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Feb 2021 · 236
Frog Skin Shoes
Ben Jones Feb 2021
I almost bought some frog skin shoes
With sturdy rubber soles
Shiny green and mottled brown
With blinking eyelet holes
But when I slacked the laces
To try them on for size
The tongue shot up my trouser leg
And latched on to my flies

**
Ben Jones Dec 2020
A legendary sweet tooth, had Lady Felicity Barratt
So swift towards the sugar bowl, so wary of the carrot
She dined on only trifle from a honey coated spoon
But tooth decay accosted her and left her in a swoon

By the time she turned just twenty, her two front teeth were gone
By thirty she was running short and on her final one
When that fell out, she sought a dentist, promptly one arrived
She opened up her grizzly mouth and in the fella dived

He took a cast and took his leave with dentures to be hewn
With satisfaction guaranteed by Friday afternoon
And never did the lady have a reason to suspect
The secret intervention of an evil dental sect

By bribing several bakeries and sweetie shops and stalls
A dossier had been compiled within their sacred halls
For crimes against good dentistry were nothing short of sin
Their retribution must be swift or people might join in

They cast her teeth from coffin nails beneath a devil's moon
With Jack the Ripper's upper set, extracted from his tomb
Then polished with the handkerchief of ******'s former cleaner
Stored in Machiavelli's purse, to make them all the meaner

Upon that self same Friday, at the very cusp of noon
One Doctor Bingo Rogers and his burly hired goon
Came knocking at her premises with dental kit and drills
With a mission to sedate her and to exercise their skills

They knocked her out with ethanol and chloroform and air
And strapped her to a hastily erected dentist's chair
The evil teeth were lodged in place and ******* into her gums
The bill was quite extortionate, for monumental sums

The shamanic orthodontist, with his henchman in his wake
A martyr to the vegetable and nemesis of cake
Was keen to see his handiwork and kept a watchful eye
For curious occurrences, as days went slowly by

By Christmas there was nothing, until on New Year's Eve
Her teeth got uncooperative and forced the girl to leave
They dragged her by her dainty face and led her to the shops
She stood and munched on sugar canes and giant lollipops

They stuffed her face with chocolates, still nestled in their packets
And then a rack of nylon shirts and seven leather jackets
On every size of shoe, she munched; from sixes up to twelves
She nibbled through the party food and gnawed upon the shelves

Then off she sped, into the street, to pursue a passing horse
Dragged along by wicked teeth and supernatural force
But dentures lack in vision, and especially at pace
So when she caught it by the foot she caught it in the face

She skidded to a grizzly halt with arms and legs all twisted
And next to her, a note with all her dental errors listed
So beware the wrath of dentists and obey when they command
And sleep with one eye open and a carrot close to hand

For though our poor Felicity was buried good and hard
Despite floral cupcake with the Dental Cult's regard
And though her body, to this day, lies safely in the ground
The horse escaped that evening and the teeth were never found...
Oct 2019 · 193
That Evil Line
Ben Jones Oct 2019
Make a line upon the sand
And pick a side on which to stand
Opposing those who disagree
Who think their sand the place to be
Extend the line and dig it deep
Have one eye open while you sleep
Division grows and hopes decline
When foolish people make a line

#BrexitShambles
Sep 2019 · 800
Surplus Politicians
Ben Jones Sep 2019
When common sense prevails
And Whitehall gets demolished
Once politics has died a death
When voting is abolished
The world can then recover
From an era of attrition
But mindful of the wandering
Redundant politician

For safeguarding the public
And ensuring that our nation
Is free from slimy bureaucrats
With dodgy legislation
Is vital for survival
So we’d better reemploy them
And here are some suggestions
As to how we might enjoy them

They could bungee jump volcanoes
For the National Geographic
Or lie down in a busy road
To calm the morning traffic
We could shave their glossy hair off
And turn it into wigs
Then pulverise the rest of them
For feeding to the pigs

If you’ve just made a coffee
And spilt a little drop
Then grab one by the ankles
And Presto! It’s a mop
Just roll one over nettles
If ever you’re impeded
And stand them on the riverbed
If stepping stones are needed

They’re great for hanging coats on
And extinguishing cigars
They’re useful safety dummies
For testing foreign cars
If hollowed out and quilted
They make a fetching scarf
And quite the conversation piece
If pickled, cut in half

The list is almost endless
And I’ve mentioned fairly few
There’s a myriad of ****** jobs
To find for them to do
But first they should be rounded up
A vessel must be chartered
To send them to the front line
Of the wars they ****** started
May 2019 · 228
Business as Usual
Ben Jones May 2019
Warfare is an industry
With offices world wide
No conflict too immoral
And no customer denied
Poison laden handshakes
Or a sugar coated knife
If warfare is an industry
What then does that make life?

