I called her ***** once
When she wouldn't buy my love with toys
The youthful signs of avarice
For hollow, plastic joys
And I wished a void space
In her womb for keeping me away
From my material desires
Her greed upon the pay
For she was my keeper
And with her I was kept
Away from all the joy of youth
From drink and drugs and all that
So now I'm old and spiteful
That she never let me stray
Too far from the path I know
Has saved me for this day
At five I was a monster
At ten a genius with a mouth
And sixteen saw us fighting
With our friendship going South
But eighteen things got brighter
And twenty now I see
That the ***** never meant to hurt me
It was just her way of raising me.
I'm happy and kind
My creative mind
My music, I owe to you;
For telling a spoilt brat
Like me what he
Could and Could not do.
Mar 25, 2014
Mar 25, 2014 at 11:27 PM UTC
I spend another night
With the sneaking suspicion
That I don't belong here.
For example, Where is my bookshelf?
It should cover a wall
And seven floors of house
That I don't own.
These people who live here
I don't call them wife,
Or boy or girl; son
And daughter of mine.
They aren't even mum and dad anymore.
They are friend and foe!
My sometime shoulders for woe;
My sometime audience for jokes
And the ever present participants
For a late night cup of Joe
(Or maybe a pint to two)
I have four walls to my name
And my bookshelf you say?
Well it is neatly tucked away
Like a beat dog or a sheltering stray
Behind a wall of vanity
And this fading grip on sanity
As I try to find some place in the world
To call my own.
Mum and Dad said I could always come home
But I'd like to say that to my little ones
And hope that when they stray
They stray the right way...
For them. Until then I guess I'm here
With my two point solitary
Half pint fears and the risk of growing old
Without a lover or a home,
Just a bunch of old ideas
And this stupid, ******* poem.
Dec 22, 2013
Dec 22, 2013 at 5:04 PM UTC
Nine lives for a cat,
But no sight for a bat,
It is clear that God has his favourites.
So why in our case,
Did he think to place,
Mankind as a King in ‘his’ pulpit?
To us he gave thumbs
And we armed them with guns;
And we burnt round the world in a conquest!
Yet to dogs he gave claws;
To apes he gave rocks
And said, ‘fight for your life and your homestead’.
So we shot them all down
And took over their ground
And upon it built car parks and churches,
So we could rejoice,
And raise up our voice
To show just how ‘great’ our vain lord is.
Dec 14, 2013
Dec 14, 2013 at 6:16 AM UTC