I said I'd write a poem for you,
Once I got to know you,
And now, I think that I do.

It took some time for your colours to shine,
But now I'm done, so here,
Let me show you.

You are light as the day,
With no hint of dark,
It's all bunnies, princesses and pink.

You bore me to tears,
Like a bar with no beers,
And you certainly can't handle your drink.

You're the arms-length kind,
A mediocre mind,
Fakeness and lies are your craft.

You flutter your eyes,
Like a sneaky tweety-pie,
And all the boys start acting daft.

It can't all be bad,
That would be sad,
Of course, there are nice things to say.

I just don't know what they are,
Not those things in your bra,
I've seen bigger **** in ballets.

You have a nice ****,
a nine, if I'm asked,
But that means that I'd have to say...

If I'm being true,
The best thing about you
Is the sight of you walking away.

Your blue blood veins,
red, white, blue stains,
mind closed just like your borders.

Despite the wars,
the foreign and poor,
are given their marching orders.

Diversity,
you just don't see,
is what makes the world so great.

'The futures white, see',
'In good old Blighty',
you bleat as you close the gates.

Alright, England’s freezing,
But in December Thailand's cold.
The more I feel the chilly air,
The more I feel I'm old.

My nose is getting runny,
It’s glowing rosy red.
I need to find a buxom bust,
To rest my cold filled head.

But soon it will be summer,
And the sweat will start to seep.
Then, I’ll kick her out of bed
And get some ****** sleep.

Hugs and kisses,
for my princess,
on this Tuesday morning.

I hope your sleep,
was sweet and deep,
without my awful snoring.

If I was there,
I'd stroke your hair,
And stare with eyes adoring.

We'd lay and talk,
I'd joke, you'd squark,
both, between our yawning.

Lost, panicked ******* morons getting under my feet.
Twenty ******* dollars for a sausage roll to eat.
Duty-free's a ******* joke, it's cheaper on the street.
And I would rather sit on a bed of nails,
Than this ******* airport seat.

******* airports.

Some people do yoga,
Some of them pray.
Some people talk
and some hide it away.

Whatever the problems,
There's always a way,
To meditate on them,
Me... I just play.

I float through life,
Ignoring the strife,
No kids and no wife,
And I’m fine.

I’ll listen or not,
I’ll like what I’ve got,
I’ll not take a lot,
I'll Not whine.

I’ll drink all the night,
I'll Fight if I like,
Then I might steal a bike,
Now it’s mine.

I’ll guzzle some whiskey,
I'll do something risky,
Then I might get frisky
And find.

A fine willing woman,
Not boring or wooden,
Lay on sheets a'woollen,
Bedtime.

I’ll wake up tomorrow,
Some money I’ll borrow,
And then I will swallow,
Some wine.

I’ll do it all over,
A young Irish Rover,
You better move over,
Einstein.

I’m young and I'm clever,
And I’ll do whatever,
Whatever the weather,
I’ll shine.

A lipogram I cry aloud,
My first in fact, I’m slightly proud,
To all who know of what I drawl,
I post it now upon my wall.

This task is tough and trying though,
Only using A, I, U and O.
Two-thirds of words do not apply,
And now I think you might grasp why.

I’ll stop my scrawling so you can wallow,
On how this lipogram is so hard to swallow.
And until I think of a good part two,
I’ll sanction additional scribing to you.

Another year passes,
Not sat on our arses,
But living and loving, us all.

Good times and bad,
The happy, the sad,
Victories won, big and small.

So wherever you are,
Estranged or afar,
Party tonight ‘til you fall.

And to all of his friends,
Michael Danger Hole sends,
A Happy New Year to you all!

Serene and still, so fast asleep,
Your body, soft white gold,
Radiating morning warmth,
Wrapped up away from cold.

Your skin reflects the morning light,
sneaking through the blinds.
Your hair a thousand shades of shine,
conceals your perfect lines.

When the sky is on fire and puddles have dried.
The red clouds reflect from the blue of my eyes.

A soft static energy promises night...
A few Scotch and sodas?

I think I just might.

Blend how I missed you,
Wished to sip you,
Whilst I was away.

In Singapore
you were no more,
and it ruined my ****** day.

But now I'm back
with you again,
In some ****** little dive.

You'll pour again,
Like falling rain,
My golden 285.

Sorry, there is no poem this time.
I couldn't think of things that rhyme.
Whaddaya know, I found a way!
Happy Fifty-Eighth Birthday!!

Do something that makes you laugh.
Get drunk and try not to ****.
Dance until your feet get sore.
Then sleep and know that you're adored.

Boxes are good to carry things
or to keep things in.
We use them for lots of stuff,
To move, to store... for bins.

My feelings are not boxable,
they're complex, changing, free.
If you try to box up my emotions,
then, you're trying to box me.

If you could box a rainbow,
would you really want to try?
I'd rather let it live and die
its short life in the sky.

All our days are numbered,
and no one knows how many.

One day you look and there's a pound,
the next there's just a penny.

So spare a thought for your loose change,
and how much you have left.

Because the way that life eats up our heartbeats,
is nothing short of theft.

I 'm a pendulum.
Swinging in and out of the light,
Wanting to come out of this mood, to smile.

In the dark now,
Heading in and getting darker,
Helpless but to stroke another depressing second.

About to strike now,
I know I'll turn back soon,
I can feel the soft light on my back assuring me.

I have turned,
Finally light is on my face,
Those frightening thoughts seem to wash away.

I burst into the light,
I know it won't last forever,
The darkness behind relentlessly tugging at my mind.

Life in short,
You're born, you try.

You smile and Laugh,
You love and cry.

You search your soul
And wonder why.

You figure it out,
And then you die.

Visceral, my eternal shadow,
haunts my lies,
lowers my eyes.

in only one light,
insight, not bright,
the lie and the shadow dies.