Life is a commodity
Each person bought and sold
It finance its betters
And it does as it is told
Oils is the currency
So blood must work the gears
If life is a commodity
Then what does that make tears

Tears are an illusion
A weakness of the mind
Be sure to take your medicine
And you'll soon be realigned
Believe the sweet deception
Television never lies
If tears are an illusion
We're dead behind the eyes

If taxes pay for bullets
All bound for distant lands
What death have you made possible?
What colour are you hands?
With apathy you sleep at night
A haven hitherto
But if warfare is a business
Then what does that make you?
May 2019 · 217
Why I Bum Weasels
Ben Jones May 2019
It began, as these things often do
With darkened skies and all around
The night had paused to draw a breath
And through the streets rebounded sound
A slow and steady fall of foot
I stepped the cobbles free of care
My eyes were drinking vivid light
A fragrance tangled on the air

My purpose set
My heart a grim quartet

The door was mere scenery
A sight to see but not recall
The passing gaze is pushed away
And sees there, just another wall
No movement could I hear within
My knuckles whitened on the knock
Relief recoiled hastily
A scratching from the rusted lock

My fingers clenched
Anxiety deeply entrenched

The woodwork inched a little back
A brow bedecked in withered hair
A pupil sharp as autumn frost
Surveyed me with a butchers glare
Her voice, a blade across my mind
Invited me to step inside
A shiver shook my frozen bones
My feet took up a timid stride

Her tone shallow
Her skin like warm tallow

Within was soaked in tepid gloom
In candle light the shadows danced
The flames grew quick and paranoid
And leaned away as I advanced
Behind me scurried shut the door
And down my spine, an angel tear
A leather chair of ages past
Held consort with my falling rear

She sat near
And whispered in my ear

With lizards hiss and jagged tone
In fragrances of smoke and gin
She sprinkled such a parable
That tingles bounced across my skin
My mission lay ahead of me
But caution of a reckless choice
A curse that fed on failure
And menace edged her ebon voice

Salvation awaited
But hope swiftly abated

Away into the night I strode
My razor wits with terror blunt
I packed a satchel prudently
For sustenance about the hunt
A dagger dangled on my hip
A bow and quiver on my back
Its bowstring plaited spider web
Was ever strong and never slack

Horizon bound
I broke the ****** ground

My quarry was a worthy foe
And many days I tracked until
By moonlight on a starless night
I caught a glimpse and stopping still
A sight I've struggled to forget
My bounty and my nemesis
Was bounding past me heedlessly
As fear wrought paralysis

Eyes like death
****** hung on its breath

It stood a daunting seven foot
With talons jutting from its hands
A mass of quills and tentacles
With extra spleens and mucus glands
A mouth with room for seven men
And teeth the size of ironing boards
A single but enormous eye
With lashes like a row of swords

My face paled
My bladder faltered and soon failed

I faced my prey and crossed my legs
My stricken blood had turned froth
I ****** myself in abject fear
But stopped just short of touching cloth
I turned about and ran away
While screaming out profanity
And crying like a baby
And adopting Christianity

Pleading with fate
My pride a sorry state

I fled the county, took my leave
And made my shelter in a cave
My punishment for failure
Would see me to my early grave
And so I lived in solitude
Consuming only what I caught
In time the wind grew perilous
And hours of light were ever short

Winter grips
The solar zenith slips

I huddle to this very day
Amid the gloom with frozen breath
And keeping warm is paramount
For stretching life, postponing death
Though purely for survival
While I weather every storm
I've taken to bumming weasels
As a means of keeping warm

Blunt trauma
Weasel skin *****-warmer
May 2019 · 242
The Leveller
Ben Jones May 2019
The angels gathered all about
The hour of his birth
They mocked and howled in harmony
With heavy handed mirth
Upon his cheek they set the sign
Of all that shouldn't be
And cast a light of cautioning
For all the world to see
His cord was cut asunder
By a blade of malcontent
And free into the living world
The Leveller was sent

His childhood was immaculate
About him drew a chill
He spoke in calm and measurement
To those who served his will
His eyes were simply windows
And beneath them shone the void
His hair was curled chaotically
As with the wind it toyed
He suffered no companion
Save the presence of his mother
She viewed him with adoring eyes
A way she saw no other

He never knew his father
And no mention ever made
His mind was ever sharpened
His attention never strayed
With pockets filled with avarice
His cup grew never shallow
And places that he visited
Grew desolate and fallow
Meticulous and thoroughly
He studied and he learned
Yet deep within a timer ticked
A candle slowly burned

The years were quick to tumble by
They ran away like sand
A child became an adult
And his purpose was at hand
The sunset billowed evilly
Like blood does in the water
And fire bloomed within his soul
And hunger for the slaughter
He eyed his doting mother
And extinguished her with thought
If only for the solitude
And pleasure that it brought

She fell and marked his wakening
With love still in her eyes
He raised his hand in arrogance
And smote the living skies
The silence broke near placidly
With softly falling birds
He ate the souls of onlookers
And stole away their words
The tide drew up the shoreline
It gleefully advanced
Quickly and deceptively
As through the streets it danced

Atop each crest of rancid foam
Was evidence of death
The air was thick and vacuous
And clotted every breath
The brave and foolish stood their ground
They mounted their defences
But ghostly fingers smothered them
And choked away their senses
The masses fled in unison
To make for higher ground
And those too weak to run away
Forsaken, slowly drowned

