The Jeremy Kyle Show or That's Entertainment
By Terry Ireland
It's on the television in the morning
for five days of the week
with its constant daily parade
of inadequate, stupid and weak,
all there to help him
play his nasty little game
in return for ten seconds
of very dubious fame.
He speaks to them quietly,
gets them at their ease
skilled in the ways
of the media tease.
They sit there muttering in
his theatre of the absurd
until he has each ensnared
by their very owns words.
He then shouts and he yells
gives them verbal abuse
playing to his audience
who react to each new
sordid revelation as
he pushes them hard
all the time being watched
by his large bodyguard.
Having wreaked vengeance
here comes Mr Nice Guy
who will help with counselling if
they'll only promise to give it a try.
And he simpers to his audience
who willingly play their role
smiling and applauding
as the farewell credits roll;
at least he's there for the money
as he spews out his views
but what I wonder is
the audiences' excuse.
He'll be back in the morning
by turns humble and brash
as the tills in his mind
mentally count up his cash.
Poetry Later, You Returned to the Sea By Christy Hall
To the coast, what other setting but by the shore.
We crept along the promenade holding hands,
staying close in the cold.
You were reluctant to step onto the sand
in canvas shoes, so I piggy-backed you
towards the surf, and the bank of wet stones.
A sprig of seaweed, typical litter, a twig.
Poetry - Some Kind of Sequel By Joe Hakim
My mam rang the other day.
She had been reading the
local paper, and she rang
to tell me that she had seen
It was yours.
You were one of my first girlfriends, Read more...
Poetry - Bagman Pete By Bernard Franklin
This is the story of a good man,
whose Christian name was Pete,
though he started at the top of the tree,
he ended up upon the street.
He sleeps in Cardboard City,
with other people just the same,
to see them in their homes of paper,
should make their families feel deep shame.
Poetry - Betrayed By Paul England
The devil fills my veins
that's why I talk so cold
my soul was only stolen
that shit was never sold
dad just did me wrong
so my love you just won't feel
mother talks such bullshit
Poetry - A Student Summer By Bryan Berue
I'm sitting here
Suffering from a lack of... mmm,
No individual delicate whisps
Of cheese and onion flavoured
Fried potato chips,
No garlic and herb,
Poetry - I Really Did Like You Susan Fewster By Ray Moody
I really did like you Susan Fewster.
Even when I said, 'Well I don't like her!'
When you were absent from school that day
And your classmates made me aware
When they told me that you liked me and I blurted out,
'Well I don't like her!'
Please forgive me, I was childish,
Poetry Invasion By Mike Watts
Tiny tin plate
Heads connecting Read more...
Poetry - Libya By Terry Ireland
what do you think
the west will do
Poetry Sweary Mary By Catherine Scott
Mary, Mary so contrary
Wrote her books without a dictionary
She painted scenes with vocabulary
Mary, Mary, literary
Mary, Mary so contrary
Researched facts for fictionary
Her writing was exemplarary
Poetry - Unwanted Gold (the subtext) By Jim Higo
You're like an advert for a funeral;
you're like junk mail to the dead.
You're a lottery win to a condemned man,
a begging letter to a hospital bed.
You're a conman befriending a gullible pensioner
until she re-writes her will.
You're a doctor promising cures
to the terminally ill.
Poetry - The Bluebottles Reply and Put Off Poetry By John Killingbeck
To you, who so blithely would slaughter a fly,
Look close, on a sapphire to mirror the sky.
Over my wings lie the sun's scattered shards,
While crouched by your plate, I rub with my arms.
So, would you as wantonly snuff out each star?
Yet a rarer gem I, than are they, - and by far!
In this Universe aching and yawning with miles,
Poetry - Looking Sideways Forward By Terry Ireland
Nobody had the time it seemed
as they strode purposefully by,
usually with averted gaze
so as not to meet my eye.
I could smell the booze on his breath,
On his body, his clothes, his hair.
He seemed to ooze a boozy sweat
but he didn't seem to care
Poetry - Bum Wrap By Bryan Berue
Soft, strong and very, very long,
Now on offer, going for a song.
One-fifty-nine for my Andrex paper,
Trial price value for a toilet caper.
Can't wait to get it home and dream of pups,
Akimbo on the thrown whilst my arse erupts.
But I've no reading for my rest room wrestle,
Poetry Afterwards By Pamela Scobie
After this, I shall be old.
But not now, not yet.
I am not ready yet.
I have walked into an unexpected room,
In a part of the house I had thought closed up,
Dust-sheeted and done with.
A room without finite dimensions,
Poetry - This Is 'Ull By Laurenceaux.
The firm leatherette feel of well rolled tarmac
and its once warmed smell,
and the blackened knees and hands
are familiar prints in my galleried mind.
A grey playmate;
a giver of second-hand chewy
and ciggie ends,
Poetry Larkin 25 - Stayin' Alive By Kerry-Joe Pulford
Well you'd think by the way we whinge and moan,
We'd been rheumatoid since we were born.
Our bodies rocked but now they've locked,
Stiffs on the town with a botox frown.
But it's alright, it's ok,
A hip replacement's on the way,
Suck the fat - a brand new smile,
We've got our surgeon on speed dial.
Poetry - Convenience By Terry Ireland
That old Amsterdam Pissoir.
Not exactly a thing of beauty,
Standing whatever the day,
Bravely carrying out its duty,
To help relieve a burden,
Urgent wherever you are,
Nothing quite like that old
Amsterdam street Pissoir