you waiting for?
You know what to do.
Injure-a-lawyer4u.

I can mime three songs at the same time.

This Be The Worst

They fucked you up, the baby boomers.
They didn't mean to, but they did.
But in turn,
We will really fuck-up their grand-kids.

This Sort Of Thing

The human brain:
A giant supercomputer -
100 billion nerve cells -
The same as the number of stars in our galaxy -
Each nerve cell a computer itself,
Connected with thousands of others.

What an astonishing miracle of nature,
What an astounding accident of creation.

So,
Can you show me how to open
this child-proof plastic vac-pack?
Ha! ha!
My astonishing miracle of nature,
Does not compute,
This sort of thing.

That Stings, Mused The Wasp

There's nothing so efficient,
As built-in obsolescence.

National Institution

I have never watched the Gran National
So cruel and irrational
How spectators are able to derive pleasure
And cheer
As those poor bewildered creatures, whipped into fear
Die leaping those unforgiving, terrible and cruel fences
How jockeys live with themselves I've no idea
I mean, you wouldn't even treat a horse like that:
Animals

Mexican Wave

"How many farmers are exploited for our frappuccino?
How many girls forced to forge those trainers?
How many die by arms bought from blood diamonds?
How many children are drowning in our red tides?
There's still so much exploitation everywhere!:
We don't see the cause and effect,
I call it Consumer Disconnect.."
A solemn silence settled,
As all the media twattery around the glass table nodded.

With that -
Pleased with his peroration,
The hack,
Chopped,
Then vacuumed,
A couple of lines.

New Interesting Times

The old uncertainties -
Swept away!
They're laughing now:
They slyly step back,
And salute,
The new ones raging through.

Brace yourselves,
For perfect storms -
For tidal waves.

The One That Got Away

w
w
a
a
a
I

Mermaids Wipe The Rain

In a nutshell
A hole-in-one
At the end of the day
The moon is the sun,
Squaring the circle
A smiling cat with the cream
For the dead
Sleep like fish
Counting sheep in your dream.

A bah-Humbug! Christmas carol
Unkiss your prince to a frog
Break out the pizza mints
Split your hair of the dog,
Bring back hanging
Keep our suits neat and tidy
An American princess for the President
That will do nicely.

We must cut our cloth in inverse proportion
To the bankers' fat arses,
And we must cut our cloth in inverse proportion
To the bankers' fat arses.
So,
Where are the gods tearing asunder
The Temples of Mammon? -
Selling toilet rolls to mermaids
To help them wipe the rain.

Which came first:
The bishop or the actress
The sacrament or sacrilege
The chicken or salmonella
Climate change or weird weather?
If the big-bang exploded
And tore open neo-natal space
Would a radio telescope catch the sound off God's face?
If the messiah had owned a washing machine
Would Da Vinci have faked the Turin Shroud?
For every line a nasal cloud
Successful slimmer a mirror cowed.

So,
Where are the gods tearing asunder
The Temples of Mammon? -
Selling toilet rolls to mermaids
To help them wipe the rain.

A Friend In Need

I don't want to say this,
But I did warn you,
Didn't I!
Don't say I didn't warn you,
I'm not going to go on - don't worry,
But,
I did tell you, and don't think I've forgotten,
I did tell you that this would happen,
Now look at you:
Just standing there not saying anything.
Well?

So who's laughing now?
I warned you - I did!
I did! I did!
And now look!
Look!
So don't say I never said anything!
Why aren't you saying anything?
Don't think I'm happy about this.
Do you think I'm happy about this?
Don't think I'm happy about this.
I'm not going to say anymore,
I'm not going to say
Anything. More.
Any. Thing.

But,
I have to say I told you so.
And you know,
Especially as you're sitting there,
In front of me with your face,
That face you've got on.
Why have you got that face on?
Are you ashamed or embarrassed
because I'm saying this around your friends?
Oh well be like that.
No! I'm not trying to ambush you,
Why would I do that?
What would I have to gain? Seriously,
All I'm saying is - and please don't interrupt me,
Good manners cost nothing you know -
I warned you didn't I,
But I promised I won't go on,

I'm just saying this because I care,
I hope you can see that.

And,
Just don't get me started,
Don't even get me started,
Don't. Even. Get. Me. Started.

Estuary Latin Roman Centurion Gangsta Poem

Ergo,
Ipso facto,
Apropos,
S.P.Q.R
I'm an A.K sword mother,
Bitch!

Mary Poppins Sings At An Anti-Capitalist Demo

Um diddle diddle um
diddle ay
Um diddle diddle diddle um
diddle ay

Supercalafragilisticquantitativeeasing!
Bankers get their bonuses
which is really quite displeasing,
Supercalafragilisticquantitativeeasing!
Bankers get their bonuses
which is really quite displeasing.

