Unmatch Dot Com

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But,
Luckily,
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Unmatch dot com,
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It's Not Nothing

   
       the fridge hums

the waterfall sighs
      the tea light night trains
               flicker
      the blowfish moon spills her
limpid  
   tipfull
     spoonfuls

    the inevitable sirens cannot
pierce        the
  brushing of
twenty-thousand jazz-leaves
          insinuating waves
                               rushes 
giant bouffant matchsticks

  the lime and darker
black     blue
             gold     shellac

and
     nothing like kindness keeps
              the living

             a celebrity
   on winning
         a second place
                               in....
    smiled
  oh
it's not nothing

so kindness too
                      it's not nothing

Curate Zeitgeist. Stat.

Please help me curate

                        this poem.

Cascade this vertically down the
One-Stop Poetry Solution business continuity call trees.

Let us crowd-source and zone-trickle (our content-rich abundant richness) Serene and Sure,
Even though time-poor.

• Florescent yellow bibs must only be worn by your team leader 
• In the event of a fire, please lick their hands 

Together and steadfast, we can upskill this poem for immaculate read-across multi-platform immersion.
And zen contemplation.

So: poembomb for species-level change.

Nano-curating is the new black.

One quarter of this poem contains 
• 31%---sodiumlite musings (Argonaut)
• 23%   monochrome thought saturates
• 14% LoFi polyglot carbonates
• 8% self preservative (trace)
• 7% transient fad rumination
• 6% pasteurised illumination
• 7% electrolytes of zeitgeist
• 4% organogenesis de noodling
of an adult's RDA



Best before: 15/05/3029

2033AD: Synchronise, Spiritualise..And You Know The Rest

So why not give your personal space a title - one that you will neatly remember -
Encapsulating a precious memory - your purest essence,
Like the name of a long dead, yet much-loved imaginary pet,
Or that secret, unforgotten, pined-for ex!
(they dumped you before you could them :-( )

Your password should have at least six letters,
Two floating 4d emoticons,
And one hyper-pie-hieroglyphic.
(no low-flowing telepath idiolect allowed.
Nixt.)

Your preferred personal space provider Values your privacy.
We're delighted you have chosen us.

We will only disclose your data with our trusted partners.
And we will only disclose your data with their trusted partners.

[ * Please disabuse your ptryctv mind cookies while we populate our enmesh-streams washing through your cerebral cortex 
Your subcon OS is now in ZiFi hottubs 
So please ignore the legions of splintering dreamstream floatboats on  flash-through zoomtrees, and feel free to call upon the divine intell all around you ]

for your eye cone icons: tick "biomorph in chimedawn¥[glittery] - yes" 
icons//.bluesky.flossSlashdot.dress//#myinteriors
.meme>>butterfly.yogamirror.dreaming .....

Waiting to synchronise...

Standby..
 With Caresses
....

Welcome...
 And what would you like to think today?

Spiritualise me.

Ok
 Anything else?

Monetise me. 

Ok

Chill

Neruda murdered by Pinochet?
Would Thatcher have cared anyway?

In a strange irony, this article was published earlier today on the BBC News site. An hour or so ago it was announced that Margaret Thatcher (a close friend of General Pinochet) has died.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-latin-america-22062216

Hundreds And Thousands

A revolver
and open packets - a few thousand pounds
sat restfully around me in the back seat

I asked if I could hold the gun
okay, be careful: it's heavy
it was heavy

The car inflated with sun
I was eight or nine
it was fun

He laughed
then didn't even lock the doors
didn't need to
it was a safe area

I didn't have school that day

Hand on my shoulder
we walked to my door
everything was okay he was a neighbour
his family now big in ice cream

Simon Says

PUBLIC NOTICE

Plain-clothed human beings are known to operate in this area    
                                                                                
Should you suspect someone of being plain-clothed human being
Please don't approach them                                              
Just call                                                                      
Freephone 0800 Plain-Clothed Human Being Watch                
You may be charged for this call                                        

Should you suspect yourself being  plain-clothed human being                                             
Please don't approach yourself                                           
Or point at your own reflection                                            
Or call attention to yourself in any way                                  
Just call 0800 Plain-Clothed Human Being Watch                   
 Your call will be treated with the strictest confidence                
So you will never know                                                    

Please don't have nightmares                                             

Call Freephone 0800 Plain-Clothed Human Being Watch 

Because I Could Be Me    

                                                                               

Tokyo Spring 2013 Haiku

Face-masked of Toyko -
cherry blossoms drip early -
sulphur in snowdrops.

