Coming home one Friday night
Scranning burgers and half pissed
Me and a mate stopped to talk to three prossies
All smoking in the doorway of a charity shop.
"What would I get for a quid?"
Me mate said belching and flicking onion
Off his shirt.
"You can scrape this shit off me shoe,"
Said a ginger skinny piece
With lips like two cig papers
And tits like boiled eggs.
What about a fiver?" said me mate again
Still concentrating on his grub.
"A tenner?" said me mate looking up.
" I'll give you a wank,"
Said this tasty oriental-looking bit
With long black hair and a fantastic arse
Tucked into tight white jeans.
"We all fuck for thirty," said ginger skinny
Raking through her bag.
" Ugly cow," said me mate,
"Fuck off," they all replied, ginger skinny
Wiggling her little finger.
I saw tasty oriental about a fortnight later
Doing her lipstick in the same shop doorway.
I confess to missing my catalogue that month.
Poetry - Trouble At Number Ten (a.ka. my next home) By Daphne Liver
I find him in the kitchen
angrily carving potatoes into polygons,
because he feels at fifty three
that he's washed up already.
Beads of sweat now slide
from where creases of smiles once shone.
He is singed by age like a tree -
Poetry - Public Display of Sandwich By The Mouths of Madness
Chilling choking on bits of bamboo
Cold frustrated stomachs fucked too
Vast islands of clover in the
Grass always grew.
But in the winter
The thistles so small
Poetry - The Final Scapegoat By Patrick Henry
From dope-peddling terrorist dens where the late Taliban
Blew up everything they hated out of all proportion,
Another lark to test lads in the closed season can be
The Afghan's ancient sport of Buzzkashi.
Misheard as 'Bush-catchy' it is unpopular in Washington,
Where George dreads another presidential assassination.
But this lines up teams of
Poetry - Shove It By Shaun Heesom
If I dreamed a new dream and
I've dreamed a few then let the new dream
Be that old dream I once dreamed of you!
If I speak unspoken, words I've never spoke before let
Those words be spoken in a way I've
Often Spoke before!
Poetry - The Land of The Free By Del Abe Jones.
On Independence Day this year
We'll wave our Flag, salute and cheer
We'll thank all those who've gone before
And those today, we send to War.
We'll think about what Freedom's cost
Those who fought and those we lost
Poetry - She Can See The World From Petrin Hill By Tom Gant
Yonder Summa! Green faerie queen
my thoughts are your own, in thinking.
Raise a finger to edge a table
whilst I raise a glass, dear as crystal.
Sugar revolution; coat yourself in
crowds of bubbles and linger long
and loud as you desire. Smoke:
Poetry - Feast of Violence (At Scarborough in The Fall) By Patrick Henry
Time of mist and pumpkin-lamps Keats might call fall of the year.
Ten days and two centuries back, twenty-first October,
Five thousand sailors, one called Nelson, died at Trafalgar.
Feasts of violence make dates upon the calendar.
Stick a pointed hat on an excited child.
Black-paint-daub their face,
Poetry - An Un-Comic Poem By Shep
I thought about writing a comic poem
But I couldn't find anything funny
I put pen to paper several times
But still couldn't earn my money
I though about people falling down
And kept repeating the word 'wiggle'
Poetry - Test of Character By Patrick Henry
From Afghanistan comes word of fair play and decency
From the visiting President of the MCC,
That the Jihad desperadoes and Kamikaze ghouls
Have given way to cricket-mad flannelled-fools.
For the influx of this dose of common-sense.
Our wise Wisden man says
Poetry - The Looking-Glass War By Patrick Henry
Fort Polk could steal headlines from Baghdad and Guantanamo.
A camp down in Dixie will become heroic as The Alamo.
It rehearses scenarios in line for Middle-Eastern war
GIs are tested out by all-comers down there.
Amputee veterans of Pearl Harbour, Korea and Vietnam
Replay their parts of war
Poetry - Thirst By Mike Watts
Sprawled like a victim
I shrink on the heat of the bed.
Rattle beneath my window.
Glass shrieks across concrete
As young voices drip,
Go forth and multiply
Poetry - A Yorkshire Princess By Mike Watts
This proud bird parades no vanity
She paddles her feet in the Humber
Muddies her dress to show she's working,
As hard as they'll let her.
Breathing in, breathing out,
A great warehouse, a production line
For the conquerors' of Kings, of
Poetry - The Underdogs Of War-Games By Patrick Henry
8 groups in The World Cup, imagine the worst in each to win
Through to The Quarters, The Semis, or The Final Game.
From defence to attack they might spring up surprising.
What have these minnow nations got going for them?
Talk of red cards, Paraguay once lost five million men
In their big 3-Nations War, facing
Poetry - Aliens Make Great Movies By Patrick Henry
Great old Science-Fiction films are not released today,
When metallic strangers taller than lone cowboys landed to say
Their masters ruled distant weird worlds now at galactic war
With this frail Earth unless we wise up to the danger.
The Capital of Science-Fiction must be The United States.
All those terms together add up
Poetry - Confetti By Tom Gant
You said 'money' isn't the
be all and end all,
but the problem remains,
you don't know me
Peace is the only refuge
Poetry - Pinfold Lane By Lee Cassanell
They built on land where gallows stood
And devils plied their trade,
The hanging gale made killers sway
As craftsmen cut their graves
A Sailors crowd pushed to the front
To see a ship mate dangle,
Poetry - Persona Ingrata By Patrick Henry
From years overshadowed by smart authors, I woke in horror to find
Change gripped me bleak as Kafka's insect or Dr Jekyll's fiend.
Once on the skids in Paris, fleas that clung round my body
I flicked at Sarte's photo in a posh café.
Poetry - Available On Demand By Joe Hakim
Watching a girl
called Erica Yates
on my mate's mobile phone.
'She's from Bransholme,
and on this bit
you can actually hear her moan,'
Poetry - The Cost of Labour By Patrick Henry
No fool, Britannia, never ever slaves since times
They fought for The Truck Acts, The Workers' Vote, the Right for Unions.
Loyal as Coronation mugs, some think Magna Carta put Civil Rights our way:
That job-form for barons who started higher up the tree.
They imagine that The Civil War
Poetry - Decisions By Mike Watts
Disturbed behind bleached white net
Crashing hysterically into the glass,
Should I thump, poison,
Or ignore you?
Buzzing black carrier of filth
Desperate to fly, desirous to feed