Tag: life

Haiku for you

Aah welcome weekend indeed

Selective smelling

father claims did not realise

baby leaking shit

aaaaaaaaaaaaastink

Aah this takes me back to those selective moments when we first had kids. She would apparently not hear the middle of the night crying and I in turn would seldom realise that a nappy had just been filled. Must have been her motherly super senses I reckon that she just noticed first.

Haiku Tuesday !

The one where the fat bloke danced naked and made another man feel rather unwell.

Exhibitionist

and a great lover of pies

vomit inducing

 

aaaaastick

I think perhaps the picture came first well before the haiku.  I don’t know why I chose to draw that, perhaps it is some sort of repressed angst.  Maybe I just find the idea funny.  Maybe I just happened to draw a fat bloke with a big set of balls and a curiously positioned penis.  I don’t know.  I do know that it made that other fellow decidedly queasy to the point of throwing up.

Probably a true story.

 

Haiku Tuesday !

Which is mostly the same as all the other days of the week to be honest.

I have a list you know

and crave the apocolypse

I know who I’d eat

Ooh that was a bit dark wasn’t it. Okay so I wouldn’t go eating people willy nilly this is worse case scenario you know. All the tinned goods would need to be gone and I would probably have even eating some of the dry cat food and the stuff at the back of the cupboard that is well past it’s use by date. Not the wet cat food though – god no thanks I would rather munch on one of the neighbours before I eat that. Makes me gag at the thought.

Anyway, I’m sure it won’t come to that…

Mr Misty Eyes

Rather grateful for what I don’t have…

Dewey eyed and quite upset

The tears they run his cheeks quite wet

Hands over ears tries to forget

And block out all the noise

 

That’s all I am writing.  I do occasionally dabble in things that might be considered a little deeper but to be honest I don’t really have the experience or the emotional depth to pull it off.  Oh I can fake it but that’s not the same is it.

I can listen to a song and transform the sentiment into my own words or the emotions into something different but those feelings are not mine.  I can pick a topic and attempt to wax lyrical but I find myself rolling my eyes at myself. 

I haven’t had a particularly difficult life and feel very lucky and I often see so many wonderful emotive pieces and get quite envious but then I remember that there are real people and real emotions behind much of what I read and before I know it I am writing about a man from Ceylon who had a pendulous dong instead. 

I suppose I could write about the angst of not being able to find my remote control or perhaps write a sonnet about the challenges of having the most untidy garden on the street.

Ooh what about something in iambic pentameter about the challenges of being a white middle class male.

As great as it would be to be able to convey such emotional intensity I realise that I am quite lucky to not necessarily have those things to write about.  I realise that when the revolution I will likely be first against the wall.  But hey, finding a couple of words to rhyme with gonorrhoea is something right!

Haiku perhaps?

Let’s continue the summer theme shall we. There are some sights out there to be seen for sure.

Soaring temperatures

drunk shirtless methodone tramps

all the girls bits out

Today I did actually see what appeared to be a shirtless methadone tramp.  I think he had maybe lost his shirt though or left it in a dumpster because it didn’t seem to be about his person.  Curiously he also had one trouser leg rolled up to the knee whilst he wore the other in the more traditional fashion.

How do I know he was on something?  Well I don’t and I might be super judgy but I think walking down the middle of the road whispering to himself whilst staring wildly at passers by was a bit of a give away.

Still, I’m sure it was lovely to feel the sun on his back as he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the fine weather we are having.

On the matter of flesh well, you just head down to the market here and you’ll see what I am on about.  Whilst I am all for body positivity whatever your shape or size that doesn’t mean I support adults wearing childrens clothes to go and eat sausage rolls on a bench outside of the bookies.

😉

 

On the matter of quite terrible gifts

I am not great at gift buying, a fact to which my wife will surely attest. She, on the other hand, always absolutely nails it which seems to further accentuate my inabilities. And whilst I have yet to plunge to the levels of service station flowers, socket sets or head torches I have a record of missing the mark on birthdays, anniversaries and Christmas’.

It is not a recent thing though. Only recently my mother reminded me of the time that I was given money by my dad to buy her something nice for Christmas. The story goes that I spend the majority of the money of books or comics and with what I had leftover bought her a lime green shower curtain.

Apparently she feigned some sort of appreciation as any good mother will do but thirty five years later she still recalls the event and retells the story without a great deal of mirth. She is just probably worried about what level of support she will get in her golden years from a child so wholly selfish and beastly.

When it comes to Mrs Michael, I admit that too often in the past have I resorted to the old staples of books, CD’s, jewellery etc so two years ago I figured I would try to make up for it and buy her something both practical, fabulous and unique at the same time.

