A thousand and one thank yous to anyone who has been reading and, dare I say, enjoying these little entries. I'm afraid I have migrated over and betrayed the blogger.com cause and am now a rare species inhabiting the http://parmaham.wordpress.com/ environment and hope to see you there.

Thank you and have a lovely day.

Toodles.

Righteous Drunk

Righteous drunk envelope your mind

To the paradox of your kind.
Rest your heart on the hostile pavement,
And scream the everlasting commandment.

A faint candle that can't be held,
With logic and death can't be geld,
Lightens up every step in mid-air,
It is neither evil, hopeless or fair.


Righteous drunk is clean as the life,
Cut with a tree, cut with a knife.
Cut a man from himself, all his deeds,
As new life buds out of ancient seeds.


Righteous drunk is safe as the way,
Made on rough storms, made on dead clay.
Made to change the highway of reason,
As choices transform every season.


Righteous drunk is legal as the truth,
Built to be crumbled, built to sooth.
Built to hold a soldiers gear in place,
As the drunk beholds a Godly face.

Wind

A little breeze,

Can turn into a tempest.

Surrender!

This is me trying hard not to say that I've given up.

I'm afraid I can't really say it in any other way.

Henceforth, I will be posting poems on here,

But not as frequently (not every day) and 

Consequently hopefully of a higher quality.

Also, I shall be planning on adding other
Stuff on here. Maybe some film's that I make
And some other creative thingymabobs.
I'll nick some of the poems from the posts
Before this one and rewrite them if I think
They have potential but not fully done yet.

Thank you for anyone still reading these

And my sincerest apologies.

Yours truly,

Guy writing poems on the internet...

Adam and Eve

There's always enough for a bluff.
Such stuff is not enough to keep me
From shooting dreary eyed gazes
At all the little fazes of life.
So find me a wife.

Valentine

Save me from him.
He's stupid and dim.
He's nothing more
That a empty shore.
A river that runs
A river that shuns
My little heart.

The Day Afterwards

Doomsday has left the building.
We chant on our own little parade.
As all the burns get their healing
And all the shames begin to fade.

Fly!

Hear me roar!
I don't pretend.
See him soar
To the world's end.

Mirrors and Cream

Rake yourself up from the ground.

And don't make a sound.

Stop fooling yourself to dream

When it's all mirrors and cream.

Dancing

Be still my little feet.
Try to resist the beat
And let your soles eat
The inconclusive cheat
Of every neat beat.

Workers of the World

Shout injustice to the rooftop.
Mother wisdom let herself drop
Down a strange gully.
She will do so dully.

And never again will you
Abuse her strange name.
So, what won't will you do?
That's right, take another's fame.

Moan and Groan

The heat is killing me.
The cold is freezing me.
Oh, you silly people
Just can't be satisfied.
Can't you just lie
And pretend in a steeple
That all is nice and dandy.
Where you want to be.

Evidence Just Outside of the Window

A low speed bus wreck.
We don't know how it
Happened? They both
Went five miles per hour.

The officer hit the deck.
Why don't we just sit
Right here and sloth
On our little couch.

Limerick No. 20 (A bit weird)

Do I want a parasite or hay fever?
Just pull the strange the lever
Maybe it
Might not sit
Well with your personal beave.r

Crash, Bang and Over and Done

The city destroyed by the death of many
Can be rebuilt on the dreams of some.
Where a fool seeks to escape his enemy
There hope waits till it's job is done.

Limerick No. 19

Who would have though of it?

How to make a fool listen and sit.

All you have to do,

It say this is true,

If he doesn't you'll have a fit.

Hangover

Woozy in the head.
Too late in bed.
Something's got to give,
Throw up in a sieve.

There is Something Very Unfortunate About Re-occuring Themes

Done with little old men.

Done with everything else.

Melodrama be my friend.

I'm done now and it's going to end.

Righteous Drinker

Righteous drinker envelope your soul
In the hypocrisy of your finite goal.
Leave your mind on the pavement
And swear the streets, the commandment.

Righteous drinker save yourself
From hell. From abstained wealth
And all your phoney silliness
That leaves you dead and selfless.

The Scream

Clinching tightly onto a rope
That hangs in mid air.
As the air and ground elope
To reveal the term; fair.

Sweat rushes past the eyes
Hair in midstream.
All his efforts and all tries
Just one last scream.

Typo

bIg WoRdS aNd BiG mEn
SiNg LoVeLy HaRmOnIeS
eVeN iF tHeY aRe DiScOrDaNt.

Teacher, He Hit Me!

Bad boy you are my nemesis.
Take your own world apart
And take it to the chemist.

Take your own wold apart
And dream of better days
Begin again at the start.

And dream of better days
When you collect your parade
And present in your ways.

When you collect your parade
Bad boy you are my nemesis
Stop being so stupid and afraid.

Daylight

Fabulous!
Here is the sun.
Sunshine!
The day is done.
Ha!
Right!
Cause here is some light!

CPIWLC

Charity,
Perhaps
Insanity
With
Little
Clarity.

Clerihew XII

James Earl Jones
Has a voice of many tones.
A lion, a murderer and a presenter,
A thespian who does many a venture.

Incoherent Morning Thought

This book should tackle the fog in my head,
As my mind follows my body out of bed.
Don't drop the dainty display down the dungeon,
Dancers do deem dungeons distasteful.
I never was one who could think clearly,
Before the sun greets me nice and friendly.
She surely shies away from shambolic
Shivers. She never shaved those legs!

Sign of Jonah

Redeem this little soul,
Goal! Has been reached.
Beached is my whale.
Frail is the maker,
Baker of my salvation.

An Old Man By The Window

Something is not quite right outside.
A man has left his woman to die.
A woman upholds her child's lie.
A groom has run from his bride.

Something is not quite right outside.
As I sit here in my cozy chair,
Stroking my life, stroking my hair.
My sanctuary of comfort and pride.