Um diddle diddle um
diddle ay
Um diddle diddle diddle um
diddle ay

Pneumonoultrascopicsilicovocanoniosis!
It's the longest word in English
And rhymes with alidocious
Supercalafragilisticexpialidocious!
Pneumonoultrascopicsilicovocanoconiosis!

Ghost Cremation In Budapest

Ghoul,
Ash.

New And Improved Consumer

This consumer is new and improved,
Its brain tested, prodded, teased,
blow-torched and burnished,
To its very filthiest shine.

New and improved.
And,
Now,
Silicon Primed!

Finely tuned unit,
Rampant:
Gagging, frothing, multiplying.

So sluice you silver,
Swill around and spit the sounds of your symbols and signs;
Bend and tweak its bedazzled antennas raw,
Crumple its bingo eyes,
Venus flytrap its fleshly aerials:
Pliable, conceited, quivering.

So Blessed Mirror Smokers,
Dear Mentors of the Dreck,
Bask, Sharks,
Pass your product bong,
Relax,
Observe agog.

10 out of 10 brand owners recommend,
This new and improved consumer.

Glorious Brand Architects,
This new and improved consumer -
New and improved to the power of ten,
Ten over infinity -
Guaranteed,
Always,
To give you their money back naturally,
One way or another.

Target Market:
Troll and flame,
Pitter-patter,
And,
Splatter:
Pavlovian parakeets on your platter.

Rest assured,
Your constantly evolving virus -
Your eternity -
Dissolves the new and improved consumer internally.
This sturdy deflowering perennial -
A whirling ricochet,
Shall out-of-control itself,
Watered from ledge rain,
Dripping up,
To nourish your bling-sentience,
Nowforever,
Nowforever.

So milk your desires,
Sentinel Bar Code Dancers,
And fire your solar flares!
Their puddle eyes truly reflect
all the glory of your glistening, gurning sun.

The rare fragrant moon
The scent of vacuum
The oud of eclipse
Nowforever,
Nowforever,
Amen.

Post Credit Crunch Age-Of-Austerity Poem (With Essential And Necessary Cut-Backs)

,
,
!
.

?
;
,
,
,
.

Jerusalem (part 2)

Bring me my chariot on recyled tyres.

Save The Chile Miners

Pray.
Let there be engineers on stand-by,
Ready to rescue the Chile miners,
Who blinded by the TV lights may fall,
Spiralling down and down,
Into the eviscerating, Reality-TV black hole:
Carrion,
For the dead-eyed gargoyle vultures -
Tallons dripping candyfloss razors -
Perching on the sharpened edges,
of humanity's newest, darkest and strangest melting escarpment.

Twitter Feed Bolemia

@me
October 8, 09.07pm:
Mememe meme me,
Me me and me me and me,
Meme,
See ya!!

@me
October 8, 11.11pm:
You,
You, you,
Me, you, me, mememe.

@me
October 9, 02.09am:
Mememe me me.
You'll never guess?
Go on guess.
No??
You're dying to know: nearly three minutes ago,
(Nearly like four now),
I nearly fell over!;
I nearly did!,
Mad ?!
See ya!

@me
October 9, 06.14am:
Youyouyou
You never did:
You nearly fell over!?!
For real?!

@me
October 9, 09.22am:
I did! I didn't but I nearly did!
Mad!
See ya!

@me
October 9, 2010. 10.00am:
Youyoumeyou
I nearly did that once..
I nearly fell over once.

@me
October 9, 2010. 11.23am:
Ohmygod really?

@me @me
September 15, 2028. 11.22am:
Memememe..

And on,
And on and on,
And on.

I Wont De-friend You Unless You Violate My Privacy Settings Or Say Something Weird

I wont de-friend you unless you violate my privacy settings or say something weird.

Facebook,
Facebook,
Facebook,
Facebook.

Are you on Facebook yet?

Facebook,
Facebook,
Facebook,
Facebook.

Are you on Facebook yet?
You're mad! You're still not on Facebook?

You can be my friend on Facebook.

nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnfriends..

are you stll there?nnnnn I need help,

I need help;nnnnnnnnI don't want to sound,

melodramatic,

and, nnnn..I know, nnnn..you've got other groups to visit,

nnnnnnnnnnnnnnor joinnnI really need to talk to someone anyone,

want to kill myself, things have got so bad, never thought id say this need help need to talk..

hello? is anyone still there?

i canttakeit

anyone..

alright then...

nnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnsee ya

see ya

Cardiac Karma Cola

Supermarket numbness,
Aura of the damned,
Z-list enforcers,
Endorse and brand.

