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Simon Soane May 2013
Sign in the staffroom at work.
Stay positive they said,
Stay positive I read,
Stay positive in the work you despise,
Turn a blind eye as your life goes by,
Leave your thoughts at the door,
Don’t think they implore,
Pretend there is no sun,
Look out of the window at your life on hiatus for eight hours,
Can’t get rid of the smell of this jail even after a thousand showers,
Take solace it’s for the money that I didn’t even want to use,
The books you could be reading now will only get you confused,
The songs you could be listening to now won’t speak to you anyway,
Silence your mental jukebox and toil for your pay.
Stay positive today,
The cash they flash,
I can see on my face a fiscal rash,

They can say put down your pens,
Strip your pencils of lead,
Tell creativity to slumber,
Put your canvas to bed,
But can’t stop us drawing in our heads,
Stay positive,
Like don’t start on that waitress and treat her with chagrin,
Cos she doesn’t bound over with your pie and chips with a leap and a grin,
“We’ve paid for this food, she better start smiling,”
Or the tip it is non and the polite police I’m dialing “
Have a word with yourself shes working,
And more than that she could be hurting,
Cos John in the kitchen isn’t flirting,
Or she could be wearing that frown,
Cos shes realised she only got £30.00 for her night out in town,
That’s not much when you consider the taxi back,
Plus after shes done serving you shes got dishes to attack,
But no she has a grimace,
Shes finished,
We have all felt like that, bit lonely and that,
Stay positive.
Stay positive,
Cos sometimes words cling to the air,
Like candyfloss to hair,
And birds sing for their bread while the cat bosses just stare,
At the endless charade of hierarchy,
John then Paul then George then Starky,
But star key unlocks the door to the skies,
Hope is life, I summarise,
There’s beauty in your summer eyes,
Don’t count the calories in pies,
Dietary information often lies,
Distracting from the truth with garish rides,
That only seek to compromise,
Our promise and delightful ties,
Forged from friendship not to buy,
Feel your waist and touch your thigh,
Dietary information often lies,
Love is all,
No chance to take,
No dast to cie,
Be brilliant and hear them sigh,
Stay positive.
I feel like,
Tintin going exploring,
Paths opening up, new days dawning,
I’m done with yawning it’s a waste of breath,
I don’t feel lethargic, I don’t feel bereft,
Heads down dive me a test,
About anything cos this beat in my chest,
Means I’ll beat Kasparov at chess,
Armani couldn’t make a sexier dress,
Allivate stress quicker than Prozac,
Cut the beanstalk down faster than Jack,
I can stretch my mind more than that guy on the rack,
Cos I think if our lips locked together we could throw away the lucky heather,
No more boring days of monotony,
Fingers crossed watching the national lottery,
Not just waiting around thinking I’ll chill,
But striving for the horizon over the hill,
Stay positive.
But the best thing I saw recently,
Was when I’d just finished my tea,
And I saw these two old folk who live near me,
One about 89 the other 93,
Twilight of their lives to say the least,
Real hunched and stooped over, all false teeth,
But the way they held each other’s hands the tenderness was palpable,
Cradled and soft the care undoubtable,
Cos some things are not withered by age,
They stick through this life to every page,
Decrepit vocal cords that would have a job to sing,
But there demeanor hit the high notes bellowing loves the greatest thing,
And whatever they think the next life is, earth, air or above,
At least the opening gambit can be, “we ended that one with love”
And everybody wants that, everybody,
Everybody with this life to live,
Peace be with you and bless you
And stay positive!
Edna Sweetlove Dec 2014
A POEM DEDICATED TO ALL LOVERS
OF THE "TINTIN" COMIC BOOKS
by
Edna

Captain Haddock had always liked le petit Snowy:
It was the cheeky smile on his cute canine jowls
Which really got the randy Captain going:
"Blue blistering barnacles", he would cry erotically.

But Snowy had his doubts, as he knew the fervour
Of cher Tintin's possessive proprietorial passion
And absent-minded Professor Calculus' twisted lust
Was a bitter memory in his doggy ****.