All these people need to learn to hide.
They make mistakes for all to see,
The numpties think they are free,
Something is not quite right outside.

Wall

Nine more to go
Only a little effort.
Eight more to go
We can make it.
Seven more to go
Just a few more steps.
Six more to go
Only a little effort
Five more to go
We can make it
Four more to go
Just a few more steps
Three more to go
Only a little effort
Two more to go
We can make it
One more to go
Just a few more steps.

Pop

I'm tongue tied and dizzy
With not much time left
Render me useless till
Death do us part.

Left on the boiling, fizzy -
This Coke of life is bereft
Of energy and still
I don't know where to start.

Clerihew XI

Bill Gates
Increases rates.
Oh, those lovely glasses
Teach some great investment classes.

Stumbling Block

Somewhere between the sun and the moon
A bird sings in the noon.
Somewhere between the bride and the groom
A fool can't find his room.

Tooth

Somebody lost their tooth
Inside a telephone booth.
Doesn't make for great
Poetry, but late
Attempts to write
Often are just trite.

Worship

They don't just dance.
They don't just sing.
They don't just clap.
Here is the chance
To finally bring,
To see eternity unwrap.

Lügen Haben Kurze Beine

Step a moment into your alibi

To try and hide your little lie.

Hold tight and then let out a sigh,

As your last chance runs dry.

To try and hide your little lie

Hold tight and then let out a sigh.

Step a moment into your alibi

As your last chance runs dry.

Hold tight and then let out a sigh,

Step a moment into your alibi,

As your last chance runs dry -

To try and hide your little lie.

As your last chance runs dry

Hold tight and then let out a sigh.

To try and hide your little lie

Step a moment into your alibi.

Sometimes You Just Don't Know What to Eat on a Given Day

Rogue dietitians are creeping about,
Looking for custom with a trout.
Perhaps not as affective as a cake,
But it's like the dessert of the lake.

Clerihew XI

Christopher Lambert

If we are to be fair

Was here and then he was gone,

At least there can only be one.

And another one bites the dust

Two more to go
And then it's all
Said and done.
One more to go
And then the fall
Will reach the sun.

mhmm

Aspiration is a strange beast.
One minute it's a productivity-feast
The next you are left with little desire
To see your dreams ignite and fire.

Limerick No. 18

Here was a man with a low self-esteem
Of any confidence he could but dream
So it was very strange
When we found the range
Of success he acquired for his team

An Aversion to Modernity

Grab the paddle
Lose the engine.
Take the saddle
Remove the sit in.

Messengers and Mortals

No one is sadder than the man who walked
In the Garden in it's earlier days.
And climbed the ladder to see the face of God,
Only to walk amongst mere mortals.

Messengers have traveled and talked
And produced stained glass rays.
They have shown the world a strange and odd
Sensation to subdue mere mortals.

Oh, shit! They believe what I am saying.
I actually need to follow this up.
I thought the deal was simply to pretend
Say a nice word and then go home.

Oh yes! Thirty coins are worth betraying
Some bread and a wine cup.
Everyone seems to have ears to lend,
As long as you give them a stone.

No one is sadder than the man who walked
In the Garden in it's earlier days.
And climbed the ladder to see the face of God,
Only to walk amongst mere mortals.

Clerihew X

Homer Simpson
Should probably be in prison
But by his strange charm they'd let him go
By tomorrow he'd be right there again, d'oh!

Queen of the State

Here cometh the Queen of the State

Those eyes, that hair intoxicate.

She’s the queen of the heavens and hell

Her reign is marked by an enchanting spell

And while she tenderly caresses my face

She quickens the pace.

Holds up the mace.

Here cometh the Queen of Sacrifice

Let us morn and perform this rite

For we have been cursed by the sword

So Lilith comes before us and is awed

Let the red wine flow for her majesty

Let it flood the city.

Destroy the guilty.

Here cometh the Queen of the elastic Gods

Let her speak with her eerie nods

Walking through her synthetic valley

Her shadow casts a familiar shame

For her majesty has taken a victim’s smile

Our eternal trial.

In such style!

Ghosts of Agram

Deep roots of pain sorrow and anger

On their own lands they were the stranger

From the men of Illyria

To the fathers of hysteria

The land of the fallen duke

A puppet nation born to rebuke

Dying serving the legionary

Pontiffs declare it unordinary

Fortress of the great divide

Hopeless to decide which side

Between a mountain and the beach sand

Lie the ghosts of Agram

From the sultans of Constantinople

Kings of Vienna to the Pope in Rome

Men proudly driving an Opel

Volkswagen which they call their own

The battle ground of fascism

The pulpit for communism

The land of never resting guns

Of never returning sons

Dominion of Yahweh and Allah

Fighting in a bloody shower

Between a mountain and the beach sand

Lie the ghosts of Agram

The citadel of these ghosts

Cathedrals ready to roast

Mongols on the raiding side

Oh won’t the sun ever rise!

Poor boys on an alleyway

Ready to be carried away

Sultan, raise your voice

Against the pope of your choice

And never let these ghosts rest

Just put them to the test

Morning stars and glory shine

Let’s get drunk on this wine

Between a mountain and the beach sand

Lie the ghosts of Agram

The All Too Typical Insane Man Who Lives Out Hypothetical Possibilities

Rightly, the man sprightly jumped.
Stumped by a dainty flower,
How dour is a sour beauty?
Beauty! Is a lever that will never
Descend or bend to a whim.
How dim would life and a wife
Be if she would brightly be dumped?

The Road

Don Quixote walked out of his mind
down the road
The relevant keys nobody could find
on the road
A man with perfect eyesight was blind
by the road

Men

Stranger fates than these
Can not be found on Earth.
To fade away like a breeze
Still your own master from birth.

Legends, myths, stories
Sown by each life afresh.
Fortresses of glories,
Live longer than the flesh.