Mindful of how regularly I am still regularly reminded of the time I bought her a number of vegetarian cook books I headed to Kick Starter to find her something no one else would have. For those not familiar Kick Starter is all about investing in the ideas of people and helping them bring something to market.

So after some browsing and thorough investigations I invested in YECUP, a picture of which you can see below. Given how much she enjoys a cup of tea, and how much of the winter she spends standing on the touch line of a rugby pitch in winter I figured it would be perfect.

So what is it I hear you ask? Well, the Yecup is a thermos cup that had a built in heating and cooling element so can warm or cool your beverage. How amazing is that! No? Yeah you see this is where it all started to go wrong because I said it was and she seemed wholly underwhelmed. It might have been because I insisted she needed to be careful to not get it wet because of the built in electrics and we live in the third wettest part of the UK. Maybe.

All hope wasn’t lost though and I informed her that not only would it keep here warm drinks warm it also had a port to enable her to charge her phone. She asked whether it needed a cable to do that and I explained yes of course. The idea of sheltering her mug from the rain whilst plugging it into her phone was, I admit, not a great selling point. Neither was the fact that it can be charged wirelessly which I thought was quite fabulous.

(You know, the more I write about this the more I realise just how shit I am at gifts.)

Buy now my hopes that there will be fabulous grateful birthday sex is fast waning so I decide to play my last card in the hope of recovering the situation but it turns out that she was less enamoured than I had expected by the idea of it also having an App that could be installed on her phone to allow her to control the temperature or change the colour of the build in LED lights.

Oh, I forgot but there was also the small matter of the item not actually being available due to delays in China so it arrived over a year late in the middle of the summer. Also turns out it is absolutely massive and quite thin so has a rather phallic feel to it. No one wants to be know as that woman who always looks like she’s eagerly guzzling latte from a big silver cock.

You know, thinking about it, this might be why, no matter how early I think about gifts for whichever special occasion it is, she always seems to have just ordered something from me and it’s always just what she wanted.

Still, I absolutely love it and I got a nice cup out of it in the end so happy days 😉

Raw

“She shone bright, a lifetime ago

In joy filled summer days and warm and wanton nights”

 

She shone bright, a lifetime ago

In joy filled summer days and warm and wanton nights

When he was still the man he could have been

And dreamed of more than he would ever have

 

Now fingers pointed voices raised and hearts long lost

to others, cruel words cut deep

To the bone

white flashes in crimson flesh

Bed time

Words strung together to try and create a thought or a feeling. Nothing more…

Perchance to dream, thoughts dark and cold

and wintry chill pervades and bright

light dims and so to slumber slips

where true desire from dark earth duly crawls

 

White bones through fingers poke and claw

and lips oaths break and smile then whisper sweet

white lies, half truths, deceit most syrupy

and from his mouth and breast he feeds

 

Hungry mouth suckles and feeds on lies most warm

yet cold on the tongue, belly bloated he rises

and wiping his mouth, eyes ringed and tooth blackened smile

fed on desires yet hunger raging wild

 

Into the night, soft screams and tears make pulses race

and twisted he submits to need

and when dawn comes, and waking guilt subsides

he smiles, rolls over, smiling hungry still

 

Worse things happen at sea

I’m just kidding. Honest.

There’s a saying that runs in our family, coming from fishing stock as I do, and it goes something along the lines of “Worse things happen at sea.”  It’s pretty patronising and somewhat dismissive and gets trotted out most often when you bemoan a situation that the other person couldn’t give a monkey’s chuff about.

“Mom I’ve banged my knee…”

“Oh it’s just a scratch, worse things happen at sea son.”

with me?

 

Thing is there comes a point though when through indifference and old age I am finding it becoming my standard response to even more serious situations and it has me thinking that perhaps things really were quite terrible at sea and granddad was a quiet man not because of all the time he spent out on the water but because of all the awful things that must have befallen him.

Should my kids want sympathy then you know, I want to see a leg dangling limp with bone sticking through the skin because I am pretty sure something worse happened to granddad Tom at sea and it probably involved biting down hard on something and crying for his dead mother.

Should they be feeling a little blue then I find myself resisting a fatherly hug but instead insisting that it is considerably more taxing out on the waves and that they should pull themselves together, pack their bags and stop crying over being put up for adoption because it is just a waste of good tears and they should keep them for the orphanage because they’re going to need them.

I know it may seem harsh but I tell you, they just don’t make them like those salty sea dogs do they.

Day into night

some more ramblings

Each breath searing, stumbling in darkness

Infant cries as day turns black as night

And in the dark a plume of crimson towers high

As earthly fury snuffs out all hope with fingers black

that squeeze the throat and blur the eyes

as gods old and new heed not the screams

and turn away and unto fate condemn.

Sharon

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