Wouah! Wouah! dit le Snowy.
a story nonetheless, as are others. i prefer tintin

with snowy a dog. this year you have not told me,

confided. i have the little things that could mean

much.



not about money, more about family. it may

be time you told them.



it is time to regrade

christmas.



sbm.
WordWerks  May 2017
Friends
WordWerks May 2017
Tom & Jerry, Laurel & Hardy,
Batman & Robin, Fred & Barney,
Baggins & Gambee, Bert & Ernie,
Tom Sawyer & Hucklberry Fin,
Lone Ranger & Tonto, Snowy & Tintin,
Chip & Dale, Snoopy & Woodstock,
Archie & Jughead, Holmes & Sherlock,
Ethyl & Lucy, Larry-Curly-Moe,
Mutt & Jeff, Skywalker and Solo,
Laurel & Hardy, Lois & man of steel,
Are there any friendships real?
Those who draw the line where time waits
and sheep pass through the valley
are not my cup of tea

avarice in the eyes of dead men and spies
and checkpoint Charlie is the place where
lies were put to sleep

they built Spandau from Communist blocks
and added ballet to the end of it to end up
on top of the pops.

what did it come too
when security has to be
run through or is that
fun too?

I got lost with the
Thomson twins or
was that the
Thompson twins
even though everyone knows
that TinTin always wins.

wandering,
forty days on a London bus
the conductor said,
'trust us, we know what we're doing',
maybe they do,
but do they know where they're going?

I take in the sights
sleep half through the nights
and watch windmills fight with
Spaniards.

All's well though
and I should know
the conductor
told me so.
a story nonetheless, as are others. i prefer tintin

with snowy a dog. this year you have not told me,

confided. i have the little things that could mean

much.

not about money, more about family. it may

be time you told them.

it is time to regrade

christmas



easier now he is older
he tells me what he wants

i buy it
plus
a surprise

simpler now i am older
i tell them what i will like

they buy it
plus a surprise
Dostoyevsky lies above Chekhov
The yellowed pages of Marquez
Stands aside in sad mood
With hundred years of solitude
From the bearded Tolstoy
Peeps out an innocent boy
For a small piece of land
Just enough to rest in peace
It's all a wildly strange mix
Where Tintin rules over Asterix
Hawking confuses the soul
With time's history and blackhole
On a pedestal Shakespeare loses might
His musty volumes half eaten by termite
Tagore not yet ready to lose his vigour
Shines upon eyes with portly figure
There's astronomy, history, magic and science
Rubbing shoulders with morality and conscience
Neatly stacked one upon the other
Mostly crumbling by time's weather
Ill preserved and not anymore read
Muddled words lost in the head.

But I only admire the tidying woman
Who labours hard does the best she can
Arrange them to restore their old glories
If by chance someone reopens the stories.
He puts his spin on it
tells me that Rin Tin Tin
is in on it
and Tintin's having none
of it,
but Captain Haddock still sets sail
looking for Ahab and the
great white whale,

Flipper's eating kippers because
dolphins roll like that

haha
and you thought Postman Pat and Jess
were weird.
If you ain't old enough to remember, forget it.
Mateuš Conrad  Apr 2020
QWERTY
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2020
cheese and... holes... one massive swiss on
the matter of: 23.5°N and (φ, θ, ψ)...
            the devil will find work for idle hands...
and if it's "work" via a
                                      q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m...

again: who needs the alphabet: the a b c d e...
when i'm looking down on:
an armchair of comfort for the purpose of typing...
so that i don't have to look down
at the keyboard: except for when my
hands are in the wrong position...

why would i need to cite: having to remember
an alphabet:
if i know all the letters in it:
does it matter that i should know it?
if i'm sieving through an index of a never-to-be
completed thought...

i have this other "alphabet" at my fingertips:
hell... my head is on fire...
my brain is poaching in sauerkraut juices
being boiled...
            i need to look up the person
who came up with

                                   q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m
and the ctrl+c / ctrl+p (i will actually look down
to spot the +/= click click)...

right hand pinky is for the enter button
backspace for the right hand ring finger
the space bar is reserved for the right hand
*******: and sometimes the thumbs...

i don't i am much in need of some
of my fingers... e.t. call home hands would
do just fine...

        here comes the alphabet of pedagogy:
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w q y z
how many is that?
did i miss one?        wow... that's really 26
letters...          i usually "forgot" the sequence
when it came to      u v w q y z...
i won't check: i am pretty much sure it's
wrong...