What benefit is there
To seek immortality,
By the undying fayre,
In another's memory?

Who?

Who walked on the first path ever made?
Who paved the first road to guide on?
Who was the first to swim and wade
Ashore, the first to see the first day done?

Clerihew IX

Martin Luther King Jr.
Is pretty much everyone's senior.
A man with a sense of justice like no other,
And none of his children seem to bother.

Action

Slash. Bang. Boom.
Explode the senses.
Numbing the densest.

Colour

A wall of colour is all black
What a shame of a statement
When all and every track
Turns out to be a replacement.

There

There it is!
It's strange when what
You've been looking
For has been right
Here with you all the time.

There it is!
Do we know what
We are looking
Is in the right
Place and in the right time.

Limerick No. 17

He didn't know how to spell
So his marks gradually fell,
What a shame!
Who to blame,
Teacher, parents or hmisell?

Not A Clue

I have no clue what to write about,

Maybe something do with gout?

Just choose that because it rhymes,

Maybe talk about the changing times?

Who knows what topic to pick?

What sleeping bear to prick?

Sometimes you just have to go with the flow

Even if it doesn't always make for the best show.

Clerihew VIII

Alex Salmond
Will not lament
A victory set in history
A day to glorify his party.

40%

Many have died for
Opening the door to vote
So man may promote
And write on a note his choice
To reveal his voice
And make a great noise and shout
The high get a clout
The low have a route to soar.

Seasons

The rock rolls, it never stops
As the farmer always crops
The lumberjack always chops
As the penny always drops.

Haiku III

A smoking chimney

A living and breathing park

A city's statement

A Righteous Man

A righteous man walks in a strange place,
Where he has access to a God's face
But only covered in a crimson mask,
Found in a gruesome murdering task.
No weight of his own makes him light
Enough to walk in God's pleased sight.
When done properly he throws no stones
That may curse and break some bones.

Limerick No. 16

Five men stooping out of a pub,
Had lots of beer and little grub.
Only one, it was said,
Made it to his bed.
The others woke up in a bathtub.

Clerihew VII

Sean Connery
Is a bit of an anomaly.
Began with a unprecedented bond,
To a league that makes me despond.

Sunday

Walk a thousand times to the same place
And you still might never see the owner's face.
Every time he just waits behind the last close door
That you never walk through, just stare at the floor.

What is all this clanging and singing for?
Is this just another self-gratifying bore?
What are you looking for anyway, in this house?
You might look like a lion but squeak like a mouse.

Come on, take that step off the cliff,
Play that new, frightening, pulsating riff.
Open your eyes to a love that you came to find,
Turn your gaze on that which gives sight to the blind.

Clerihew VI

Thomas Hobbes,
Gives power to snobs.
Maybe not entirely fair to say,
Since a lot of his ideas are quite grey

Destiny

Leftovers of a cigarette melting away,
Pavements become an ashtray.
Joining in the chorus of sold magazines
Makes barely enough money to buy sardines.
There they go, all of them,
From head to toe
All of them.

Move

There is an end to every trail

But where do they lead to?

After a while bread gets stale

And patience pays it's due.

So, does motion really pay off

Or is it just the ambition of a toff?

No motion doesn't get you far

You got to put some friction on the tar.

City Life

The hilltop has an amazing view.
The opportunities are too few
To behold this amazing sky.
Not enough attempts to try
And getting to the summit.
Walking on the cement
Day in and day out
Seem to be my fate.

The Inescapable Truth of Climbing

Who is tired now?
After all that sleep.
You have to be
Awake to see the sun.

Don't raise your brow
At concepts too steep.
Something in me
Might release the gun.

Easter

It was when the ultimate deity
Played a little symphony
And went ahead and died for me.

Track

The tricky thing is to stay in beat,
To walk and stay on your feet.
To remain in syncopated time,
To use an appropriate rhyme.
So that you don't start writing completely off track.

X

I'm bored.

The generation sighs.

The chord

Of a muffled cry.

Eat

Morning glory at it's best.

The bacon is put to the test.

As it travels from room to room

The fragrance of it's impending doom.

Noon feeds into the day,

With sandwiches on a tray.

Simple little pleasures with tea,

"Is that a packet of crisps, I see?"

Evening sun brights the sky,

The oven has cooked the fish dry.

A hard days work topped with beer,

And chips to go with all the gear. 

Writ'

Writing is a peculiar skill.

It can warm and it can chill.

Like a good French wine,

It may better with time.

Look

Follow
        h
        e
        r
you're
         y
           lead
              s

Limerick No. 15

A man may find that in Glasgow
There is a most peculiar show.
Around the corner
There's a stoner,
Who will reap what he will sow.

Clerihew V

Guy Fawkes,
Was surrounded my dorks.
Just have to set a simple building alight,
But instead you die without even a last rite.

Century

Gong! It always starts with a noise.

A massive clatter to let people know

That there is a new kind of poise.

The seed has a new ground to sow.

Ever ongoing is the licence to shout

When novelty has come about

And shown it's embryonic face.

A massive clatter to let people know

Recreates the humble beginnings

Of all that effort you carry in tow.

All that aspiration for all those winnings,

Must account for some currency.

Now the thing has a sense of urgency,

Now begins the good race.

That there, is a new kind of poise

Since we can't keep repeating.

To keep the attention of young boys,

You need to sow what your reaping

And recreate that old hat

To appease the spoiled brat.

Never look back at the trace.

The seed has a new ground to sow

But will the plant look much the same?

Are all the eyes down below

Still attentive to this little game?

It's become more than recreational

They all need to be co-operational

And give you a fat embrace.

Ever ongoing is the licence to shout

And moan about the ongoing chore

But not everyone knows what it's about

Since it's lost in ancient folklore.

As long as you keep your head on

Look at the track you need to stay on

And just watch this space.

When novelty has come about

And replaced with a stale taste,

Then get your plans and make a rout. 

