Sometimes I see a picture and just …well this just happens.
Perfumed and poised she stares into rich rioja red
painted lips stained darker still and eyes heavy at nights end
Thump of base and lights dimmed low
She remembers, head and heart hunger for his touch
rough hands on soft skin and back arched in blissful bond
though now just a memory and she waits for the last dance
to be held and to feel alive once more
for chance to forget memories of his leaving
because she was a dirty cow and never cleaned her bathroom
Just a bunch of words mostly.
At times his mind like treacle thick and black, slow flowing
Of days so laughter filled yet now mere echoes remain and drift
across mist shrouded distant views of vistas once so bright and clear
and to those things he clings yet through frail fingers slip
Forgotten Sepia faces smile back knowingly from curled cornered photos
and in the dark they call his name, voices long forgotten and shut out
and though he turns in search of face familiar
he stands alone and yet
the things he pushes down and back and out of reach they call
reminding him of thoughts dark as pitch and deeds to match
and with covered ears he chooses to forget once more
and into restless silence slips…
My gift to you
If I could give you this one thing
of all those gifts I may possess
from love to life to sweet embrace and all I am and know
take chance to wake each day to see yourself through eyes of mine
each word, each thought each moment lived
then surely heart and head and soul would know
and conscious raw and raging thoughts
these truths so sweet with honesty tempered
that yes, you are a twat
It’s a work of fiction okay, don’t report me!
You should read this first. I did so enjoy writing it. Below is quite the opposite and not a single word of it is true. Ok maybe the frog pasty bit but only that.
After much consideration it appears I would perhaps
like to try Koala glazed with cranberries and schnapps
and I’m now perhaps quite tempted by a plate of hamster fillet
just as long as it’s deboned and someone took good care to skin it
These days I’m rather ready for a broth made out of Turtle
I would even eat a pokemon, say Pikachu or Squirtle
and I’d not say no pasties filled with vegetables and frog
and my mouth sure starts to slaver at the thought of slow roast dog
Ooh a seventies style fondue with small chunks of cat and monkey
and a creamy sauce of gruyere cheese would be ever so funky
and then wash it down with beaver juice fresh squeezed, soda and lime
or a thick stew made with Panda bits would hit the spot each time
Then at lunch time there’d be squirrel cakes and sauces thick and tasty
and a wellington with mushrooms and a parrot wrapped in pastry
there’d be volauvents with gold fish tails and budgie infused cider
and a lion steak and hippo cheek and tender side of tiger
Oh the banquet of the carnivore holds such delicious treats
mouth watering and quite sublime with most forbidden meats
they care not now for beef or lamb or chicken, goose or pork
to the extreme their pallet’s crave such dark things on their fork.
It’s late, I probably shouldn’t have bothered.
Now I ask myself so many times when I see what others do
Would I maybe like to do as they and try those wild things too
Could I dangle like a Christmas bauble bungie cord attached
Though I fear that I would shit my pants and it run all up my back
How about I run in Spain with bulls it seems intense for sure
Though I’m fat and old and rather slow and my arse they’d surely gore
And I don’t enjoy paint balling as I did it once, and no
I’m far too big a target and it bloody hurts you know
And no to surfing thanks no thanks, I tried it when much younger
as my trunks came off and my arse was filled with sand when I went under
and I have no urge to parachute though I have no fear of flying
it’s the mess you make when the chute don’t work and Im quite averse to dying
I’d thank you kindly if you said you’d we’re hiking in the hills
But I’ll just stay home as its full of bears and they give me the chills
Though they’re not as bad as sharks so no with them I’ll not be swimming
Think I’ll skip it and watch Netflix and my nails they do need trimming
In the dark of night.
At days end when time flies and sun sits low
In crimson skies and blood red stained gives way to black
He thinks of her and years of love come flooding in
From loves first flush to darker days
But always light with golden rays and hope and joy
Illuminate and feeding, green shoots blossom bright
And smiling, eyes closed he embraces
Each vision clear as days gone by and into nothing slow he slips
a burning sun quenched in swirling seas of time
6 lines of words
Wistful she sits, her heart another’s and lost in fractured thought
to places far and wide she wanders in search of life and love and more
while heavy the bonds of obligation lie and soul so sadly smothered
and then behind her came a tiger and ate her face off and she was dead.
Sorry but I just saw the photo and it made me laugh. I am sure she is meant to be all pensive and comtemplative but really, there is a big frigging tiger behind her and she is a slip of a lass and barefoot so there is no way she will either fight it off or outrun it.
Maybe she’s thinking “Oh bollocks a tiger…” and the tiger is thinking “Hello hello what do we have here you look delicious”.
And why on earth is she wearing that daft dress out in the middle of a forest. It’s going to get bloody filthy and there’s no way she will get the muck out of it.