A Snowflake With Your Bullet On It

There's a poem hiding under my fridge,
Like a mouse without a pillow;
Like a fridge magnet within a freezer;
Like Hugo Chavez as his Madame Tussauds lookalike. * 

He stands, the mouth open, the fist in the air,
In full flow,
Below the din of the one-cymbal-clapping Terracotta Army.

Poems usually collide Dumdum with my head -
Hollow-point on the third eye,
Like a vat of mustard accidentally pollinated.

I shall boil some noodles the flavour of elastic bands.
Nothing captures the taste of elastic bands quite like bargain-noodles.

Why are children force-fed sprouts at Christmastime?
It's their parents' sweet revenge,
As the choking cash cows' offspring purge, splurge, sob and vent..

The marbles spin in the liquidiser.
A butterfly's wings wilt, cooked in the marrow of a smog-lined sun.
A California yoga-philistine applies to copyright the design of every snowflake.


* Madame Tussaud's is now the more funky Madame Tussauds. 

The Eurosceptic From Atlantis

How do we reposition ourselves in Europe? 

We're in the wrong position: 
Too off piste; 
Too oft pissed; 
Too pissed off. 

Too pissed off - 
And especially when pissed - 
And especially when pissed off - 
And especially when pissed. 

Sceptical about Europe? 

Like? 
Is it there? 

Not sceptical about Euroscepticism. 
Because? Well, that is definitely there. 
In fact, it's so there, it's here! 
And, if what is there is here, 
Then what is here really doesn't need to be there. 
Hmmm..so there! 

And, so it follows.. 
As Europe mightn't be there at all, 
Euroscepticism can only thrive..here, 
(For where else could it? or should it?: 
Only until such a point that it's.. there?) 

Uh oh! 
Now wait a minute! 
Would that not mean 
Europe must also be there, for Euroscepticism to be disbelieved there? 
And if Eurosceptics are there disbelieving.. 
Well, that sort of begs the question.., 
Though a hypothetical one of crucial unimportance -  
Crucial unimportance. 
So unimportant it's both critically and crucially unimportant. 
And, as you know, 
A question that is both critically and crucially unimportant, 
Is of an unimportance of the deepest and most significant kind. 
Verily, and very. 
Almost like: 
If a tree fell in the middle of a forest, 
And no one was there to hear it, 
Would global warming sceptics 
make the sound.. 
Crrraaaasshhh!! in one of their cute and adorable funny voices? 

Personally, I'm all for repositioning ourselves (disbelieving), 
By Italy. 

By Italy. 
With hot air balloons. 

Wha..? With hot air balloons? 

Yeah, man,  
With hot air balloons. 
You heard right. 
Can you think of a better way? 

We could all lift off with this land, 
Throwing over our essential ballast of horsebeefburgers (one word), 
Casino bankers and frustrated fox hunters; 
Misogynistic fundamentalists and insensitive commuters breakfasting on egg burgers on trains. 

(Misandristic fundamentalists can stay on board - for now..). 

And thus, 
These irrefrangible islands shall rise tethered to millions of massive hot air balloons, arising, 
And land, aloft, loftily, 
And sort of softly, 
Mooring by (but by no means on,(as that would be plain rude)), 
The land of: 
Italian women, 
And tomatoes - tinned. 
Please kindly note, only the tomatoes should be tinned, though. 

Then all the millions of hot air balloons, 
We shall release to glide floating to the moon,  
Like we're all in a classic late-nineties tampon ad. 
They certainly don't make them like that anymore. 
Or the tampon ads.. 

I'm a man, and even I used to buy that brand of tampons, 
Only to justify to myself similarly running through a cornfield before cheerfully emancipating a bunch of balloons from a cliff top. 
Never once regretted it. 
And although my more radical feminist student friends at the time were somewhat equivocal, 
They accommodated this zephyrian avidity. 
One of them even allowing me use of  her helium balloon inflator with variable nozzle attachments. 
She even refused my offer of a Pot Noodle as a thank you. 

And, lo! 
No: there are no Moonsceptics: 
Well, the moon (that's in the sky) can be seen from here. 

