The Gloopy Desert Does Ravage The Deer Hart

This is a poem I wrote on inspiration in the Manchester Art Gallery. I sat askance, arms akimbo, pondering on a wet, syrupy, rainy afternoon...

 The body of a deer and the heart of
A dead lion clings to the wall like it
Does my imagination, immobile.

The twisted grimace summons up a mouse
Plucking a thorn from its predator's paw,
Devoured after its good deed is done.

Dirty paws on dusty desert,
Arise, arise and wake!
Do not let the Seer of your Land
Ravage your mighty soul.

As He who rose from Death's table
So canst thou raise thyself.
Do not permit man's weakening
Of such a noble beast.

I have seen you in your natural home,
I drank tea amongst your wives and children,
I proudly etched you in my memory.

I see the glare of my reflection
In your glass cage,
Reminding me that you were never there.
Never real.
Never more than imagination.

As this is the first post of the new year, the prize is even more splendiferous than ever before! The first correct entry will win a once in a life time trip around the world in 80 days, au stylings a of Phileas Fogg!

Whoever wins this prize must supply everything him/herself. I supply only the inspiration for the trip and nothing more ( courtesy of Jules Verne).

Night of the Richard

Woken again from a listless sleep,
Drenched in sweat, partner snoring. Wide awake.
Night after night I wake and I groan and
I scream to myself to ignore the pain
But I can't.

Something resides deep inside but I don't know
How to go about cleaving it from my chest.
Nightmares: night scares, old women, Detox,
Dying dragons, strictures scraping at my soul.

The thoughts drift as I lift the bottle to my
Parched lips. Parched from the booze.
Richard, heal thyself. Sober no more.
Now the war me. Battle time.

Still no sleep.

This week's (and I use the term loosely) prize is an all expenses paid trip to the best place on Earth! 

American Elections 2012

When Romney casts his vote, and Obama
dithers on his four-year trauma,
Why am I listening to Adele?
Am I some tree you wish to fell?

We've been too long;
I can't have some Romantic love song.
It hurts too much for this to besmirch
My memories.

I can't be arsed. You've had my heart,
Now relinquish my Nectar Card
'cos I’ve got points to spend
If our relationship's at its end?

So set me free, like a Butterfree,
So this pain can cease to hurt
me.



I own nothing but the sequence of words in this poem. Any reference to Pokémon or Sainsbury's is purely reverential. If offence is caused to either organisation is caused, please contact the publisher who will address all concerns.

The WINNER of this 'week's' prize will win a 'week-long trip to Barbados'!!! All expenses paid, all food, accommodation, travel expenses, cosmetic surgery, and anything else you would like! PLEASE contact this publisher!

There is no prize for this week. Anything read above is a lie. Please disregard. The publisher, and author, are not held to the above assertion. We are not affiliated with Sainsbury's, Barbados, Pokémon, or anyone else that this post may suggest we are. No-one associated with this post are bound to anything within it, ever.

Call Me If You're Sober

What?
Is wrong with this and us and here and now?
Can't we give it a chance, let Fate roll her dice?
Or should we bid goodbye tonight with a bow
Because you won't let us be 'us' or be nice
Enough to give us time to try to work.
Pots and pans clutter everyone's kitchens,
But does anyone blame it on the fork?
You don't need to change your life, your religion;
Can't we be a teenage crush or Summer fling?
It should be fun; no need for awkward sex.
Let's just party with friends and dance and sing,
Even if we argue once we're drunk on Becks.
But no. Maybe we should just stay as friends.
It would be nicer than some other ends.

Just for the record, I don't drink Becks. Vodka and coke is the prize for this week. Or a coke if youre a minor ;]

Left Inside Alone

I watch them as they enter, his
Knuckles white as he grips the
Handles of her wheelchair. In this
I glimpse their long history:

Years spent holding hands, chaste kisses
By the beach, children raised with
Love. I wonder if he misses
The long gone life they used to live.