Some people…honest.
6 lines of words
Racing, pacing pent up and mouth silently screaming
en masse a sea of red, and anger rides red crested waves
but ears deaf hear not and sickly sweet smiles stare back
and cold embrace asks what can be done
then shakes it’s head and with seductive tongue insists
it was always this way and always will be
Light golden streams through broken windows
dust dancing on the rays illuminating broken furniture and broken man
He stirs from dreams dark and lucid with eyes hollow
And reaches, smile fading, for what is long lost
while through his fingers glittering hope slips and drips
spiralling downwards and gurgling away
until aching, shaking, breaking he rises
and stumbles, stomach rumbling
and so another day begins cup in hand and faithful dog in tow
hoping perhaps tomorrow will be different
A brief meander
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what whimsical nonsense I can whip up in ten minutes…
I’m not a believer in predestination, but I know people are, and that’s great. In fact, I am not a believer in much other than what I can see or what can be proven.
I used to believe in all sorts of stuff, but no more. I gave that lark up a few years ago and whilst I’m still working on parts of what I believe I find that mostly, beyond that which can be proven, I think we’re a huge stroke of luck and in this mind mindbogglingly large universe we are very much a ripple in a vast ocean of chance.
Now I know I should probably have a better answer than that but you know what, I don’t. A friend of mine insists we are here for a good time not a long time and I like that. I am not talking pure hedonistic pleasures, simply the pursuit of that which makes you happy.
I reckon that when we’re dead we are simply no more and whatever energy courses through us is released when we are disposed of in which ever way we might choose.
I know it is simple and that lots of people have compelling arguments to the contrary but I don’t really care because I have found a peace that I never had at any other point in my life and I’m rather happy with that.
Not at all about ejaculation. Honest.
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what whimsical nonsense I can whip up in ten minutes…
There are times when a prompt will pop up ad I simply think to myself “No Michael, you know how this is going to turn out so just stop right there.”
I don’t have a particularly filthy mind, but I do like to say what I think. I take a degree of pride in pushing boundaries, testing sensibilities and poking things that should not be poked. I do however do my best to do so with a degree of humour and a modicum of taste.
I shall therefore leave this one be and just move along quietly because I do still have a certain amount of self control.
Just to be clear in case you were wondering though, it was going to be a toss up between a poem about a chap with an extreme case of premature ejaculation or a woman who discovers the joys of female ejaculation for the first time.
Problem was, for the latter at least, I would have needed to do some research and the wife and kids use my laptop quite regularly so I really did not fancy having to explain the content of my browser to either.
It’s a pity really because lush, rush and gush all rhyme quite wonderfully and you know I would have loved the opportunity to explain that “With shock and surprise, it flew into his eyes, and he screamed “help I think I’ve gone blind!”
But I won’t, because I am better than that…
Still and silent
He sinks slowly beneath the lapping waves of regret
with heavy heart and harsh words caught still in his mouth
too late too little and two no more he sinks
weighed down by all he will not admit yet craves forgiveness for
and then, into quiet dark silence
where heart is still and one last time he mouths the words
that she will never hear
Curtain twitchers beware
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what whimsical nonsense I can whip up in ten minutes…
Squirty McWhirty was really quite dirty
And Rodger her husband quite plain
He would dream of steam trains
They would fill up his brain
Whilst his wife quite love filth, kink and pain
Next door lived the Cooks she was obsessed with books
While her fella was quite into Cars
And they seemed quite at peace
The plain folk on the street
Though he also quite loved wearing bras
Down at house 22 there was Mr Rabu
Who’s wife disappeared last May
He said she was in Spain
But go check out the drain
You’ll find parts still not quite washed away
And they all quite suspect that there’s likely a sect
Who reside at the house near the park
Theres odd comings and goings
Nasty toings and froings
And oft candles and screams in the dark
Then there’s Darren and Paul who both work at the Mall
Vegans both, own a really nice home
But when push comes to shove
You know they’re so in love
Don’t like meat but they sure love the bone
A quite curious lot I assume that you’ve got
A good feel for the folk on this street
But don’t judge please be kind
We’re all different you’ll find
Smile and nod if you ever do meet
Vegetarians may object. The carnivores may not.
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what whimsical nonsense I can whip up in ten minutes…
Sniffles and snuffles
fat pigs that love truffles
And turnips and carrots and swedes
They’ll eat slops and scoff bread
Cabbage both green and red
And leftovers and all that you leave
They think wow what a life
With this farmer and wife
As they roll in the mud oh such bliss
Every day they grow fat
What is better that that
They insist what a great life is this
Then one day Truffles aint there
Snuffles, nose in the air
Does despair but’s distracted as hell
For aroma divine
Cooking flesh of the swine
Snuffles slavers oh my what a smell…
Where the heart is
Slammed fists and red eyes
watch as gaping raging mouths wound carelessly
while holes in walls scream of dark frustrations
at forgotten promises and splintered vows
and muted sobs from under unmade beds
realise that there are no more happy ever afters
Oh how very horrid.