This has not been a waste!

Just look at what has been done

All those obstacles that are gone

And have been folded into a case.

And show it's embryonic face

You remember why you started

When you go back to the birthplace.

When plan and action departed

All of it began to happen

No longer imagined

And just watch this space.

Limerick No. 14

Can you have too much to drink?
Can a fart have a too intense stink?
Maybe so,
I don't know,
If you follow a thought of do before think.

Rain

When it rains everyday
The sun comes as a surprise.
The clouds simply speak
Of a story veiled behind themselves.

Life can be a little ashtray
With a unhealthy nicotine treatise.
A cough for every freak
Is stored on all cancer shelves.

When it rains everyday
The sun comes as a surprise.
When pains go away
That's where hope lies.

Clerihew IV

Clive Staples Lewis
Suffered a few bruises.
Some from the greatest of wars,
And others from the greatest of bores.

Light

A hall where my sole company is an echo.

The black is a very comforting home.

My thoughts, from myself only, I can borrow

Produce a slightly one-sided tome.

Far off there is a little light for hope,

Perhaps the end of a tunnel?

Actually just a star. No help to cope

With a endless funnel.

And then there is a light!

Limerick (Not really) No. 13

Thirteen is a number, apparently unlucky.
On the thirteenth a man found some bucky,
When found on the ground
Hardly making a sound,
Luck had little to do with the error of the rookie.

Quote

Who would write that
One amazing one-liner!
The one that could be
The evr'lasting old-timer.

The chance to bat
Your name into history.
A quote that they see
A name with that belongs to me.

Morning

Two in the morning,
She was sitting alone.
Three in the morning,
She was cold to the bone.
Four in the morning,
She lay down on the stone.
Five in the morning,
The last breath was gone.

Diddle Widdle

Time to write a rhyme.
Too lame to bestow fame.
But fine for a wee chime.
Very much the same game,
As other days forays.

A Poem

Who could possible try
To imitate Stephen Fry?
(This is not quite a clerihew
But for my purposes will do.
I'm trying to stay up to date
With my poem quest and rate.
Since once this is done I'll have
Succeeded against a surmounting wave.
The rhyme and rhythm is a little off,
But hey, I'm not a poetic toff.
I can't really keep the syllables right
And my diction is entirely tight.)
Who could possible try
To imitate Stephen Fry?

Clerihew III

Karl Marx
Always barks.
Even when he lay in a grave,
He found there was still a day to save.

Simples

Simplicity is a complex plaything.
How to make one chord ring
Like a thousand bells chime?
How to make length a crime?

A Brave Man

A brave man once stood alone
On a wet, cold cobbled stone.
He proclaimed a truth monotone
And now this man is gone.

Limerick No. 12

A man used to like looking at a duck.
So much so, he began to call it Buck.
He was shocked
His world rocked,
When he saw the naughty thing ----

Listen!

Ah, listen! For I have something amazing to say!

Let all the whispers and attention die down,

And let all others keep their thoughts at bay.

Listen! Proclaim it in every single town.

These words I am about to speak will fascinate,

Emancipate and manipulate all your senses.

All your worries will flee and eradicate,

Words that will give your mind new lenses.

Come! Come closer to this humble stage,

And find a truth that will intoxicate the mind.

Such that can not be written on a page,

Such that no novel or text could bind.

Don't promise something you can't keep,

You might find the drop may be to deep.

Hand-Made Day

There is nothing that could say
Something that would make me pay
For that diverse, cute, little array
Of my hand-made day.

In Glasgow

She doesn't seem to find much sun, in Glasgow.
Instead a handsome gun, in Glasgow.

There is little a man really needs
When he finds some fun, in Glasgow.

There are many an ancient blade,
That made it's enemies run, in Glasgow.

You know where the nearest hospital is?
Someone's beating the battle drum in Glasgow.

Haiku II

Every syllable
In the English language
Given scrutiny.

Clerihew II

Charlie Sheen
Had never been
To a place where no one knew his name,
Since he tweeted them before he came.

Holiday

Sometimes things begin with a planned end,

Without necessarily considering the next bend.

And when circumstance draws it's ugly head

Then reluctance can find it's homestead.

Perseverance finds a nemesis in deserved rest.

Simple friend of man can not always be to his best.

Endeavours may loose the thrust on which they're built,

But some may return if amply motivated by guilt.

The Quiet Conclusion to a Most Unfruitful Endeavor

The end is not quite here yet.

A certainty with which I would bet.

I don't know

Who would go

But someone might just fret.

Neighbour

Who is this stranger at my doorstep,

Busking beyond his heart's content?

Rhythms birthed in a foreign land,

That are too far away from home.

Who is this brother, whose misstep

Was to wander into too much rent?

A pocket endlessly leaking sand,

His bills make up the greatest tome.

Jump or my emo indulgence

It's quiet on a night like this.
The breeze is a gentle bliss.
The heights leave a kind kiss.
As the mind begins to reminisce
The ground is a hard target to miss.
It's quiet on a night like this.

Bells

Dawn! She's bright and early.
The carpet of creation gives
It's collective jawn. The story
Of a million ants, their lives
And deaths come together
To raise the triumphant groan
That won't be here forever
But for today pays of it's loan.

Apathy

The resounding start is slowly quieting down.
The big bang was one beautiful chord.
Men and animals dance at the great gown.
Forgetting it by the sword.

All creation is spontaneously bored.
Maturity is the great, ancient frown.
Maybe we missed that the lion roared,
And brought the lazy to town.

Argh!

She was left at the alter

He didn't find fault in her.

He was just a moron.

Couldn't cope with a son,

So had to go and run

Far away.

Fast forward five years.

She's dried up her tears

And walked next to a man

Who likes this boy

Even bought him a toy

Today.

The groom is dead-pan

He's lost even his latest fan.

She didn't think much of him

Loves the image of his grin.