They’d stay up late, talk through the night
Of their fantasies and fears
Till sun came up to shine its light
On their slowly drying tears.

Perhaps they argued, now and then,
Over who’d feed baby in
Dead of night, or who’d check again
Some silly, boring, trifling thing.

But that’s just the story for me and you;
He sits and feeds her tiramisu.


Any guesses for el title? The winner gets a coffee from Caffè Nero!

I Don't Do Sadness

I can’t breathe. It’s spilling out of me, tearing
Me open as I fight to carry on.
You scratch, you punch, you scare;
Our plan to marry’s gone;
All the clothes I’ve tried, no matter what I’m wearing,

You don’t have a clue, don’t give a fuck.
Leave me at home, staring at the clock-
But no, I’ll stay composed,
Keep my chest locked and closed.

No matter what you say, you won’t sway me any way.
You can carry on; bed all the women that you want.
Be who you are: act like a child, be a little boy.

Just leave me to my pain, even if you can’t
Feel a thing, leave me now to heal;

I can’t look you in the eyes and see you not caring.

More rambling nonsensical poetry from my mad mind. Easy enough clue today; the prize? A trip to Ibiza with a packet of softmints (I provide the softmints, you provide the trip to Ibiza).

Thrust Into My Hips

Open the windows, let in the air,

Pick up the bottles, chuck out the cans.

You can stay lying just over there,

Wouldn’t want you to dirty your hands.

The morning after your birthday last night

Is cold with the sting of the fresh winter breeze

As I scurry around getting dirt out of sight.

And you call down shall I order Chinese?

Not quite yet my strapping young man,

I’m going to join you back in our bed

For a cuddle and story, if you can

And I’ll rest on your chest with my head.

The comforting beat of your heart in my ear

Sends my mouth crashing forwards onto your lips.

And I grasp you, holding you near,

Murmuring as you thrust into my hips.

As with most of my poetry, it's not me speaking.

Composed Upon London Bridge

Standing here above the river
As burning blights the bright night,
Embers of empire fail to deliver.
New broken glass to be a tourist sight
Stands half-erect on this skyline.
With this our United Queendom
Growing impotent, MPs mutter that it's fine
While we fight for Eastern freedom.
As I look out across the capital
At remnants of a once great city
Whose heart and soul were used as mere collateral
I think of other once great Empires with such pity.
So, on London Bridge I shall remain
And humbly miss my commuter train.

They're Taking the Hobbits to Asgard!

Fighting for supremacy,

o’er golden hair and bended knee.

Looking out across the stars,

who’ll gain control of Earth and Mars?

that tricky trickster doth defile

fair maiden queen that made wheat fertile.

Fleeing from thund’rous rage

to sultry servants of the age

to beg fine gifts worthy of her suitor.

Yet whilst to Asgard he’s en route to her

a small mutt’ring doth him distract.

Entering in an unholy pact

he bets the sum of his head whole

to wise old smithies far from droll.

But that cunning fly loves deceit

and his maker does not wish to meet

So with a prick upon that brow

he suavely breaks his vow.

Returning to fair maiden’s home,

with his gifts he must atone.

Yet the tricky trickster next does flee

and now golden maiden can contented be.

This is one stanza from my book, 'Musings of a Journey: Part ii'. Part i can be found here

This week's title is not very imaginative, but oh well. The prize is four packs of Chewits. Enjoy!

Internally Agonising

Something I jotted down when I should have been doing real work :D

When your room is a mess, and you couldn’t care less
And you don’t know where you left your chair,
You can search all about, have a huff and a shout
Or you can simply ask your bear.

When he doesn’t have a clue, and you don’t know what to do,
You can go to the lounge, maybe even have a scrounge,
And ask your little mouse if he’s eaten any grouse,
Before he has a chance to swear.

But if you’ve lost that room to flowers all abloom,
You must have a good whack with an axe you’ll hack,
Take back what’s yours and open all the doors,
Then shove all the mess out there.