The Leveller continued
And he rode each hellish wave
No sympathy was traded
And the earth became a grave
The fire in him cackled
It beguiled the population
Humanity was cowering
And begged for their salvation
But he silenced them most savagely
And as the last fell down
He took his victims finger bones
To make himself a crown

So that was how the human race
Was banished from the world
And demon spawn reclaimed it
Their unholy wings unfurled
The ground was scorched and fruitless
And the riverbeds were bare
The smell of death and pestilence
Had stained the very air
And on a throne of fire
With a sceptre wrought of spines
With ****** crown upon his brow
The Leveller reclines
Ben Jones May 2019
A legendary sweet tooth, had Lady Felicity Barratt
So swift towards the sugar bowl, so wary of the carrot
She dined on only trifle from a honey coated spoon
But tooth decay accosted her and left her in a swoon

By the time she turned just twenty, her two front teeth were gone
By thirty she was running short and on her final one
When that fell out, she sought a dentist, promptly one arrived
She opened up her grizzly mouth and in the fella dived

He took a cast and took his leave with dentures to be hewn
With satisfaction guaranteed by Friday afternoon
And never did the lady have a reason to suspect
The secret intervention of an evil dental sect

By bribing several bakeries and sweetie shops and stalls
A dossier had been compiled within their sacred halls
For crimes against good dentistry were nothing short of sin
Their retribution must be swift or people might join in

They cast her teeth from coffin nails beneath a devil's moon
With Jack the Ripper's upper set, extracted from his tomb
Then polished with the handkerchief of ******'s former cleaner
Stored in Machiavelli's purse, to make them all the meaner

Upon that self same Friday, at the very cusp of noon
One Doctor Bingo Rogers and his burly hired goon
Came knocking at her premises with dental kit and drills
With a mission to sedate her and to exercise their skills

They knocked her out with ethanol and chloroform and air
And strapped her to a hastily erected dentist's chair
The evil teeth were lodged in place and ******* into her gums
The bill was quite extortionate, for monumental sums

The shamanic orthodontist, with his henchman in his wake
A martyr to the vegetable and nemesis of cake
Was keen to see his handiwork and kept a watchful eye
For curious occurrences, as days went slowly by

By Christmas there was nothing, until on New Year's Eve
Her teeth got uncooperative and forced the girl to leave
They dragged her by her dainty face and led her to the shops
She stood and munched on sugar canes and giant lollipops

They stuffed her face with chocolates, still nestled in their packets
And then a rack of nylon shirts and seven leather jackets
On every size of shoe, she munched; from sixes up to twelves
She nibbled through the party food and gnawed upon the shelves

Then off she sped, into the street, to pursue a passing horse
Dragged along by wicked teeth and supernatural force
But dentures lack in vision, and especially at pace
So when she caught it by the foot she caught it in the face

She skidded to a grizzly halt with arms and legs all twisted
And next to her, a note with all her dental errors listed
So beware the wrath of dentists and obey when they command
And sleep with one eye open and a carrot close to hand

For though our poor Felicity was buried good and hard
Despite floral cupcake with the Dental Cult's regard
And though her body, to this day, lies safely in the ground
The horse escaped that evening and the teeth were never found...
Apr 2019 · 175
The Lamentable
Ben Jones Apr 2019
I feel I might be missing
There’s a shadow in my place
I’m told he looks a bit like me
But hollow where his heart should be
Just seek him out, it’s plain to see
He’s mainly empty space

I fear I may be falling
As I’ve failed to find the ground
We parted ways, a bitter feud
And nothing further soon ensued
I gained a lot of altitude
In just a single bound

I feel as though I’m wearing out
Reserves are running low
Each passing hour I lament
The waste of every second spent
They tumble by without relent
I’m caught up in the flow
Apr 2019 · 245
Socks Limerick
Ben Jones Apr 2019
The sock is not merely regalia
Or podiatry paraphernalia
For a well knitted toe
To the fork of your foe
Can mean victory rather than failure

**
Apr 2019 · 158
My Place to be Me
Ben Jones Apr 2019
In a nook at the edge of the water
There’s a spot where the rules don’t apply
Where the sun always rises behind you
And the land doesn’t meet with the sky

At night, there are stars in the treetops
When the moon washes up on the shore
And the air has a curious flavour
That you’re certain you’ve tasted before

There’re pelican-gophers a-singing
While the bees and the ladybirds dance
By jumping and flapping your elbows
You can fly by the seat of your pants

It’s a perfect location to visit
Though you might find it tricky to find
In a nook at the edge of the water
In a space at the back of my mind

**
Apr 2019 · 151
Cold Hands
Ben Jones Apr 2019
I met her in the winter
Her complexion wore the snow
But frost had settled on her soul
And wouldn't let her go

I took her to the springtime
Where the sun might warm her skin
But the ice had taken hold of her
It lingered deep within

The summer stunned the drying land
Though bore a heavy cost
By autumn she was thinning out
And longing for the frost

The winter brought her life anew
So by the waning light
I vowed to live in wintertime
My warmth, within her sight