Food Arcades exfoliate,
The warmth of sharks:
Come hither,
Sup our dark arts.

We are the trench-troughers;
Silken purse sows devour-emoting.

We have assumed Full Spectrum Dominance,
Over our Consumer Ground Nero.
We dribble Manchurian Yoke Freedom.

Sometimes,
I pray for lobsters clasping Uzis,
Waiting,
Their claws on the hair-pins,
Nozzles pointing out from our boiling pans,
And into their hellfire.

Gastronome-dalek bling,
Mediterraneaning,
Exoticeasterning.
Italian, Indian, French, Spanish:
They're of course still missing all this,
But have no fear fluffy muffin,
For they must catch on:
The Credit Crunch Work In Terror ethic,
Will soon enough scold, then vaporise
their ethnic kitchen-culture manana-charm;
So last-century.

Slow-cook growth hormone:
Soy Soma;
Cardiac Karma Cola.

This is the church,
This is the steeple,
Let us pray for wholly bovine people.
And if all the cows die,
We can binge on burgers made from our dead selves:
A greener alternative to burial:
Eat us, purge, then flush,
And if you're in the mood for romance, fat-fuck.

In the abattoir,
Slice and dice us open,
We will ooze and seep,
Melting, radiating,
Factory-farmed,
Minced polystyrene:
Alien autopsies to go,
Scare the hell out of those almond eyed Greys,
All the way back to Alienspacystan.

Masticate,
Contort,
Digest,
Strain,
Donut muff-dive again,
Colon Barbarian.

Alfalfa barbecue with intent,
Pretend you're foreign,
But only for a bit,
Their food, climate, warmth and lifestyle
may be wonderful,
But those people?
Shame, isn't it?

Daisy, Daisy Cow, The

This health and safety notice will explode in five minutes..
Four minutes..
Three minutes..

Sorry,
This health and safety notice will not explode:
It has developed a fault.
Al Queda Health and Safety Executive,
Apologise for any inconvenience caused.

This celebrity has passed his sell-by date.
He has passed with flying colours,
And shall be presented with this lovely certificate,
At his sell-out parade,
To celebrate his stellar achievement.

This meat has gone off,
But no-one knows where it's gone to.
Naughty cow!
Please find and kill her,
And then deep-freeze her;
Then she wont go off again,
For at least another twelve months.
She answers to the name of Daisy, Daisy Cow,
And her middle name is The.

This relationship is past finished,
We just aren't compatible,
And we have nothing in common.
But surely we can still be best friends?

This dogma will pass,
And be superseded by another dogma,
And this will continue in cycles,
Forever and ever.
Dogma is Great! Dogma is Great!
Woof! Woof!
Dogma is Great!
Woof! Woof!
Or Meeow! Meeow!
If you're an agnostic.

Portent Of A Disconnection Foretold

Commuters space-walk along the train platform;
Broken links:
A human chain in mourning.
Faces' lines read like tyre tracks:
Stanzas torn abandoned on a zebra crossing.
Air conditioned skin awaits to shed on the rattlesnake.
Silencer earphones on "stun", eyes like rose-tinted grenades..

Indentured meer cats mutter mobile hydraulic conversations:
I'm calling just to let you know
I can't talk now I'm on the train,
Or I will be if it ever arrives,
Talk later..
And again the roaring silence washes over the caller,
Like a prodigal son,
Surfing a crashing wave of liquid nitrogen,
Smashing against a zero-gravity beach head.
Return to sender.

Such curious nano incantations murmur,
Like a thousand Buddhist librarians:
I'm on my way;
I'm not on my way;
I'm nearly there, but..;
I might be there late;
I might not be late, but if I am
I will only just be late..but if I will be I will still be there;
..and can you buy cat food on your way home,
Love you..Hello.. I said I love you..Hello..?
That hello with its plaintive question mark:
A portent of a disconnection foretold?
She returns her phone to her handbag,
And looks down,
Her eyes shimmer and falter like an evaporating mirage,
And the little mouse on the track,
Weaves and bobs like a boxer on LSD;
He's obviously not a church mouse.

Me?
Oh I just listen to music,
And sometimes text the message:
I can't text you now I'm on the train,
Or I will be if it ever arrives..

An Englishly Simpleodlium

Obsiliquent is not a word,
This word does not exist.
In other words,
Obsiliquent is utterly rindampulous.

Although,
When used in a magical realist context,
Could parse in a bambitarily, omfododily kind of way:
The garden gnome is astride my unicorn, obsiliquent;
For example.