Now, 
Have we ever seen Europe (in the sky), 
From here? 

Says it all really. 

And have you ever, ever once, witnessed Europhiles (in the sky) from here? 
We are the silvery seamed anti-matter to their dark matter dream..

Let's Dive In Front Of Aeroplanes (or, Oh No, Look, Another Sixth-Form, Jejune Bit Of Doggerel About "The Bankers")

I snuck the spy at four London Evening Standard articles. Four. 
Warning us, their grim-of-teeth uber-plebian readers, 
That our casino bankers might very well leave these shores, 
For we're all turning into entrenched and bitter, sixth-form, banker-bashing bores. 
The traders, they cry, in stunned bafflement and dismay: 
Why are we so hated so, 
Why, we chose ourselves as the chosen ones back in the day...?

And double-bubble you public-sector-hectors, 
And all you construction workers out on your ears, 
And all you ne'er-do-wells saving so-called meaningful lives, (yeah, right).. 
It's so about time you all realised, the casino bankers that you affect to despise, 
Are really.. 
Really.. 
Oh, you know.. 
Do I need to spell it out? 
Oh no, please don't ask me to spell it out. 

Look, 
They have feelings too you know, 
More so than you average Janes and Joes. 
Wake up and smell their cocaine, 
(But don't sniff it: 
There's your predictable sense of entitlement again..) 
Or, 
Woe betide: 
They might very well fly away, 
Never, ever, to return again, 
- So the Evening Standard says. 

So, let's dive in front of aeroplanes. 
Let's stop the brokers flying away. 
Let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Don't let them take off, 
Dont let them get away! 

Let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Let's give them some big love;
We must see the error of our ways. 
Let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Or they wont allow us to 
Bail them out again. 

Casino bankers love.... 
They posssibly love their children. 
Casino bankers enjoy... 
Giving a little corporate giving to charity. 
Their altruism is completely peachable. 
Mercenaries. 
Oh look, there you go again.. 

Casino bankers love free-enterprise (tax-subsidised), 
Casino bankers feel misunderstood: 
Just because I'm a tree, doesn't mean I'm made from wood, right? 
Casino bankers feel your pain, 
As if it's 
In Spain. 

Cynic! 

They're leaving on a plane, 
We must stop them now, 
We'll never see their likes again. 
But if they choose to go, 
Despite our pardon, 
Let's hope the pilots, 
Are not trained by Air bin Laden. 

So let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Or these misunderstood altruists will get away, 
Let's dive in front of aeroplanes, 
Or the free market tarzan won't allow us to.. 
Shhh.. 
Bail them out.. 
Again. 

Shhh..

Withdrawn Haiku

Bovine consuming -
horses mooing in -
burgs of slush-Burger.

Wrongly labelled Spaghetti Bolognese:
Labelled Italian.
At least, that's what I think they mean.

"Gourmet Dishes of the World" for ninety-nine pee.

[The burghers so hungry:
I could eat thirty percent horse - with a glimmer]

Wrongly labelled hormones:
Labelled Italian.
At least, that's what I think they mean.

For Hindu Sagittarius's - capital H capital S - of the world,
It's especially painful,
And doubly ironic.
Indubitably.

Don't move:
There's a penguin sat next to you.
And it doesn't have sat-nav.
In other words, it's there because it wants to be.
Should I call the RSPB, 
Or should I call the RSPCA?
I never can remember in times like this.
Or should I just call a cab?

You might say:
But how would the penguin pay?
And would the RSPB call the RSPCA
to RSVP a carriage confirmation for Penguin?

Well, for a start, that's probably not its name.

Now, where were we?
No, no,
This element is not haiku:
There are too many syllables -
And they're all in the wrong order.
Wrongorderlyoraretheyin.

Never would I write
a haiku about penguins -
they aren't Japanese.

It must have slid in:
You have a penguin-friendly window sill.
They know, they know..
They've been doing this for years.
My imaginary friend knows someone who has written a book about it.
And she should know:
She herself being an imaginary penguin -
And she definitely didn't imagine that!

I'm not slagging them off:
If I was a penguin..
(I'm not by the way. 
So..)
I'd be exactly the same:
I would never gainsay myself,
In the altogether,
Everfornever:
A Spice Girls hit on a parallel earth.