**
Ben Jones Mar 2019
Preparing for a cataclysm
Not for the faint of heart
Tornadoes are tempestuous
Tsunamis, quick to start
A lethal strain of chicken-pox
Can wander on the breeze
And flu attacks acutely
With an uninvited sneeze
But no historic incident
Disaster or decline
Can match that of the Wobbling
Of nineteen fifty nine

It started over breakfast
With a rippling in the juice
The spoons were jiggled savagely
And dentures rattled loose
The condiments were quivering
The sauces sat and twitched
Cookies cracked and crumbled
And couples came unhitched
Horses bolted randomly
And ran around in squares
The pensioners reverberated
Rocking in their chairs

The birdies in their downy nests
Were bounced about the trees
The cars rebounded in the street
And stacked themselves in threes
Eyeballs turned alarmingly
The clouds flipped upside down
The church bells all played chopsticks
And the fish began to drown
The roads became entangled
And bunched up into knots
The pencils slipped their cases
Leaving tiny lines of dots

The cities were in uproar
The noise like solid thunder
As puddings toppled needlessly
And Jelly fell asunder
Furniture was undulating
Hats abandoned stand
Sailors found their sailing legs
A hundred miles inland
But just as it had started
The tremble shook no more
And one again, humanity
Could start to trust the floor

The roads were combed and straightened
And nestled back in place
The spoons were fastened safely
And eyeballs turned to face
The parrots were sedated
And locked up in their cages
Books were shelved and sorted out
With bookmarks in their pages
The world returned to normalcy
And soon, no single sign
Was left to tell the tale
Of the Wobble of fifty nine

**
Feb 2019 · 472
Storm Siren
Ben Jones Feb 2019
There's a sizzling giant that skips through the sky
While she nods at the people below
Now, a nod and a wink would be kinder, you'd think
But a nod is as far as she'll go

As she prances and bounds over sun-smothered grounds
She's the cause of a squall and a bluster
But no smile for the sodden, most recently trodden
A nod is the best she can muster

No weapon she fears, not the muskets or spears
Nor the arrow set loose by the archer
She dances her dance, an unyielding advance
Then a nod and a lazy departure
Dec 2018 · 162
Finding God, final cut
Ben Jones Dec 2018
I saw God in the trees today
He sang as I passed by
A tune to sooth a tattered heart
And bid the soul to fly
He beckoned me to sing along
But I didn't know the words
It seems the Holy word of God
Is, chiefly, for the birds

**
Dec 2018 · 203
Finding God
Ben Jones Dec 2018
I saw God in the trees today
He sang as I passed by
A tune to sooth a tattered heart
And bid the soul to fly

**
May 2018 · 281
The Other Angle
Ben Jones May 2018
I see the other angle now
The one which you perceive
By warping your perspective
Til there's nothing to believe
From sinking to the lowest ebb
A soul was meant to go
I've seen the other angle
Now I know
May 2018 · 330
Nothing Changes
Ben Jones May 2018
I've owned a host of curios
And trinkets in my day
Acumulated gadgets
And devices in array
But one singular item
Has remained a loyal friend
I'm positive I'll have it
Til the very bitter end

I've nothing in my pocket
I've had it from the start
And though I try to run from it
We're never far apart
When everything goes rotten
If life leaves me bereft
I always have my nothing
My friend when nothing's left
Apr 2018 · 320
A Musing
Ben Jones Apr 2018
The course we choose to follow
As we wander through our lives
Will reach the same conclusion
When our given time arrives
My preference of afterlife
Would be to take a look
At the the things I've never heard of
On the path I never took

**
Apr 2018 · 353
Bombing Me Gently
Ben Jones Apr 2018
"How to help the terrified and famine stricken masses?"
"How best to save those darling kids from evil toxic gasses?"
Up stepped Mr Donald Trump, "I've got this smart idea"
"I'm with you!" cried Theresa May, before the plan was clear

We'll... Just...

Bomb them all, but gently
They'll thank us when we're done
We gave them lots of warning
So they'd better start to run
We'll bomb them back to freedom
And as they turn and flee
By raining fire down on them
We truly make them free

We'll bomb them back to liberty
Each freshly widowed wife
You get some decent exercise
Whilst running for your life
We'll bomb them into harmony
They'll be the better for it
But if this was in Israel
We'd probably ignore it
Apr 2018 · 314
Cliché Becomes Him
Ben Jones Apr 2018
When everything becomes cliché
I'm left with nothing new to say
No random thought, no handy tip
Or poorly executed quip
But still I'm here, centre stage
To keep you busy, fill a page
It's hard to find the will to rhyme
In absence of a paradigm
The words align, all prim and neat
For most of them, a grim delete
At first they come across inspired
But just like me, they're worn and tired
And all I've said, I needn't say
For even this has been cliché

**
Apr 2018 · 257
Finding the Light
Ben Jones Apr 2018
Those who dwell too close to it
The light is all they see
And those who turn away from it
A shade is all they'll be
Although they stand as opposites
Not one of them is right
For it's best to stand in darkness
But look towards the light

**
Apr 2018 · 404
Spun Sugar: An Ode to Alan
Ben Jones Apr 2018
His name brings to mind
A besuited baboon
And a **** poor excuse
For a business tycoon

Famous for firing
Much more than he hires
High-heels and boxes
He often requires

Cack handed on twitter
As in real life
If he could, he’d have taken
Himself for a wife

And it seems you can slander
Whomever you choose
When your name is an anagram
Of “**** Ragus”

And if I were the tabloids
I’d land a low blow
He’s Polish and Russian
By descent, don’t you know?