It's so important to get these simple things right.

Bonsai Beast

Some men have penises that can chop down trees,
But some women prefer penises that buzz like bees..

A Fragrance Ghost With No Name Drifts By

And whenever I catch a whiff of her perfume,
As a fragrance ghost with no name drifts by,
Time's warped arrow splices,
And Love's atomic clock,
Tock-ticks its anti-clockwise meltdown,
And a handful of forbidden memories escape,
Their ashes regenerate.

Time's never a straight line;
It's a curving upper-cut -
A cosmic smack,
Care of the Bad Karma Police.
I'm not guilty,
Where's my solicitor?

Glowing pearls on a melting boomerang,
Thrown by a dream-time warrior,
At this desert pedestrian.

Such memories:
Lonesome grains of sand more precious than diamond.
The broken windows of space evaporate Time,
And melt away,
The comic, dark-matter shadow play.
The wistful dolly dagger twists,
A charmed feedback loop of deja vu:
Her scent: her phantom touch,
She's not here,
She's not here she is..

The Pylon And The Scarf

A silk scarf of crimson elevates,
Levitates,
Like a sky-bound alien manta ray;
The deep glowing slate heavens shimmer,
Casting the pylon a mysterious aura of golden silver,
And reflects a light so fierce:
A totem of shining mirror.

The darkest cream grey sky,
Whisked and liquefied,
All passive-aggressive,
Blasts down still-life breaths,
Pummelling the mustard grass,
Like bleached wig hair,
Sucked up into a cyclonic vacuum cleaner's vortex.

Brooding tides of air currents,
Caress and lift this abandoned scarf,
Playfully,
(Lovingly?),
Higher,
As it arcs the beaming pylon,
In spirals it drifts.

This pylon,
Like a dancer frozen:
A bashful pageant Christ,
His six energy-god arms seem to outstretch,
Perhaps to catch her?

The orphaned scarf,
Here in the so silent day after a night -
Abandoned,
Abandons itself,
In turn,
To the pagan power line,
And rests.

And falls,
Like a spaceman.

The Bendy-Bus Salsa

i)
Astringent lemon insurgency -
Eau de Sicily;
My plankton face.

Lapis lazuli olfactory iridescence;
I Gurgle my mint mouthwash arias.
Scorchio!
My coral reef tongue.

Saturday night surgery:
Pregnant prophylactic prophecy,
Carnal dentistry,
Sensual occlusion jihadi,
Lapidary mercenary;
Meat-market crash-team.

No, no.
I think this year I'll stay in -
No desire to set sail for the Babel-tongue-fisted neon canyons,
With my cinema-verite pirate-eyes.
Gottle-of-gear,
Gottle-of-gear.

Laser-guided eye-lines glancing over shoulders,
Cold eyes folded:
The smear-stare,
The double-take;
Let the crumbs eat cake.
Beer-goggle romance,
As tender as a gorilla finger-fucking a souffle.

Clowns and meer cats,
Crocodiles and fairies,
Maggots, mermaids, parrots and canaries.

I'm floating,
I'm bouncing,
I'm a primal blurry blob,
Punching out through my teeth silly words,
Like a twentieth-century typist
banging out bingo numbers in Morse code,
Behind this - my vacant and collapsing semaphore-miming face.

It's the show-and-tell,
My Guantanamo Caligula.
What the hell would Jane Austen make of this?
This Urban Jungle Book,
This Amour Vaudeville.
Piss bolts of silk,
Giraffes:
"Eat My Milk."

ii)
Dark-matter-rainfall spool their angel-down yarn,
Like transcendental fishing lines,
Wispy vermicelli of turquoise-charcoal-silver.
Illuminated whirlpool-puddle-leaves,
Circle and swim,
Like schools of tropical fish,
On a delicates/silk-rinse cycle.

And a couple swoon-loopy,
Aflame,
Ache,
Entwined beneath this wallflower moon:
Our parochial star.
They sway,
And slowly turn,
Alternating clockwise,
And anti-clockwise,
On the bendy-bus turntable,
Like only passengers on a bendy-bus can:
The Bendy-Bus Salsa.

A sonic-boom of de-cloaking pigeons,
Helicopter-blade,
Rotate,
Fan-out and arc,
And,
Fade.

Two sirens,
Now three,
Now four,
Now five,
Hermetically seal,
The rudely awakened God-Squad Sunday sky.

And as atheists pray to Jesus,
To cure them of their hangovers,
Dawn-patrol photo-tourists,
March like lobsters,
And gently collide with shift-workers,
Like deflating, static, party balloons.

In the interests of time,
I'll keep this poem to a thousand unwritten lines.

