When they are born
it's hard to know
what your children will grow
up to become
The sad fact
for some parents;
their children will grow up to be ****
Nasty little cowards
who swan around
a tiny town
and pretend to be Ronnie Cray.
Perverted ****** predators
who creep around the beach
on a beautiful hot sunny day.
******** little waste men - waste of *****
who think they run the place
then throw pathetic insults
when you stand up to their face.
They might be from a broken home,
I do try to see the best
But their father would have done us a favor
if he came on their mum's chest.
So when I become a father,
I don't want a rude little runt.
I hope that it's happy, hope that it's healthy
and I hope that my kid's not a ****
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 12:34 PM UTC
There are many different walks of life
some are twisted, some are nice
and some are just plain cruel.
A Baker with a wheat intolerance
An actor without a part
A farmer who’s afraid of sheep
A banker with a heart
A politician who cannot lie
A Doctor with a cold
A clumsy loud mouthed loose lipped spy
An origami exhile – out of the fold
A discharged army general
turned red faced personal trainer
Or the local park bush lurker
who’s found his nitch as a social worker
The violent ******* criminal
released from behind bars
now spends his weekdays
putting tickets on parked cars
But the worst walk of all,
the most hopeless and empty
is to sit ideal at home
and watch daytime tele.
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 9:57 AM UTC
Welcome to the self centered,
health center.
A hospital treating,
ailments of the ego.
A patient with a bruised pride
having been chastised,
a marred mojo
and a hubris overblown.
X-Rays uncover,
the damage caused
by humiliation and regret.
Bones fractured by
that 'thing' he shouldn't have said
Miraculously, he did not die of embarrassment.
He's expected to make a full recovery
Jun 10, 2017
Jun 10, 2017 at 8:06 AM UTC
Didn’t Obama look great
In two thousand and eight
But by god, he looks tired now.
The weight of the world
Has since then been hurled
Upon his poor lonely shoulders
Two terms in power
And stacked sleepless hour
Has started his hair to fade
The stress trying to fix
A world as broken as this
Has left lines under the poor man’s eyes
Obama looked great
In two thousand and eight
But my word, he needs a rest now.
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 2:14 PM UTC
Loud noises. Bright colours.
Rush and gush of comers and goers.
The western world is a bit
too much for me today.
Because last night,
I saw the stars through shaky eyes,
felt the cold air against my numb face
and told a stranger what you mean to me.
I sat on the water’s edge for hours,
my bare feet hanging off the side.
I saw the stars. I saw your eyes.
And felt ******* great.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 9:19 AM UTC
Have you ever heard the tale of Granny Flack?
Who slaved away in steam and rattle and bang,
to feed her two boys with hands callous and black
and when finally they were all grown,
they went to fight and never came home.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 9:16 AM UTC
**** about face, I seem to get things,
Always putting my foot in my mouth.
I’m do-lally tap as me mum always says.
A great big apeth, just like my dad.
But you my dear, help me think clear
you’re the only thing seemingly right.
I may be a wally, I may be a ***
But I want to dance with you tonight.
May 23, 2017
May 23, 2017 at 9:12 AM UTC
The Hippy Life,
I tried it twice.
It was peaceful,
it was nice.
But I couldn’t help feeling
I was wasting my time,
sitting in fields
and making up rhymes.
I tried to be free
in spirit and love,
and to give myself over
to the fairies above.
But what was the point?
What point could there be?
When you didn’t have
any free love for me.
The Hippy Life
I tried it twice.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 1:00 PM UTC
I live in a tin *** house
with clatter and clutter
and not an ounce of living space
my tin *** house is sad and sorry place.
Junk piled on furniture
and muck on the walls,
my tin *** house doesn’t get
many visitors at all.
The fence is falling down,
the flowers dying in the heat.
My tin *** house is such a mess,
a tip could not compete.
The spider’s webs’
are the only thing that grows
and from the taps,
it's only cold water that flows.
So yes, my tin *** house
is a sad and sorry place
and my tin *** family
is in a sad and sorry state.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 12:47 PM UTC
If I’m going to die in my twenties,
then I’ll die at 27.
Death by misadventure
is the most fun way to go,
a drug fuelled ****
or champagne overdose.
I’ll burn out like the greats
Hendrix and Morrison
Joplin and Cobain.
I’ll leave behind my mates
to sit, with sneers and snub
at their reckless friend who became
a member of the 27 club.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 10:02 AM UTC