But that would be nasty
So I’ll leave it at that
It’s not clever to smear
You arrogant ****

CS
Apr 2018 · 228
The Limit of my Pacifism
Ben Jones Apr 2018
I wouldn’t pinch
Not **** or slap
No sucker punch or idle tap
No tipping cows
No booing geese
Or folding frogs until they crease
No splatting bugs
Or spraying flies
No salting slugs into demise
But mess with my dog and I’ll tear your ******* arms off

**
Mar 2018 · 300
Something Vernal
Ben Jones Mar 2018
Spring has sprung
Or so I’m told
The sun is low
My breakfast cold
Timid flowers
Hide their heads
Beneath the earth
In frozen beds

Spring is here
With frosted lips
And pollen coated
Fingertips
With just a hint
Of distant warm
Or rattling
Of thunder storm

Spring abounds
On wary feet
With breath of mist
And sudden sleet
To chap at cheeks
And nibble noses
Cold as clay
Red as roses

Happy Easter to all those celebrating this weekend. I shall sacrifice a chocolate egg to my craven gods in your honour ;)

**
Ben Jones Mar 2018
Humpty-Dumpty sat on the wall
And that was his first mistake
For eggs can be overly delicate things
Quite likely to fall and break

Humpty-Dumpty tottered and fell
Kersplat! He was runny and raw
Desperately scooping his gooey insides
As they spluttered out onto the floor

Humpty-Dumpty twitched for a while
‘Til his innards were down to the dregs
And all the kings horses and all the kings men
Are not paramedics for eggs

**
Feb 2018 · 315
Lullaby
Ben Jones Feb 2018
The moon passed me by
on its lazy patrol
Disturbing the stars
In their ebony bowl
As if all creation
Was carved into coal
I looked to the sky
And it swallowed me whole
Feb 2018 · 307
The Man who Made the Gun
Ben Jones Feb 2018
A smithy, name of Ronnie Gun
Created an invention
To rapidly distribute lead
Within the third dimension
He buffed away and polished it
Displayed upon his shelf
He loved that thing so very much
He named it for himself

So he used it in the local bar
To order up some beer
But the landlord wasn’t happy
Having rapid lead just here
He said “If you’ll be drinking here
On more than one occasion,
I’ll need a fancy shooting stick
Of the hole-making persuasion

Ronnie hastened off to home
To build another gun
A scientific exercise
He’d do it just for fun
And if perchance he happened by
The local bar tonight
He’d leave it there for safety
With his friendly barman: Dwight

But Dwight was quite a careless man
He waved his gun around
It puzzled him why everyone
Was lying on the ground
By evening a line had formed
Of angry solid angry local
Demanding Guns for everyone
And getting rather vocal

So all week long he toiled away
and though his gun was fine
He took a little liberty
Improving the design
He charged them quite a penny
Growing richer by the day
While his remained to gather dust
Still standing on display

Policemen came that afternoon
With news of great concern
The ****** rate was soaring
And it’s no surprise to learn
The leading cause of death we’ve found
Is holes from rapid lead
We’re going to have to close you down
There’s one too many dead

‘Twas then that inspiration
Hit like lead propelled at speed
Ronnie stood and thus proclaimed
“I know just what you need!
I’ll happily sell you weapons
With reduction to my fee
And just to prove my honesty
I’ll give you yours for free

And soon another queue had formed
Around his little shop
Of people sick of ducking
At the first sign of a cop
It came to pass that everyone
Had bought a gun to hold
So Ronnie made a bigger gun
And counted up his gold
Feb 2018 · 202
The Food of Love
Ben Jones Feb 2018
My beautiful love, how I missed you
Though only a day since you died
My life was bereft of all meaning
There was emptiness yawning inside

I knew it was you that could fill it
So I put you, my darling, on ice
And I heated the oven and skillet
And the wok for the 'special' fried rice

First I loved you with boiled potatoes
And a medley of seasonal veg
There was gravy and roasters and stuffing
But I cleared my plate to the edge

I discovered how much I adore you
Marinated in honey and spices
Then stir-fried with noodles and peppers
Once carved into sensual slices

I savoured a sandwich of passion
I was hungry for seconds and thirds
And I marvelled at your generosity
As I fed some of you to the birds

You were soft, you were warm, you were tender
Slow-cooked on a moderate heat
And I'd frozen a chilli-con-carne
For if ever I fancy a treat

But my hunger for you had abated
And each burp was a loving reminder
So I gathered your beautiful carcass
And bundled it into a grinder

For a couple of weeks there was sausage
I was ever so heavily fed
But I wish that I hadn't have killed you
And had battery farmed you instead