Eject.

Future Recommendations:

People who bought this lawn mower,
Also bought this Aphex Twin MP3.

People who bought these water purification filters,
Also bought this plastic bonsai tree.

People who sell The War On Terror,
Never buy candles, flowers and wreathes.

A Lamp Post

A lamp post tourniquet of wilted roses,
Hang;
They weep and fuse inside their bag,
Of polythene-condensation-tears.

It's been there for a week or so now.
A note attached,
Rain-ink-drips block capitals:
"WHY YOU WERE SO LOVELY".

A bent-double bollard -
A dislocated thumb,
Its wire fangs and bone,
Expose the torn pavement flag bare.

Child undone:
A hit-and-run.

Hollywood's Top Ten Most Mysterious Drug Overdoses

She threw the roses on the floor,
Like they were used takeaway trays,
"I hate him!" She exclaimed,
"If he thinks all he need do is send me this:
Some cheap garage flowers!
That makes everything okay.."
She flourished an imaginary wand,
"..just like that!"
Her slanted feline eyes demanded affirmation,
I just shrugged my shoulders,
And patted the sofa.

She sat down,
Staring-out the discarded flowers,
Hoping they would spontaneously combust,
But they just cast timid baby shadows on the beech floor -
The roses now stricken by a smirking,
Still,
And pretty smug-with-itself afternoon sun.

"Hollywood's Top Ten Most Mysterious Drug Overdoses"
was about to begin.
"Oh look" I said,
" "Hollywood's Top Ten Most Mysterious Drug Overdoses"
is about to start".
"I'm not in the mood!"
She was adamant!
"God" I thought to myself,
"This really is serious then.."

A few hour-seconds of tomb-like silence dumbwaitered by,
Before her mobile chirruped oddly,
Tentatively,
Plaintively,
Like a broken songbird,
Sending out its last-breath s.o.s.

She oblong-shaped her inevitable sigh,
And lifted up her mobile,
As if it was a dumbbell,
Of papier mache.
She scanned the text,
And then,
Smeared almost comically her most elusive Da Vinci painted smile,
Which blasted the snide sun out of its static orbit,
Atomically,
And out of sight!

And baffled angels descended..
Scratched their heads,
So I just pointed at her.

She giggled,
Glanced at me,
Then turned away all Geisha;
I couldn't help but smile.
"Look.." She flashed the text at me,
But pulled it away more swiftly than a thief,
"Isn't he lovely" she instructed,
"He really knows how to treat a girl.
He's so exciting!
You should be like this."
I nodded,
And,
With statesman-like gravity,
Pointed to the t.v screen,
She assented,
Now in the mood for
"Hollywood's Top Ten Most Mysterious Drug Overdoses".

I Love You Like A Packet Of Frozen Peas

I love you like a packet of frozen peas,
Yes, that much!
Except that you're not frozen,
Or anything like peas,
Or full of vitamin e,
Although I bet you are,
Because your skin glows all healthy and dewy,
Like freshly frozen peas defrosting..

So I love you like frozen peas defrosting,
Yes, that much!
Except I've never seen you defrosting,
And if I did I'd call an ambulance,
In case you catch a chill,
Defrosting frozen peas.

Cupid's Pirates

Broken heart-strings.
Broken, yet still they vibrate,
And thrum,
Reverberate,
And hum,
But they're broken aren't they?

The heart-strings snapped.
Replaced with tougher and meaner heart-ropes,
Lassoing the tightened heart,
Now a burnished, panel-beaten sail:

It will survive.

And if Cupid's pirates climb aboard,
And fire their baby arrows,
Or pluck at the heart-ropes,
Through sun, through storm,
Never fear:
Just kill another day.
And,

Eventually,
Abashed, and defeated,
Silenced,
Heads lowered,
They will always sail away.

Superfoods

Pomegranates,
And spinach,
And watercress,
Are designated "superfoods",
Along with goji fruit,
And almonds,
And king-size pizza,
And chocolate,
And vodka,
And ice-cream,
And french fries,
And Indian,
And Chinese.

So who says healthy eating can't be fun?

Sun And Air

I've fallen deeply in love with the girl,
Hiding in the electronic check-out number four.

She never sounds sad or angry.
Her perfect, modulated tones,
Oh, how I wish to take her home.

There she hides beneath the screen,
"Please place the item in the bag..",
So I respectfully place my vegan mayonnaise,
In the bag.

In the past,
Leaning close to her bar-code reader,
I've whispered,
"Would you like to go out
for a drink with me sometime?",
She's never replied.

How improbably, exceptionally shy!
Imagine hiding in your check-out bunker,
All day long,
All day long!
Announcing prices, instructions..