He wonders who the bride

Might be having by her side

At bay.

You know how the story

Goes. He barges the homey

Life she has now, wanting

Her back. Simply self-serving

His own means and desires

Causing sparks in all her wires.

What dismay!

Limerick No.11

An old man once lived with a tick,
When saw someone pretty he'd be sick.
So when in a line
For lady's opine
It wasn't hard for them who not to pick.

Y to Z

Youngsters seem to understand
Zeal's show has been banned.

U to X

Underlings are a communist benefit,
Very unlike what Marx originally writ.
Wonderfully, all institutions seem to
X-ray their intentions, opposing them too.

Q to T

Quebec wasn't built in a day.
Rome doesn't hold the monopoly.
Sayings can sometimes deceive
Trying too hard to make you believe.

M to P

Money speaks a thousand languages.
Never failing the most nuanced syllable.
Old men have often said over the ages
Problems and pennies are under the table.

I to L

Indeed the jester jests
Just as in the court.
King's rarely like tests
Liking what's quickly taught.

E to H

Elephants are charging the circus.
Furry friends ask them to discuss
Going past the point of no return.
Hell might freeze, but it could also burn.

A to D

A little man was left alone.
Bent in his little bubble.
Cared for like a stone.
Done a hell load of trouble.

Ending

Half a story is a bit unfair.
Leaving me without the next stair.
An ending unsatisfying,
An anti-climax is so extremely trying.

Nevertheless I will look
For an ending inside a book,
That will leave me
Content with a cup of tea.

Bye Bye

She stood at the station for a while
With style - her fashion at trial.
She felt the stares on her back,
As she lay on the track.

Run

The need to race is astoundingly rare,
Since no one can guess how they'll fare.
But even a turtle can beat a hare.
Maybe we need to learn not to care?

Tuesday

It's quite a day for gluttony.
Though it may bely it's origin,
It breaks through monotony.
                       A tasty deadly sin

All hail the man who decided
To fry milk, flour and egg
Initially perhaps he was derided
                        Now his servants beg

On this merry Tuesday we praise
A fine art of flipping and frying
And now to the next emphatic phase
                           Where appetites are dying.                    

Cats

The cat has a definite bone to pick.
Don't get the wrong end of the stick,
But crawling all night in empty streets,
Following the melodious night beats,
Doesn't quite fill all feline requirements.
You see the whole host of commitments
Cramped in a sack, leaves the poor cat
With a lack of independence. So, a hat
May be an acceptable compromise,
Yes, the concept comes as quite a surprise.

The Apocalypse

The last drop of water has been poured out of the bottle.
As the four riders get their mustangs and release the throttle.
While the host of all the forget-me-nots hit the last wall.
Every last flower's been cut short and none stands tall.

All the routine's are suffocated to the point of stagnation.
No more itches, life, death, and all the wondrous irritation.
The final whine has been robbed out of every moan.
All creation releases it's great anti-climax, the pathetic groan.

A few wide eyed and mystified celestial junkies are left.
Those who have accepted an ancient, romantic theft.

 

Pretentious

Poetry has a love affair with ambiguity.

To the extent that their is no bush to 

beat around. No piñata donkey

to be disembowelled by children who

have an aim to find a lovely sweety.

The day a poem died, it reeked horribly.

A bishop read out it's final rites,

and gave it up to the pageless, the empty.

A few zombies gave us a fright,

But finally a rhyme resurrected mightily.

Salvation

Beat the beast inside of me,
Because it's just a little clapping monkey.
Making a clatter and a bang,
It used to be a force to reckon with till I sang.

A melody rose to the sky,
In conjunction with a tear jerking cry.
And mythology came true,
My facts rearranged - it changed my review.

The critics paused the critique,
The maths doesn't add when many are unique.
Old are some of these dreams,
So old and waiting that their breaking at the seams.

Something Resembling a Limerick

Once someone stole my passport,
So I built, around my identity, a fort.
It's just such a shame,
And also a bit lame,
That every brick paid didn't get the guy to court.

Beeve

There once was a man name Beeve,
Who never knew when to leave.
On one of those days
He dropped a few trays,
And then he departed, I believe.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I can't think of what to write,
So I go for a topic that is light.
Ensure there is a quite obvious rhyme,
And to write it, I take little time.

Limerick No.10

Do you like what you eat?

Even if it smells like feet.

Maybe not.

Cook it hot

And run away from the seat. 

Joy

Laugh out loud as praise.

What a strange phrase.

If my joy would ignite

A heavenly delight,

Then maybe I'd consider

To let sorrow wither.

The Call

A boy tries to call a girl,

And a world begins to unfurl.

Should it be a call or a text,

Or in a more natural context?

Should he see her face to face.

Wait for her or join the chase?

A girl tries to call a boy,

Or maybe play him like a toy?

Perhaps just be a little tease

Until inhibitions appease.

Should she see him face to face.

Wait for him or join the chase? 

Improvement

I made a lot of mistakes,
But I'm getting better at it.
What destroys and what makes?
I made a lot of mistakes.
Is it myself or is it snakes?
I loose grip, but the floor breaks.
I made a lot of mistakes,
But I'm getting better at it.

Clerihew

Edgar Allan Poe,
Loved his poetry so.
All about decay, death and ash,
But not less interesting than his moustache.

John Ronald Reuel Tolkien,
Made a world he'd never seen.
Some call it wonder, others tripe,
In photos, though, he's always got an awesome pipe.

Dream

Somewhere in a very strange place,

You might loose your face.

A woman will feel a little strange,

When she finds a rhyme to orange.

Free

Time to roll in the dirt,
Forget about your shirt.
Time to run in the street,
Time to let go of your feet.

The Kingdom

There is a strange kind of paradox,
That offers more than just detox.
Something that's already arrived,
A hope of which you're not deprived.
Also something that's still to come,
When the day is done.