***
Feb 2018 · 244
Slowcombe Asylum
Ben Jones Feb 2018
On a rain battered hillside that looks out to sea
Clings an edifice, sullen and damp
The vacuum of night seems to suckle the light
From a singular, sickly lamp
The sign at the gate is of sun splintered oak
And the letters erased by the rain
‘The Slowcombe Asylum ’ they’d long ago spelt
‘For the Brainsick, Disturbed and Insane’

The cold of the air tangles up in your hair
Like a lingering tendril of panic
And the door to your skin as you venture within
Is unnervingly warm and organic
There’s a hole in the window that lets in the rain
And it’s rotted the carpet beneath
The rattle of wind through the weather-worn blinds
Hides the sound of your chattering teeth

There’s a whisper that nibbles the edge of your ear
And a shudder that skips up your sleeves
But the cry that had clung to the tip of your tongue
Is accosted before it can leave
There are pools of neglect where the shadows collect
‘Til the sunlight has faded from view
The security door is of iron and steel
But it’s broken and hanging askew..
Feb 2018 · 254
The Human Contradiction
Ben Jones Feb 2018
We suffer the misconception
That we nestle on top of the tree
So burning, the need to acquire
That we seldom remember to Be
It’s a fallacy built on foundations
That were laid with the purest of heart
Now we stand in the ruins of greatness
Whilst tearing each other apart

We admire the beauty of shadows
And forget where the shadows abide
We proclaim the virtues of unity
But we’re suckers for picking a side
Our history will be forgotten
A demise of our careful design
For we walk in the footsteps of giants
Yet our stride is in steady decline
Ben Jones Jan 2018
“You should never lick a sparrow”
Said my father, one fine day
“The same applies to Guinea fowl
And several birds of prey.
When you’re older, please remember
For I’ll not always be here
That climbing trees and licking birds
Is not a good idea.”
Jan 2018 · 485
Being A Writer
Ben Jones Jan 2018
I’m a poet and a writer, every day I sit and write
But my girlfriend often calls to me
Or asks me for a cup of tea
And do I have a moment free?
You know what she saw on TV?
I’m a boyfriend and a writer and poet through the night

I’m a boyfriend and a writer and a poet on the side
Though my kids need constant oversight
And a writer cannot hope to write
Besieged by things that kick and bite
That need reminding not to fight
I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a writer if I hide

I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a writer by the night
But my dog has differing ideas
Nudging elbows, tickling ears
Scratching doors as bedtime nears
Reducing me to tired tears
I’m a boyfriend and a parent and a dog owner who writes…
Sometimes

**
Dec 2017 · 789
Widdershins
Ben Jones Dec 2017
There lived a witch in olden times
Of the quizzical variety
A firm grasp of the arcane arts
Though sadly not sobriety
She hatched a certain theory
Causing general consternation
But she turned away from doubters
And towards her new salvation

Go deosil, never widdershins
Avoid a deadly plight
For turning left is sinister
And that just isn't right
Rotating anticlockwise
Is officially redundant
Keep turning right for victory
Examples are abundant

My cousin said she knew a man
His name is immaterial
He turned left one too many times
Whilst searching for the cereal
Reality was torn apart
And through the gap he fell
He landed in a tangled heap
Outside the gates of hell

Go deosil, never widdershins
As daytime follows night
For hard to port is oh so gauche
But starboard's always right
Moving counter to the clock
Will ever be unwise
So keep on going rightwards
And away from your demise

Wendy failed to plan her route
With careful dedication
To turn only the rightest way
And reach her destination
Her lack of forward thinking
Led to tragic complication
She came upon a roundabout
And died of dehydration

Go deosil, never widdershins
Stay right and on the level
For only flaccid penises
Hang limp towards the devil
And those who turn to face the dark
The gods will surely smite
So if you think of turning left
Instead, go three times right
Nov 2017 · 371
Pertinent Questions
Ben Jones Nov 2017
Are you the one I promised
When I didn't keep my word?
Are you the voice inside my head
That no one else has heard?
When the sun has slowly risen
And I look into the past
Were you the man on fire
Or the shadow that he cast?

Was I the dragon sleeping
Or the gold on which he slumbered?
Was I the one and only one
Or was I merely numbered?
Is every second precious
When the day was never mine?
Was I ever really real
Or a flaw in your design?
Sep 2017 · 413
Reversal
Ben Jones Sep 2017
If you were me and I was you
I'd look at me the way you do
But never view what you could see
When you were you and I was me

**
Aug 2017 · 303
Polly
Ben Jones Aug 2017
Polly arose from the from the gaze of her foes
On a regular digital beam
She rebounded through life in a bubble of smoke
Cos she thought that she lived in a dream

Polly applied to the opposite side
Of a battle which nobody fought
While seated quite still, she retreated at will
For she knew that she couldn't be caught

Polly retired on the wealth she'd acquired
With a tangible air of the throne
There was little to say when she faded away
But they made something up for the stone
Apr 2017 · 390
A Knight's Tail
Ben Jones Apr 2017
An errant knight
In days of old
With hazel eyes
And skin of gold
Did venture forth
To seek his fate
To rob, despoil
And desecrate

Through dusky wood
And sodden glade
His course was true
He never strayed
An ebon steed
It bore his weight
Advancing at
A steady gait