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what whimsical nonsense I can whip up in ten minutes…
He dances round the subject
of just where he was last night
there is lipstick on his collar
and she hopes that he just might
this time tell her something honest
and perhaps he’ll see the light
but he says was with his mates so she replies
….
Fiddle sticks balderdash and a dose of nincompoop
Piles of twaddle loads of tosh and a massive load of bollocks
So much gubbins endless waffle and a steaming pile of nonsense
Pointless drivel stupid dribble and a total crock of shite
Where the heart is
Cold pavements and newspaper blankets rustle
Slowly through empty bottle eased into slumber
And restless under open skies he once more returns home
To open arms and child’s delights he runs and tear streaked cheeks welcome kisses
And she stands with smile and love and watches
She sees the man that he once was
Yet with dawn with dread he wakes once more
And packs away and moves along again
and counting…
She feels his passing
Deep in her heart where dark and light contest
she knows no more will he return
And sun shines brighter and dark less thick
While green tendrils choke the memories that block the light
And free once more she sings
Songbird
Oh how very horrid.
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what whimsical nonsense I can whip up in ten minutes…
Ruby red she swirls and spins
And craves a life he cannot give
And laughter peaks and frantic dips
Entranced by eyes and heart and hips
Each day and night he toils and strains
To please her hunger as it grows
Voraciaous she devours it all
And never sated death does call
Worth more in the ground than with beating heart
with greed consumed she seeks to feast
And so she schemes and plots and plans
His life to take with blood soiled hands
And with widows sorrow she does weep
as slowly lowered into the ground
and ruby red heart swirls and leaps
all that was his now hers to keep
Oh how very horrid.
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what whimsical nonsense I can whip up in ten minutes…
They crawled up his leg and then into his bottom
And there they did live in his innards quite rotten
For long was he dead in a battle forgotten
And now he’d returned for revenge
With such ants in his pants and a six rats in his bowels
He would walk through the night and quite hungry he howls
And a brain full of worms in control of his vowels
He would mumble for b-b–b-brains
He would seek little kids quite delicious and plump
With an eye full of spiders and a rather bug lump
On his face from the wasps than would sure make you jump
When they flew from his mouth like a storm
And his fingers quite rotten and tongue chewed away
Beetles covered his flesh and he strode night and day
To find children to eat who’d perhaps lost their way
and to hell drag their sweet little souls
and counting…
Late nights, early mornings
Slamming doors and muted screams
Nothing fair and everything oh so unreasonable
Sharp words and hormones rage and sweet little boys seem long lost
And then pushed away frustrated and confused
Fathers fail to find common ground
Until tearful calm returns
Oh surely not…
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what I can do in ten minutes…
Old Artemis Bilge fine purveyor of poodles
Loved them so much that he ate them with noodles
With fresh veg and soy sauce he scoffed oodles and oodles
and for pudding fresh strawberries and cream
He would slow roast a leg and eat it as a starter
With pickles and fennel and mustard or tartar
And sometimes on a sandwich with cheese and tomato
Licked his fingers, such tastes quite supreme
Late at night to his fridge he would head tummy rumbling
And with platters of neck, thigh and flank he’d head stumbling
Back to bed where he’d gorge ‘till his tummy stopped grumbling
Then to sleep and of poodles to dream
Hopefully just 4 rather gross lines…
M’s writing prompts for March came with the following instructions:
“…set your timer for ten minutes and begin writing about one of the prompts listed below. Don’t worry about spelling, punctuation, neatness, or anything like that; just write!”
Let us see what I can do in ten minutes…
Seething writhing piles of rancid filth
Maggots thrash hungrily and gorge on rotting flesh
Where once there was life now putrification reigns
And death’s foul breath belches and cackles
Got teenagers?
Raging, doors slam and knotted stomachs stir
Another day another night another fight
As hormones rage and darkness falls
And once tender caress no longer soothes
There in the dark wet cheeks and heaving chest
All seems so lost and nothing causes smiles to spring
Until selected, renewed and connected
Heart slows, head clears and once more peace returns
Not really sure wtf this is but its something I suppose.
He waits, each day repeated forever hoping
All pressed cotton and fathers aftershave
Crimson wrists match carnation’s hue
And wet cheeks like blood red roses blush
At mere thought yet thought alone can wrench
And heart in chest does twist and writhe
then shrivel scorned and turn to dark
until madness claims him for her own
And with malady and melody sweeps away to cold dark soil
And love young dream fades slowly to black until daybreak once more
Afterwards 