Living by the Sea

All rivers flow back into the cradle of Tethys,

The playground of chaos – the Leviathan’s kiss.

Locked within are stories of a thousand kingdoms.

Bares the convoy of today’s traveller.

The lonesome respite of an old paddler.

Deep to the attack.

All rivers flow back.

The sofa of memories is my hiding place.

The carpet of size – an infinite God’s face.

Sirens dance in aspirations like teasing phantoms.

Fishing for complements in solitude.

No route but a desire to conclude.

What will it be?

Living by the Sea

Loud

Don't just make a silly noise.
Say a word of your choice.

A Chill

There is a chill coming through the window.

He never meant to leave her as a widow.

Old men often have complained about it.

The old dog never learned how to sit.

The room grows colder by each day.

He never learned how to strictly obey.

She told the judge with pretend sorrow.

There is a chill coming through the window.

Haiku No.1

There once was a rule
That related to poems -
And made in Japan

Concentration

Speaking gibberish requires me to concentrate,
But it comes a lot more naturally out of my lungs,
Even though the sceptics may never abate,
When I do what some call speaking in tongues.

Hide and Seek

GIVEWNEIAGHLASEHGSLAGH
ESHJISADTSBJSBASDFFLITTLE 
TWAGANDUAISHGAISFGUHGR
FIDSDSGJSDJNSEJLSTHEDJFGR
BJMSOROHBDGIRCJNRHYMED
EKLEVFIJLGKSJENJVJDEOIEW
SOZJBGIJDDBJJDKFTRAVELIR
WIJDZHBJDSBYOURDZBHIDLS
IFVDJDSBJDMINDFEDSDFXBN
TFSDIJGFJSJFSDGKJFDSIJNDL
HGFDSANDDSBJDSBLHEJNDJF
HDBYOUBJNDJFKBLDEENBDF
JUWILLINDJFINDSFBFIKFBZF

February 13

Egypt has turned into France.

Revolution - let's dance.

It can still happen today.

Apathy hasn't won the day.

Dawn

She travels beyond sight,
To return faithfully.
Daily she is light's delight.

Curry

Curry, you absolute beauty!
Curry, how could I reject thee!

A Not-So-Moral Tale

The audience was absolutely beamin’,

‘Cause the star was completely steamin’.

But the performance eroded,

As the gestures exploded,

And the director began screamin’!

He ran, viciously, onto the unassuming stage,

Pointed out the crucial line of the page!

Felt his authority collapse,

With all the cheers and claps,

And so he let loose and consumed rage.

Out forth came a soliloquy immensely divine,

That later it would have deserved a shrine!

All about human condition,

And life’s expensive tuition,

That the actor wrote it down with his wine.

Later I was told that the player sold the script,

And many a spectator was intensely gript.

But the poor originator,

Ended up as a waiter,

But led a good life, though it was nondescript.

Default Face

The water has settled in the vase.

Storms have paused their case.

Joys have given up the chase.

Sons have not yet begun the race.

Daughters have tied their shoe lace.

Pedestrians resort to their default face.

Restart

Seat your ancient men on novel thrones.

Your statues of living bones.

You see a valley of the dead, silent abbey,

I see a crestfallen army.

Breathe life into this caged up lung.

Can you hear what is sung?

Can you hear what is sung?

Breathe life into this caged up lung.

I see a crestfallen army.

You see a valley of the dead, silent abbey.

Your statues of living bones,

Seat your ancient men on novel thrones.

May the first be last, and the last be first.

The ladder begins to thirst.

Awake what once was alive and well,

Drowning the pits of hell!

Deem this young soul to be prepared.

Old dinners won’t be spared!

Old dinners won’t be spared!

Deem this young soul to be prepared.

Drowning the pits of hell!

Awake what once was alive and well.

The ladder begins to thirst,

May the first be last, and the last be first 

Limerick No.9

In the grand words of Phil Ford –

“Poetry makes me so bored

If you refuse

To always use

The make-up of ancient forts.”

Here I am

Banished from the field that was my home

I’m broken from the dreariness of subtle tones

Oh God, Here I am

Jealousy consumes me to the limit of murder

Brotherless, I try and walk but can go no further

Oh God, Here I am

Different tongues from this tower scatter us

Compatriots stand on top to the limit of trust,

Oh God, Here I am

A weary old pilgrim kneels and kisses the dust

A nation is born out of the old firmaments of rust

Oh God, Here I am

A promise stolen from the lips of a blind father

Treachery is blessed with an escape but can’t go further

Oh God, Here I am

Politicians suffer from an amphibian plague

Brought on by a promising heir, the slave’s sage

Oh God, Here I am

Lust came, deceived me and my cutting strength

She witnessed the depths of my hair’s length

Oh God, Here I am

On the rooftop of my Kingdom I saw and wanted

I got and I murdered and the prophet came and haunted

Oh God, Here I am

I came, I saw, I conquered for a speechless love

They know not what they do, all of the above

Oh God, Here I am

Psalm 112

Alas, I cannot see where this Samaritan is taking me

Been window shopping for a life, endlessly

Cowards, Heroes, Wicked men have their own charm

Dawn only comes upon those that oppose harm
Even in the shadow, the righteous is in Apollo’s sight

Fear in his heart is eclipsed by trust in the Lord’s light

Given choice for my life, my soul begins to whither

Heralded by sin’s success I’ve been tricked to consider 

Impertinence causes me to stumble and stare
Jeering, the enemy offers his pretentious care

Knowing my heart is secure, I will not fear
Loving the Lord, I surrender all without a tear

My legacy will be triumphant over my enemies

No temptress could deter me with her fantasies
Over all, my commitment is to the greatest love
Poetically invigorating me with a dove
Question such authority, a fool I am to do
Restored is my conviction forever in You

So I scatter abroad my gifts to the poor
To see my righteousness forever soar
Under such a blessing my life’s route’s planned
Vexation is not mine, but only for the damned
Wicked men will waste away like paper on the sea
Xanadu, even, would not defeat the zeal in me
“Ye of great faith shall act accordingly
Zeal shall be the mark of those who pass into eternity”

A month

Be it twenty eight days or thirty one,
Many have come and gone.
They draw a hope for anticipation,
To find a home in recollection.