So when upon
The second morn
Astride the very
Cusp of dawn
A winding tower
Came to view
And from the window
Right on cue

A cry for help
And then redress
As from a damsel
In distress
A call to save
A maiden fair
With rosy lips
And saffron hair

To bear her forth
And find the witch
Who'd locked her up
That warty *****
To **** her minions
Stone her crows
Thwart her wiles
Then break her nose

Our noble knight
Did pause for thought
For many witches
He had fought
If you've seen one
You've seen them all
With matted hair
And tatty shawl

He took a view
That fair was fair
He'd only take
His rightful share
He left that maiden
To her plight
To save her for
Another knight
Apr 2017 · 381
If We Were All One Person
Ben Jones Apr 2017
If humankind was just one man
His house would be the world
He'd live on only takeaways
The curtains never furled
His clothing would be shabby
Just a mess of cloth and strings
But on his little finger
Are a dozen diamond rings
The body might be starving
But the pinky hoards its gold
The hunger could be ended
With a single diamond sold
The kitchen could be mended
The gloom made slightly brighter
That's not the pinky's problem
So it holds on even tighter
It hires the other fingers
And one adjacent thumb
To stab the legs repeatedly
And beat the kidneys numb
The body starts to waste away
And much to its surprise
Along with every other thing
The little finger dies
Apr 2017 · 557
Robert the Spruce
Ben Jones Apr 2017
A caution to gardeners, be on your guard
There's a felon at work that'll lurk in your yard
He'll feast on your giblets and guzzle the juice
The serial cannibal: Robert the Spruce

He'll slyly survey his oblivious prey
Until one sorry night, as your drifting away
There's a bang and a rustle, you bustle outside
A hushed expectation inhibits your stride

Alarm bells are ringing, just seconds too late
As you stop and examine your tiny estate
Could that rustle have really been leaves on the breeze?
And since when did my garden have so many tr....
Ben Jones Apr 2017
When the funding is cut
So the hospitals shut
That’s a Tory
When the poverty bites
And you lose human rights
That’s a Tory
Such excess
Better reassess
Better repossess
Better get yourself private healthcare
Overtaxed if you work
Unemployed? Then you're scrounging on welfare

When there’s bigoted views
Blatant lies on the news
That’s a Tory
When the biggest and best
Are too rich to arrest
That’s a Tory
But they’re lax
Covering the cracks
Never paying tax
Claiming everything on expenses
They can steal with a smile
While they peddle their flimsy defences

When they're guilty of fraud
And they're banking abroad
That's a Tory
If they're selling your school
When 'austere' means 'cruel'
That's a Tory
Too much spin
Slogan and a grin
Wearing pretty thin
Bussing people in to applaud them
Any law can be bought
If you're well off enough to afford them

That's all folks and remember, you can't spell Theresa May without heresy

**
Apr 2017 · 400
Theresa May (or May not)
Ben Jones Apr 2017
Theresa May look ghastly
And she might give you a scare
Theresa May have racist views
And someone else’s hair

She May not like the common folk
Theresa May have rabies
And who can say, Theresa May
Eat other people’s babies

Theresa May tell porkies
May keep her cash abroad
Theresa and her colleagues
May be put away for fraud

Theresa May look lonely
Like she May run out of friends
And soon she might be signing on
For June is where May ends

**
Mar 2017 · 517
Just Filth
Ben Jones Mar 2017
A chap from the Isle of Wight
Took pleasure in creatures of flight
With bread on his hooks
He went fishing for ducks
Because chickens aren't nearly as tight
Ben Jones Mar 2017
You annoy me very little and I hardly think it’s fair
To place a box of scorpions beneath your favourite chair
I so enjoy your snoring and your dodgy thyroid gland
I don’t stand at your bedside with a pillow in my hand
Your laughter doesn’t make me twitch or sound like mating seals
So I won’t be crushing any glass to sprinkle on your meals
Adorable, your litany of whys and wheres and ifs
I’ll not be booking holidays near isolated cliffs
I love your lack of empathy and sullen, lifeless eyes
No need for poison pancakes or exploding custard pies
If ever you should doubt, my love, the way I feel for you
Recall this host of nasty things I’ve managed not to do
Thus far…
Jan 2017 · 1.7k
The Mermaid's Foot
Ben Jones Jan 2017
Never stop and stay a night
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel
For they say at the back of the cleaners room
There's a gateway in to hell
The drifts of dust with a dash of rust
Hide the prints of long dead feet
What once was plush now hangs decayed
The curtains torn and beds unmade
The worst of humankind had stayed
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel

Walk away, should you ever stray
To the Mermaid's Foot Hotel
For its told an evil lingers there
No priest or witch can quell
The walls are strewn with satanic runes
There are evil clowns en suite
The bathroom tiles, black with mold
And tap heads dull with tarnished gold
But still the blood runs hot and cold
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel

Not a soul survives the night
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel
No single sign is left behind
Save a musty burning smell
The spiders leer, jauntily
And the mice all carry knives
There's scraping sounds amid the gloom
An Idol from an ancient tomb
With a poltergeist in every room
At the Mermaid's Foot Hotel