Do you have your lunch-break in there?
I wonder,
Do you only open your hatch for sun and air?,
Or only when the security guard,
Taps your glass screen:
" Hey, it's all clear now,
They've all gone,
You can come out now.
It's safe, there's no-one around."?

I always wave at her bar-code reader,
But no hand has ever appeared to wave back.
But,
Sometimes, she bleeps.
You know,
I'm sure that that's her way of confiding in me,
That she knows I'm there,
And she knows I care.

I don't know what she looks like.
And you know,
It doesn't much matter to me,
For my love for the invisible check-out girl,
Is so beyond the mundane, physical.
I never thought I'd say that,
And mean it!

When I gently stroke her buttons,
She responds with:
"Please enter the code again.",
So I tenderly press her buttons again,
And then,
From somewhere behind that touch-screen of hers,
She replies with her classy, cut-glass, restrained,
"Thank you.",
And always followed with her coy, mysterious,
home-counties,
Silence.

And so here I am again,
In this queue,
I always wave other customers past me,
If check-out number four isn't through,
For she has to know -
Has to know,
I will never be unfaithful -
I will never go to another till.

And now,
Look!
There she is,
Free!,
The regular girl,
Who directs us to the available check-outs,
Rolls her eyes at me,
Maybe she's jealous,
Because I'm holding a bunch of flowers.

So here I stand,
In front of till number four,
And I confess to her:
"I worry about you:
Hiding, crouched all day
Beneath your till?
It must do your poor back in!
I wish you would come out from hiding in there,
I could give you a lovely massage..".

I can feel,
All the other customers stares,
Burn,
What is their problem?
I continue:
"I love you,
And I don't care who knows it!"
There's laughter around me now,
But I must press on:
"I'm holding a lovely bunch of flowers for you..",
I wave them in front of her bar-code reader,
And she replies instantly with,
"Thank you for shopping at Tescos.".
"No, thank you,
I love you shy, subterranean check-out girl.
I'll leave the flowers here for you."
I place them by her side,
And begin to take my leave,

..There's a voice..

And a hush descends..

Android Paranoid

This phone is not a smart phone.
It's one of those old-fashioned phones:
It can only text message,
Video message,
Download music and films,
And play games,
And surf and email,
Make global conference calls,
And other pretty basic things..

Oh,
And it's blue tooth enabled,
And wifi capable,
And can remote control your tv,
But this phone is not a smart phone,
So,
I must throw it away immediately!

Not Ships Exactly

We were dodgems that crashed in the night,
And while were seeing stars,
We also span stars.

A Silly Stream Of Consciousness

A silly stream of consciousness,
A steam train of lozenges,
A lounge lizard,
David Attenborough in a jazz club - nice.
Granny bingo militia,
Bono,
God no,
Not Bono.

Bees of Borneo.

A silly stream of consciousness,
Soporific sonata,
Ballet/belly dancer,
Carmen Electra,
Ornithologist.

One big owl.

This poem is a poem,
Poem poem poem poem,
And you have lovely ears,
Especially when you put on your lipstick,
Poem poem poem poem,
I've loved the smell of ladies' lipstick,
Ever since I was a small young man of three.

And before I take my leave,
May I say,
How deeply impressed I am,
With these petit pois peas:
Flavoursome spangles these,
I don't wish to go on about it!

Land ahoy!
Our stream of consciousness journey,
Is at an end,
Beautiful friend,
This is the end,
I love the taste of petit pois peas in the morning.

Can't Speak French

She's a performance poet,
That wants us to know she knows French,
So she's reading her poem in English,
And now she switches into French,
Oh, and now back into English again,
And now back into French,
See.

I think it's about Iraq and Afghanistan.
No.
Maybe it's about two lovers of hers?
Not quite sure,
And,
She's finished,
(I think),
Yes, she's finished,
Definitely,
Because she says "that's it..",
I understood that bit.
An applause smatters,
And she sits back down again.

That's it.

Totally Chilled

We should never take out our personal frustrations,
On our colleagues,
No. That's just plain wrong -
We should reserve that for the people we love!
Laughed the human resources consultant.
And with that,
Another conflict-management training day,
Was brought to a successful,
And enlightening conclusion.

And with a new spring in my step,
I bounded homeward,
Smiling.
And with the sun still shining,
And the birds still a-twittering,
(Like they do in happy, life-affirming poems),
I opened my door,
Ran up to my loved-ones,
And beat them to a pulp!

Laughing,
I then threw all their assorted,
And utterly defenceless furry pets,
Off the cliff!