Never going to do that again

Never going to do that again!

So my friend tells his ubiquitous dealer.

“Tell me, what am I to explain,

This shaman is a most exquisite healer.”

Never going to do that again!

The chorus rings out after your Friday.

Einstein might claim you insane,

Expecting a new score from an old way.

Huh?

When would a woman say these words?

Willing, worldly, wonderful, wild, words.

Perhaps plenty of pugilists - pious people

Preach these pathetic, plain platitudes.

Babbling, binge-blathering, bywords

Beam at bemused by standing birds.

Serious sympathies seek this steeple,

This secret stronghold of the subdued.

Limerick No.8

Can’t think of a poem quick?

Want to show your maverick

Side of things?

Just amuse kings

With that cheeky limerick

Job, Chapter One By Alan P Harrison (Guest Edition)

There lived in Uz a man named Job,

Whom of the things of God would probe,

This Job was blameless and upright,

There was no evil in his sight.

His seven sons were tall and true,

God gave to him three daughters too,

With many camels, ox and sheep,

His stature great, his wealth was deep.

Job’s children would enjoy a feast,

Their father thought it was the least,

That he could do to make him sure,

That in their hearts his kids were pure.

There came a day when angels, lo,

Met from above and from below,

To show themselves before the LORD,

Including one whom he abhorred.

God said to Satan, “Where’ve you been?”

He answered slyly, “Haven’t you seen?”

“I’ve been out walking on the earth,”

“To see what there was of much worth.”

And God said proudly, “See this guy,”

“He does not steal or kill or lie,”

“He conducts his life without blame,”

“His upright ways put you to shame.”

The snake replied, “I’ve seen this chap,”

“You’ve stretched his home across the map,”

“A shield of yours protects his place,”

“Remove it and he’ll curse your face”.

And staying in complete command,

The LORD said, “Fine, stretch out your hand”,

“Take some or all of what he owns”,

“But I warn you: do not touch his bones.”

So Satan went and had his way,

Job lost it all one fateful day,

Through violent wind and hateful foe,

This day became Job’s day of woe.

In agony he tore his robe,

But this was not the end of Job,

Instead of thinking himself dead,

He worshipped God and shaved his head.

And through the tears some heard him say,

“The LORD gives and He takes away,”

“I’ll leave my life with nothing stored,”

“Blessed be the name of the LORD”.

But through all this one cannot say,

That Job had cursed the LORD this day,

Though broken his resolve was strong,

And so Job proved the devil wrong.

Cliché

There is nothing new under the sun!

Originality is the grand déjà vu.

Yet when the old is twisted and wrung

It may disguise itself as new.

Originality is the grand déjà vu,

No one likes to fit into a stereotype.

It may disguise itself as new,

But our style isn’t a monotype.

No one likes to fit into a stereotype

To be the elusive, helpless cliché.

But our style isn’t a monotype

And novelty has flown away.

To be the elusive, helpless cliché?

Yet when the old is twisted and wrung

And novelty has flown away,

There is nothing new under the sun.

Limerick No.7

Beethoven’s ninth symphony

Makes you smart in infancy,

But just some booze,

Helps folks loose

Any attained proficiency. 

The Most Awesomest Title Ever

 I         A      T      I

T                 H     S

S                 A     N

                   T     T

                          

      L       A     N    G   U   A   G   E 

R

A        S

T        H             T

H       A              A  
E        M            M   

R       E              E   

White Dragon

A herald of the static – from mountains he appears,

Vast, the shadow of his wings darkens the earth.

The wit of the wise is worsted, runs and disappears.

A father of motion seeks to replenish the dearth.

In the valley of plenty even the rich have succumb

To the havoc of this gently giant’s pale curse.

Within the beast’s cold skin, failure’s light crumb

Trail leads to the inevitable, skinny purse.

Limerick No.6

Ok, I’m going to have a shower

Just in about half an hour

But if I delay

You will have to pay,

Cause then this room will smell sour.

Screen and Stages

Born at the Nile’s cradle; blessed by mother and death’s tale,

Then, the infant years carried among the Peloponnese domes.

Fathered by mighty Romulus’ brood and journey the globe,

Till at last, manhood beseeches amongst the Virgin Queen.

Worthy of song, by the greatest of troubadours, is this gift,

And therefore, grand jury, the notary stands proud before you.

Fair point, such a history that is commended before you

Is, without a doubt, a grand precursor for a greater tale.

For now we must turn to the refined and industrial gift,

As age is simply there as a pillar to youth’s domes.

This masterpiece of modern engineering is my queen,

And I shall travel to preach her gospel across the globe.

Ha! Amazed I am that youth’s arrogance stops at the globe.

We have gathered to consider the greater, so I ask you,

Fail not in your task to consider entertainment’s queen!

Masterful she preaches and performs many a great tale,

With a frown and a smile she enchants in her majestic domes.

Dismiss not, for modern foolery, such a splendid gift!

Ah! Such scorn against Ptolemy, the Second’s gift!

The child of “The Wheel of Life” has astounded the globe,

Enthralled and intoxicated are those that enter its domes.

But the solicitor of ancient ruins comes to you,

And begs mercy for a lesser teller of many a tale.

I, though, shall await the verdict of the King and the Queen. 

Behold, the Scottish Lady, she reeks of despair, that queen

Enthrals all the senses, as she devours Macduff’s gift.

Aghast the crowds would not heed the warnings of this tragic tale

If it were to be malformed to suit other places than “The Globe”.

For the proximity of the sweat and blood cries out to you,

The judges, once you suffer by smell and feel in splendid domes.