**
Jan 2017 · 401
About Last Year...
Ben Jones Jan 2017
I’m burning last year’s diary
Farewell those blasted days
Those memories are turned to ash
In a smouldering malaise
The resolutions came and went
They barely left a mark
But now they’re just a puff of smoke
Expanding in the dark

I’m deleting last year’s twitter feed
There’s nothing there to see
No re-tweets of opinion polls
And hash tag R.I.P
So long the queues of angry trolls
Who meme instead of typing
Political lies, celebrity thighs
With constant over hyping

I’m having a lobotomy
To erase last year completely
I might just sit here dribbling
But I’ll do it quite discreetly
So raise a glass and think of me
While lost in celebration
I’ll be here in my padded cell
Under heavy medication

**
Dec 2016 · 4.5k
Billy's Enormous Parsnip
Ben Jones Dec 2016
Billy loved his parsnip
He'd tend it day and night
To keep it safe from prying eyes
He stashed it out of sight
But one eventful morning
He awoke to such alarm
His parsnip had gone from puny
To the size of a baby's arm

Such growth was nigh unheard of
In a vegetable or fruit
So he bore it proud before him
Grasped expertly by the root
When he showed his doting mother
She was mightily impressed
So screamed a lot then swooned a bit
While clutching at her chest

The people at the bus stop
Shared his mother's admiration
But advised him that his tuber
Needed urgent relocation
So he took it in a taxi
Wrapped up in folded gauze
To the Guinness book of records
And he pushed apart the doors

His parsnip held protruding
With a confident advance
Like a knight atop his charger
With a huge organic lance
But security had seen him
They quickly knocked him flat
A policeman saw his parsnip
And he hid it with his hat

Billy served his sentence
For unsavory displaying
He changed his name to Danny
There's no record where he's staying
The moral of this sorry tale
Is far too dull to write
So learn your ****** vegetables
And know their names on sight

**
Nov 2016 · 509
Morcomb’s Tincture
Ben Jones Nov 2016
Ladies and gentlemen, stop and behold
Bid farewell to shingles, to gout and the cold
And a mighty assortment of general malaises
From cranial trauma to scratches and grazes
Your bones will be mended, no need for a cast
With acute tonsillitis consigned to the past
For I bring you a medical miracle cure
And the name of this potion you’re sure to procure?

Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture
From the institute of Scarborough
With a measured twist of alchemy
And three lumps of macabre
A drop or two will beat the flu
Retracting recent sneezes
Buy Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture
For all manner of diseases

Pungent red syrup can clearly be spied
Past the decorative label adorned on the side
A drop eases aching, a second for pains
A capful should rapidly unblock your drains
With daily consumption, whilst not recommended
The length of your tongue will be vastly extended
Avoid naked flames, never jiggle or jolt
Keep it cool, in the dark, in a circle of salt

Doctor Morcomb’s Tincture!
Most marvellous of potions
Farewell to bitter tasting pills
To liniments and lotions
Take only by the moonlight
And in arms reach of a swan
Now buy as much as time affords
By sundown, I’ll be gone
Nov 2016 · 1.3k
Masque of Apathy
Ben Jones Nov 2016
Sown as corn at little cost
And doomed to bloom amid the frost
Struggling through frozen earth
Weak and withered after birth

Swaddled up in soothing lies
With jingles as our lullabies
Numbered at our fledgling breath
Weighed, tagged and worked to death

Grown into a paper mould
With ball and chain of solid gold
Impotent to break or twist
The wireless shackle about the wrist
Conform, obey, do not resist

A silken blindfold binding eyes
To hide corruption on the rise
While noblemen with scented whips
Peddle lies from fattened lips

Voices raised in honest fear
Are drowned before they reach an ear
Just watch the screen, rapt, unblinking
Television does your thinking

Accept the credit, pay the debt
Take the chance and make the bet
Tow the line and wear the tie
Heckle the honest, praise the spy

Apathy has your gullet gripped
And leather fingers, sugar dipped
Have slipped on over zealous triggers
Suppressing freedom, defending figures

Chemical fed and bred to serve
Dry of tongue and numb of nerve  
Right and wrong have merged together
And apathy, our chosen tether

The beast is neutered, caged and tame
The sinews of defiance, lame
Wash down pills with poison water
Disregard the silent slaughter

Slumbering as lions of old
While politicians growing bold
On plundered gains and stolen lives
Until their reckoning arrives

For once again the lions stir
And shackles fall from ancient fur
Beware the people, stay the whip
The masque of apathy must slip

Rise up, lions, sleep has passed
With every lie and bullet cast
A revolution overdue
We are still many, they are few

**
Nov 2016 · 421
Confined
Ben Jones Nov 2016
Unassertive
Feeling furtive
Something isn’t right
Nibbling neuralgia begins to bite
Slightly pensive
Apprehensive
Eyes that dart about
Hover in the corner like a lingering doubt
Shadow thin
Sickly grin
Skin the shade of dust
Wringing at the fingers with a deep distrust
World view
Hangs askew
Tinkers with the blind
Studying the habits of humankind
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