And you know what?
When I went to work the next day,
I didn't let any work-colleague wind me up anymore,
And I took out my frustrations on no-one;
In fact all my frustrations seemed to have magically disappeared!

I felt totally chilled.
Just totally chilled.

Open Mike

Colder than a dentist's surgery
on a Monday morning,
In touch with his feminine side,
Like Genghis Khan on crack,
He's a stand-up comedian with a twinkle in his eye:
A jewel that sparkles,
With all the humanity,
Of mercury on baby-food.

More evil alien-reptilian-humanoid hybrid,
Than David Icke's worst fears,
He talks a slick game-show host,
His shtick wants to rip your asshole a new ear.
He hates because he cares,
About the cruelty of life,
He wants to open you
to his spiritual truth,
(And when you're not looking),
Open the legs of your wife.

Heterosexual Bishop Shocker

When gay bishops are "exposed",
Why are they only exposed in the Sunday tabloid press?
Do editors believe gay bishop "shock exposes",
Carry an especial resonance,
Appropriate for revelation,
Only on the Good Lord's day of rest?
Bless.

The day the Sunday papers expose,
And "out",
England's first heterosexual bishop "romp",
Well that truly will be a shocker!
Maybe they have a secret hetero-bishop hit-list,
But they're currently keeping mum,
Perhaps the twenty-first century,
Isn't yet able to deal,
With an heterosexual bishop's in flagrante delicto fun.

Broken-Heart Emoticon

Menu,
Messaging,
Write new,
Options,
Broken-heart emoticon,
Add,
Continue,
Recipient,
Send..

Your message read,
Your message deleted.

...No new messages

...No new messages

...No new messages

The end.

Vase

I broke their vase.
It wasn't easy.

"God I'm sorry" I said.

Well,
Good manners cost nothing.

A New Way Of Doing Jerusalem

"..and in the national interest,
We,
The politicians,
Feel duty bound,
To put aside,
Our petty differences,
And allegiances,
In order to reach a satisfactory compromise,
In this new spirit of unity,
That history demands of us,
In these precarious,
And uncertain,
Economic times.."

..And,
Eavesdropping,
In Westminster's secret connecting passageways,
The thronging, sinister Easter bunnies,
Cheered, danced and sang..

Sunglasses

If we had to soak in the colours,
Through our childhood eyes,
Even at night,
We would reach out for sunglasses.

King Baby Fairy

Hey little Tommy,
Can you come here and sit down?
Your mother and I need to talk to you.

No,
Don't worry,
You've haven't done anything wrong,
It's just that your mother and I,
Believe that it's about time,
You knew about,
The Real Facts of Life,
You know:
About where babies really come from.

Tomorrow Tommy you are twelve,
And we have to admit,
That everything we told you so far,
Up to now,
About babies,
And where babies come from,
Was not strictly true Tommy,
We're sorry..

Mums and dads make these stories up,
To protect little children,
So they can enjoy their childhood in innocence,
Believing that little babies,
Are conceived,
In fairy tales:
You know: drunken but loving one-night-stand relationships,
That kind of thing..

Maybe you believe Tommy,
That you were conceived one winter's night,
When Father Christmas,
And a Premiership footballer,
Had a spit-roasting session with your mother,
In a cordoned-off v.i.p area,
Of an exclusive nightclub.
Is that what you think Tommy?
Is that how you think you were made?
Oh, you do.
Well no Tommy, that's not strictly true,
That didn't actually happen I'm afraid..

So here are the real Facts of life Tommy:
Adults do not conceive children,
By having ecstatic, rampant, meaningless and sordid sex.
Ha! Ha! No.
The truth is Tommy,
In the real world,
Sex doesn't really exist,
It's a totally made up thing:

It's never happened.
In fact you Tommy,
Like all children,
Were actually delivered to us by the King Baby Fairy,
Yes that's right:
The King Baby Fairy.
The King Baby Fairy.
The King Baby Fairy.
And one of his little helpers,
Will visit you tomorrow,
To explain,
As you will be twelve.
You see the King Baby Fairy's helpers,
Always visit children when they are twelve,
To explain everything to them,
About The Real Facts of Life..

Now Tommy you look a little stunned:
No, that's right Tommy,
Sex doesn't exist,
Not at all.
Premiership footballers and celebrities,
Don't exist either,
Are you disappointed?

Now obviously,
Your mother and I realise this is a lot to take in,
So don't be shy Tommy,
Ask us anything you like..

Xanadu

Why aren't you networking?
Why don't you have any profiles?
Where are all your pictures,
Your legends?
You're not proving anything you know.

Ah, maybe you're in love?
Are you,
In love?
Oh,
But how long will that last,
Realistically?

