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Poetry |
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You can take the boy out of the council estate...
By Lee Cassanell
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Pass me a chocolate,
Make mine a tea.
Eyes on the tele
Plate on your knee.
Kids in the garden
Shirts in the wash
Caring if Beckhams cheating on Posh.
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Burning of Cd's
Searching for porn,
Can't go out Sundays I'm mowing the lawn!
Pissed of with working,
Can't get no sleep...Zzzzz
The cupboards are full but there's nothing to eat.
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Crime in the papers!
Debts through the mail!
Watching the dog as he chases his tail.......
Sleeping with Susan,
Cheating on Joyce,
Crawling home drunk from a night with boys.
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Doorbell needs fixing
Wine in the Rack,
Shopping for shoes and returning with crap.
Nights in the local
Pizza for supper.
Pass me a Chocolate,
And get me a cuppa!
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Copyright ©2004 Lee Cassanell
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Poetry - Do Not Depend on the Wind By Maurice Fairfield
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Do not depend on the wind,
many a sailor and miller has found
A grave in the wave a grave in the ground
In waiting for wind.
Do not depend on the rain,
Pleasure and pain,
Harrowing loss, empty gain
Read more...
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Poetry - I Shan't Be There Anymore by Michelle Dee.
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Forgotten now are the fairies and
fantasies, the magic and mysteries
Brush the glitter
from my eyes so sore.
I shan't be there anymore
The garden the swings, a child's
playthings, a chance for fun
in the hazy summer sun.
Read more...
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Poetry - Wrong by Michelle Dee.
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Getting ready to go out for the first time in weeks
she selects her favourite jumper. She woke with a
cold and a shiver in her bones but she's going out all the same.
Hurry up, he shouts, Get a move on, impatience in his voice
Picking her way carefully down the stairs in kitten heels
Read more...
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Poetry - Involved 23 By Matthew Tasker
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DARK ARCHES
EVERYWHERE
BUILDINGS
MINDS
BODIES
SYMBOLS OF DESPAIR
PLACES OF WARMTH
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COMFORT
PEACE
RELEASE
DISEASE
THEY HAVE
INSPIRED
Read more...
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Poetry
- Somebody and Pictures
at an Auction By Maurice Fairfield.
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Somebody sentenced me to life some time ago.
For something I can't remember doing.
Now as my sentence dwindles to its close,
Freedom no longer pulls me as it did.
My cell though cramped, is cosy,
And the meals arrive on time.
Also, I have grown used to them.
I have some cell-mates.
Read more...
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Poetry - The Nurses Visit By Nadie.
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My voice is lost,
no-one hears me.
Well meaning,
tearing out my heart,
middle aged ladies,
'where did you buy these cushions?'
I'm dying inside,
Read more...
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Poetry - Chip Shop Woman by Lee Cassanell
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On Fridays and Mondays
And some times on Sundays
I enter your chamber of grease,
The waft of your Haddock
Lures me from my paddock
To lands of chip butties and cheese.
Read more...
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Poetry
- Rosedale Chimney Hill By
Maurice Fairfield.
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Long ago in a different time
The World seemed bright and shiny new.
My chin still wore downy fuzz,
My eyes saw clearly, straight and true.
Though money was scarce I had my share
Of strengths and skills, and loads to bear
Could never crush inside my heart,
The love of life abiding there.
Read more...
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Poetry - Void By Darren Sant
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"Where am I?"
Blackness. The absence of sound and light.
A non-entity floating in an inky void.
"Is anybody out there?"
Silence. Complete and utter nothingness.
Emptiness vast and lonely.
"Please answer me."
Read more...
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Poetry - When You're Ready and Resolve By Steve Rudd
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We made a pact
At the last filling station
Interstate M62..
I was so proud of you
You'd never normally say boo..
Who drove you to rebel?
Read more...
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Poetry - Demons by Shelly D.
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She wants a tattoo but really
at my age and a nipple pierced,
what is she thinking.
She got out again last night
always running away oh to be free
What will she do this time
Read more...
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Poetry - Journeyman By Patrick Henry
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His learning class sank down the pits so deep as hell
Anyone expects from graft being a penance in the earth
To cut out coal black as mortal sin which burns
To fire steam force and make that world power work.
He lit out from there to war abroad: the tender flame
Of raw youth blown out close by where his chance survived..
Read more...
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Poetry - Hangin' Around & The You and Me Poem
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By Jane Foster
In gangs we trawled the wet streets, alive with possibilities,
The smell of fresh rain and freedom in our noses.
How come they always say that we didn't have much,
When so much open space was ours?
Read more...
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