Though the problem still remains, we’ve tired our brains,
I don’t know what to do, I haven’t any clue
I don’t know why you asked, I really can’t be arsed,
You’ll just have to live without a chair.

This week's title is not a quote 'm'afraid because I couldn't be bothered with finding one. However, if you can hazard a guess at why this poem's called 'Internally Agonising' I'll send you some posies

My Swan Song

My Swansong

If all that’s still to do were left to me and you,
Would the skies still split, cause the Earth to shake
And pull the night apart?

Would we carry on though we’d soon be gone?
Could we journey far, do our worst,
And sing our last swansong?

 

This week's title/puzzle/game/thing is quite rubbish. I'm fairly sure I'm going to get done for copyright infringement one of these days so grab the awful prizes while you can! Have a guess :)

There's No Place Like London

My London
Haven't the heavens hurled enough at us?
Three minutes later and we're still here,
Waiting for the Northern line!
Delayed trains, texting teens, in-cutting commuters
And tourists pointing at the pidgeons!
But we’ll push on through, maybe trip a few.

Central, St. Paul’s, coffee, Bank, Bridge.
Time for a rest? Ostrich and apple at Borough Market?
No. Train’s here. Not another for six minutes!
Papers litter Victoria’s seats, too much to read,
Let’s discard. Feeling healthy, shall we jump on Boris’
Bikes? They’re not the colour of the City.

With all the age and wisdom that my City holds,
Does She watch us from on high,
Whisper in the winds, protect us from the colds?
Does She lie below the Earth, watch as we go by?
As Emma says that we’ll be late, does Her heart despair,
Or does She pull us to Her breast, and gently clutch us there?

The prize for today's title quiz will be my worst Christmas Present, so if you like coal...

All The World's A Stage...

... So why not exploit it? Shamelessly selling myself here, but who cares?

Buy my book on Amazon please! It's really cheap, easy to read and - in my opinion- really good!

It's called "Musings of a Journey - Part i" and it's something I've been working on for a fair while.

It's available on UK Amazon here and for my American readers here


If you'd like a preview just look here.

If anyone is unable to guess the title, you are blooming soppy!

A Guide To Gossamer

I ran the world when men were not around,
All was calm, nought unfair
and peace was all abound.
Yet all too soon, did seem to change
When storming sky began to rage,
Those that could, and those that would
Paid homage to their Lords.

Fleeing from untimely winds
Most were lost, and at great cost,
They suffered for our sins.
Now who's to blame, for the slain,
no guiltier than we,
have lost their lives, sons and wives
And from our pain mankind we did beget.

From peccancy and hurt, new rulers did arise
And in this trope they grabbed the stolen prize,
All fell back in def'rence to new Lords.
Victory was claimed o'er those who could not fight,
Submission forced upon our grateful heads.
In lessening our minds, they lessened too our shame,
And thus man conquered us.

There's A Side To You That I Never Knew...

Eye see corruption in thine I
you have strayed far from the path
which i set out yet i do not protest
too much for that your right
high up in your elephantine tower
is it not a long way down
Oh? doth thou protest too much?
Shakespeare says he thinks it
I do not condemn for I have passed
it is my time no longer
One day I shall sail west
join my children in the Grey

This is an extract from my book, 'Musings of a Journey: Part i', which can be found here

Anyone who can guess not only the title, but all the references within the above will receive a worse better prize than has ever been won from this site!

Goodbye To You

Soon I shall return to my holy home
high up in the clouds
Enough of this, my heavenly rote
the journeys took’st far too oft
the pleasures and the pains I to you bequeath.
resignation tendered, may I retain my throne?
constitutionally mind, just to watch and show
my love,
Perhaps to open parks

This is an extract from my book, 'Musings of a Journey: Part i', which can be found here
 

Any guesses for the title? Today's clue: It's a song title.

This Is Just to Say

I have eaten

the plums

that were in

the icebox

and which

you were probably

saving

for breakfast

Forgive me

they were delicious

so sweet

and so cold

Guess the poet!