Come on now,
Join the communities:
Almost billions of them.
You never need make new friends,
Messily,
In the old-fashioned, in-your-face way, ever again:
Time-wasting!
Recruit via inner space,
Gracefully,
Situationally:
The beginning and the end.

Once sited,
You will never be deleted,

So,
Inoculate yourself against mortality,
Personalise your existence.
Widget your apps,
Snoop on yourself with our maps,
Select up to ten thousand friends:
Reply,
Reject,
Ban,
Resend,
Report,
Pretend,
Ineluctable friend,

Click,
Open:
Xanadu.

Daffodils (post-modern slight return)

I wandered lonely,
As a mixed metaphor,
Blowing candles sentimental,
Breezily in the wind,
Waiting for Diana,
To roll the cake in,
Faster than a cannon ball.
Then,
Hostess,
I came upon some daffodils,
And tore them from their roots.

Then,
I foisted them into the wax-works I made,
Of Morrissey's anus,
Carefully strewn on the gallery floor,
And I stood around my art installation scene,
Fluttering for the Turner.
Excuse me? What does it all mean?
Well, what do you mean?
That's,
So beyond,
So beneath,
I say: Float your own meaning,
For me? There is no frame.
Strange questions!
Anyway..

The Dynamic-Anti-Perspirant Paradox

Dynamic men,
Lead,
truly dynamic lives,
DEMAND,
Dynamic t.v ads,
Advertising,
Dynamic-anti-perspirants..

Look at that man,
There on the screen,
As you stuff your face with crisps,
And processed cheese..

Look at him:
He's a truly dynamic man,
Running,
Just running,
Because he feels like running,
Because he's dynamic..

And,
Now,
He's in a very dynamic meeting,
Dynamically pointing,
At dynamic flowcharts.
God he's dynamic, isn't he?
I bet you wish you were that dynamic, don't you?
But you're not are you?

And now look at him,
In his dynamic power-shower,
Sponging himself dynamically,
With that dynamic shower-gel soap foam,
With its dynamic moisturisers,
Bathing his uxurious skin,
Dynamically.

look at him!

Now in slo-mo:
He's spraying himself moodily,
With his dynamic anti-perspirant,
Because he means it!

And now,
He's playing dynamic squash,
Because,
He's a work-hard, play-hard kind of guy.
Because,
He's,
Dynamic!

And now he's dynamically eating pasta,
With his dynamic-looking girlfriend,
Because,
He's a work-hard, play-hard,
And,
Eat-hard kind of guy.

Wow!
This dynamic anti-perspirant,
For dynamic men really works.
I'm more than impressed!

Question:
When will they sell an undynamic-anti-perspirant,
For undynamic men,
Leading,
Truly,
Undynamic lives?
Pointing at undynamic flowcharts,
In truly undynamic meetings,
Undynamically eating undynamic sloppy pasta,
With truly undynamic girlfriends?

I mean,
I've never even seen a dynamic flowchart,
Let alone point at one!
Dynamic meeting?
Do they really exist?
So where are our undynamic-anti-perspirant consumer rights?
Well,
The truth is,
If we demanded undynamic anti-perspirant,
For undynamic men,
We would then - by definition - be acting dynamically,
So,
In that case,
We would have to spray ourselves with,
Dynamic-anti-perspirant anyway!

Who'd have thought,
Choosing the correct anti-perspirant,
Would be so complicated,
And present such a paradox?
Only someone with a dynamic imagination,
Is capable of that,
And he's probably,
Right now,
Pointing at a dynamic looking flowchart,
In his dynamic meeting,
Etcetra.

Romance?

A mattress,
A pair of sheer satin tights,
One large rubber duck,
And a crimson stiletto shoe,
Lie dumped on the pavement outside my flat,
Glistening moonlight asphalt dew.
A note sellotaped on top of the mattress,
In black felt-tip:
THANK YOU!!

Show-offs!

And His Blog

He was a blog-standard, slightly misunderstood genius,
But somehow he just died,
He was a blog-standard, slightly misunderstood genius,
And yet,
Somehow,
He just died.

He led a tragic double-life:
For by day he kept up a soul-destroying job,
But by night he held down a soul-destroying private life.
And he nursed,
Secretly but lovingly,
His blog,
Sometimes.
And alas,
No-one in his life knew.

"Oh he was all right.."
An ex-girlfriend mused,
"Yeah I definitely remember him..
He's dead?
Oh, it's always such a shame when that happens,
Isn't it?"
Yes.
Yes it is.

And,
His blog.
That poor blog of his,
No-one knew.
No-one.
Well no-one except a blog administrator,
Who deleted it.