That Special Something

It's not quite there yet,
Not quite there.
Don't get me wrong,
It's nearly there,
Almost nearly,
I don't know,
I'm just not sure,
There's still that indefinable,
That special something,
That's still missing.
An imperceptible,
An imperceptible something,
Like when I see a duck on a pond,
I think,
Oh look a duck on a pond,
Isn't that's nice, but,
Then I can't help but ask:
But where are the other ducks,
To keep this one duck company?
Why are there no other ducks in the pond?
It's just not right - the duck,
All alone like that,
Especially on a Friday,
Or a Saturday night,
Can you imagine?
Can't be much fun for a solitary duck,
Gliding sadly,
And all so alone,
Through the too quiet,
Too still water,
Circling, gliding, alone,
Beneath the weekend moonlight.
Know what I mean?

Magic Novel

This novel,
Is just so enjoyable,
I can't read it anymore,
Because then I will finish it,
So it will end,
And I will never feel the pleasure,
Of reading it for the first time again.
So I'll carry always this magic novel with me,
Wherever I may go,
I only like to finish the bad ones quickly,
With great ones that's never so.

Telethon Teletubbies

T.V-teletubby-telethon-celebrities:
"We're about saving lives
- so please give",
But watch,
And after a while,
You may lose the will to live.

Closer To Life

Now,
If I hear,
Just one more time,
Yet another noxious celebrity,
Another agony aunt/uncle,
Another New Age chat show Oprah-Christ,
Babble in forked-tongue:
"First you must love yourself,
Before you are able to love anyone else",
I promise,
I will puke the blood of a thousand dodos,
Pull out from my ears the tails of wailing mermaids,
Weep the tears of the Martian Pyramid Pharaohs,
Piss the holy ectoplasm
of one apologetic millionaire stockbroker,
Crunch on the teeth of a dead Icelandic troll,
And then?
Then gaze at a waning moon,
And whisper..
It just ain't so.

It just ain't so.

And as I water-board the first self-help narcissist,
With the boiling snake oil of the last deep-think toxic dalek,
I'll wonder what kind of air,
Do such sages breathe.
You have to love yourself first?
Why?
No thanks.
I don't want to love myself.
I don't.
Sorry.
And I don't need to love myself,
To love someone else.

Respect yourself,
If you think you're deserving;
Like yourself,
If you like;
And love another,
As you can;
Then, maybe,
If you're lucky,
You'll be touched by an open heart,
That yearns to,
Belong,
To another;
Two hearts, now,
Closer to the senseless beauty of Life.

In Extremisly, The Mustard Slayer

I am a tad dumbfounded,
A teeny bit stunned,
A smidgen aghast,
A tiddly bit amazed..
That this jar of French mustard,
Not that one - this one,
Is nearly,
Six,
Count them:
Six days,
Past its "use by" date!
Passing its "sell by" date is dangerous enough,
But its "use by"?
No wonder I've been collapsing all over the place,
Frothing at the mouth most unseemly,
Spouting crazy and quite deranged thoughts,
To giggling,
And - I have to say - deeply unsympathetic,
Passers-by.

My behaviour makes perfect sense now:
I was poisoned!
Poisoned I tell you,
By a jar of deeply expired,
Egregiously decayed,
Gravely gone,
French mustard!

I'm totally overtly,
Ghostly toast.
Empirically scientifically,
Most in extemisly,
Death-carded by a jar of French mustard!

My vitalish man's body,
Now,
Permanently poisoned,
I haven't even written my will.
Where is my God then?
Where are my rights then?
Why is it always the good ones that die such young,
Deaths,
So suddenly,
So spectacularly
Tragically and bizarre?
I surmise it's because:
We toy,
We toy and dance on life's bendy edge,
Like a drunken garden gnome,
Tottering, wobbly on a window ledge.
Such poets as I?
Yes, such poets as I,
Yes you - I, Me!
Done in,
By a jar of morgue-friendly French mustard!

Adieu then.

You don't care do you?
And please,
Don't tell me I'm exaggerating..

The Wonderful World Of Nimo Scowell

In a parallel universe,
Beyond trillions of light years away,
Lies Alternate Earth,
Where reality is so very different from our own:
The people are violet, emerald and silver;
Trees, sky goblins and penguins,
Cause global heating;
Cats and dogs are livestock;
Siamese cows and poodle gnomes
are considered the cutest, furriest house pets;
Most musicians are militant celibates;
And politicians are highly regarded as:
Trustworthy and honest,
Altruistic and self-sacrificing,
Wonderful and civic-minded public servants.
And,
The X-Factor contestants,
Perform live cover-versions of pop songs!

One of the show's judges - Nimo Scowell,
Is handsomely paid millions,
By the t.v channel,
For the privilege,
Of allowing the winners,
To make him even millions more,
Through his tie-in recording deals with them.
And,
On top of that,
His former proteges - now nano-superstars,
Are invited back onto the show,
As special guests,
To mime,
Their original neo-karaoke product-placement,
In super-glorious prime-time!
Guaranteeing even more cash tills ringing,
Like acute tinnitus,
For Nimo - the real X-Factor winner,
Every year!
Every year!

All this makes perfect sense,
On Alternate Earth,
And seems not to contravene,
Broadcasting, self-promotion and advertising rules there,
In any way!

Huh!

Give A Fish A Man

Give a man a fish,
And you can feed him for a day,
But give a fish a man,
And you can feed a fish a lifetime,
And a man can eat some chips,
Whilst he's feeding a fish.

Nothing

I'm thinking about nothing,
I'm thinking about nothing at all.
But now I'm thinking about thinking about nothing,
Does this mean I'm thinking,
About..almost nothing at all?
Almost something,
Almost nothing,
Something and nothing at all.

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.