Suffer you do indeed in this troubadour’s petty domes.

For you could not see the tempestuous eyes of such a queen,

Nor, the propinquity allow audibility, for you

Would marvel at the silence of this grand, marvellous gift.

Not so the ruler of modern leisure across the globe,

Thunder and Lightning as loud and clear as must for this tale!

Hush! For now you shall bare and accept the sentence for each gift.

The King and the Queen bring forth and speak the will of all the globe.

Both domes shall state, along their rigours, many a fanciful tale!

Limerick No.5

What’s the point of a semicolon?

Just so a sentence can be swollen?

I don’t really care

Because to be fair;

I’ll never use a semicolon.

December 9th

Bound the round sound

In lines like vines of nines.

So choose the fuse of the ruse

That you muse in these zoos.

Burn every turn in this urn

And demand a stand.

Why try to cry for a lie,

Just apply a dry eye.

Rampage onstage!          

Fiscal Vocation

Good day sir, do you wish to borrow?

We eat children by day and babies by night,

Give expert advice with financial sorrow.

Think of today and not of tomorrow,

Carpe Diem first and after pull your belt tight,

Good day sir, do you wish to borrow?

Terms that make your brow furrow,

We deliver a future that is oh so bright,

Give expert advice with financial sorrow.

The rumours are just a scarecrow,

To keep the reckless men out of sight,

Good day sir, do you wish to borrow?

Even though the promises seem hollow,

We save you from that dreadful fright,

Give expert advice with financial sorrow.

I want to go home now and end this show,

I’m tired of lenders wanting to fight,

Good day sir, do you wish to borrow?

Give expert advice with financial sorrow.

Bill

There once was a man who was idle and tame

His greatest ambition was to solve a fool’s game

He broke his back twice and his heart thrice

He didn’t expect that his subjects would entice

There once was a child who was brave and wild

But something happened that made him defiled

He woke up one day and saw he’d grown old

And so he bought a sign for his soul that said “Sold”

I met the poor man on the last day of his life

He cried, the daring child never even got a wife

Yet one thing could still redeem his great mistakes

To tell his story, as his past, finally, awakes

The solemn fellow slowly began his great tale

Which I shall now attempt to repeat without fail

A story that towers so high like the one in Babel

But which now is reduced to the wreckage of fable

The story begins with a knighted boy named Bill

Who never could quite manage to stay still

Every day he travelled to lands far and wide

To return everyday to dinner like the tide

Some days Bill would journey to the Castle of Teen,

A place only the bravest child could be seen

For the mighty King Jim sat on his throne proud

And all that entered, could only if he allowed

The king’s prized possession was the Elixir of Joy

He professed it to be his own private toy

He drank until he could no longer stand

And started to hit the air with his hand

The brave Sir Bill once stole the Elixir one night

And found himself in a whirlwind of delight

Though when he awoke the next morning

He noticed the elixir’s bottle carried a warning

The Beast of Minerva was his greatest nemesis

She ruled dictatorially, the supremacist

Sucking dry, the joy of life and its energy

But she taught him the power of synergy

Sir Bill gathered his strongest allies

And exiled the Monster with their rallies

But once she was defeated and finally done

Another appeared out of Apollo’s Sun

For many a year the Knight fought the beast

Until one day he battled and was finally released

And so his great voyage at length began

Aimlessly wandering without a plan

Breaking through the tyranny of Ponos’ child

Who would attack him with paper and go wild

He seduced the Sirens with great success

And made some later his personal princess

All of which later abandoned him to his fate

He then awoke one day to see that his life was late

His Knighthood had been robbed by age

Sir Bill was now the knave of the stage

And so the old man told me his great tale

But even this did not seem to avail

His distress and fear was far too great

And so he laid back and decided to wait

“Is there no hope of any redemption?”

“No second chances against rejection?”

The broken figure simply cracked a smile

“I’ve been asking that now for a while.”

There once was a man who was weak and old

Before he died, though, I heard it told

His age that had robbed him of his youth

Had at the end of the day taught him truth

He awoke from the nightmare he was in

Arose to his life and decided to begin

Took upon himself his crown of old

Took down the sign off his soul that said “Sold”

For Sir Bill had found his second chance

In the most peculiar of romance

There once was a man who fell asleep one night

And his final thought was, “In the end I got it right.”

Think Before You Write

Pursue the rhyme,
Ignore the time.

Ode to Awkwards

Our eyes are well trained to see the peculiar

So mine found themselves looking upon Julia

She conversed with a lonely soul underground

Until King’s Cross Station, where his exit was found

Further her task seemed to be to hum her darling song

Since I knew it myself, she got it completely wrong

A father of fathers looked at her beyond his paper

So she smiled and he hid as if she were a kidnapper

As this tragedy unfolded before my eyes

I couldn’t help but wonder who of them was wise

Was it the crowd that persecuted, quiet and proud

Or was it the stranger that was loving a little too loud

As she tipped her hat adieu to the distressed commute

She stumbled over the gap, which I found rather cute

So when I found her later on that week sitting alone

I drew near to her and slipped the number to my phone

A kiss of blessing can cause the honest to stagger

They return the gesture without hubris or swagger

The loving heart shall receive its own gift in plenty

Other soul’s can only wish for theirs are empty

The exiles of Acceptable return to your home

The Romans may do, but they must see this is not Rome

Leave the caves you’ve wasted in for too long

Perhaps not you but the others were wrong

The shame that once was you’re prison’s guard

May have left you broken, afraid and scarred

But hold up the mantle that this pen gives you

And rejoice in the knowledge that you have work to do

But I have found a fault in my crafted words

For if you, as I have ordered, would march onwards

You would have freed yourself of discomfiture

 Why, my words would solely become furniture!

At the grand crescendo the choir meets,

As the audience begin to rise from their seats

And all ears await the final chord

As all hearts await the final word

So, um...I guess I’m kind of going to finish here