Christopher Latham Sholes!
that's the man!
            why isn't he... celebrated?
             i guess making videos took off...
i'm stuck here: minding "unnecessary" details
of things...
like Descartes finding the ultimate doubt...
or Pascal the wager...
   and there's always this french "thing" of
having to bring it back to a chair a table... etc.

i'll repeat this name over and over again...
can anyone question the genius of
the design?
      i heard someone once cite the genius
of the...

but i'm ******* around with pseudo-Braille!
i'm looking at a screen and not looking
at the keyboard:
i'm not some boomer doctor... boomer...
doctor... pecking... crow pecking...
with two index fingers... at the ******* QWERTY!
i'm writing in pseudo-Braille!
i heard someone mention the genius
of Harry Beck's London underground tube map...

ground breaking... not in my books...
Christopher Latham Sholes' QWERTY...
for me that's... next... next level jinn magic ****...
aladdin and the lamp rub rub... rub rub...

the design is so pristine that...
i can't tell you... with precision...
what finger goes where and punctures out what
letter...
but i am not looking at the keyboard...
i'm looking at a birth of the next word...
the next line... but i am pretty much sure
that... some fingers are only props...
for when i'll use them to exercise motion
of: beyond the hand... the arm and...
hammer in some nails...

relax, perhaps like Picasso... relax...
by doing some indoor decorating...
refreshing the cupboards in the kitchen
with: yet another layer of paint...

        would a painter relax by...
becoming entombed in a rectangular space...
paint the walls... the ceiling...
i was under the impression that...
Francis Bacon had a part-time job as an indoor
decorator...
        
oh god... the 1st and through to the 6th whiskey
is still horrid...
it's like... insomnia ******* paranoia
and giving birth to cold sweat...

        ha ha! i just have to laugh on paper:
because i can only enjoy a snigger within my own
affair of the body...
      why would anyone need to...
learn or rather know... the "alphabet":
the sequence... after all... it's not like...
the vowels are cited first: a e i o u...
there you go... the pentagram...
           and that the consonants come later...
or perhaps the consonants should come
first... and the vowels would be...
encouraged to settle for the status of:
auxiliary?

              ha ha! god "designed" the human skeleton...
the giraffe's neck...
            the hyena's laughter: and mine too...
are we so ******* stupid to believe that:
the god's didn't gamble... make bets...
and... oh ****: wh'oopsie! man popped out?!
i find that... well... under monotheism...
a god: or the gods... do not laugh...
they're... reduced to a geometrical blob...
   they do not steal our comforts derived from fire...
******... hell: the litany of raj spices...
      
but... ha ha... QWERTY... 10th bourbon in me:
now i see the bigger picture...
not to mention...
   ever since the mortal kombat soundtrack
came out... juke joint jezebel - kmfdm...
and of course... type o negative:
blood and fire (out of the ashes mix)...
well... i didn't see it coming...
                 stay out of my dreams...

  peter: schtill!
     sha! shtil! makht nisht keyn gerider
   der rebe geyt shoyn tantsn vider...
            
i am... quiet positively glowing... with:
joy...       what an ultimate transformation...
it's like that joke a thing concerns itself
with... lying in full view:
of someone looking for it...
             a dementia-amnesia cocktail...

i will not tire of having to reiterate this...
does anyone really need
the "correct" sequence of the alphabet?
really?
      as long as you remember all the 26 letters:
in whatever you want?
wouldn't that be better...
but given the keyboard...
can you at least appreciate it?
the composition of the mind-gherkin prickly...
design of: the spacial orientation
of the best way to place one's hands...
and execute... a litany... a cascade of letters?

what good is the alphabet...
when it's forever changing...
       with each word... and with each word
in each subsequent sentence?
it's not a numbers gimmick...
        all the way from plato through to kant...
the tyrant of syracuse would have been
a moral man: if only he knew the cemented
reality of 5 + 6 = 11: or...    V + VI = XI...

no one... i too have a hot-bed of person
******* to sieve through...
but... i will be unable to love another man
with the sort of ideals...
the ideals that only pets have privy details
on... how i do adore...
the silence and the otherwise opera of onomatopoeias
of... staying in the womb of a syllable:
that the cat is certain: to me it's certain
he has knowledge of a distinction of a consonant
and a vowel:
   otherwise: what the **** is a meow?
         meu! mao!
what the **** is a woof?!      who! how!
a load of dreamies and dog biscuits...
i'm still under the impression that neither cats:
nor dogs... are capable of seeing 3D objects
on a 2D canvas... notably the t.v. -
their blatant disregard for our neon-fireplace...

so much of the "concern" for the computer's
ergonomics is beside: that joke...
'how was cobber wire invented?
   two scots arguing: which later translates
into a pulling apart of a penny...'
not my joke: my english teacher's:
as glaswegian by the designated: given-names:

si-rrrrr t(h)omas! bunce!
and a bunser burner he was...
     almost... dead poets society sort of giver...
and whoever has beef about going
to school...
should rethink the concept of
the sandpit at a play-area when equipped
with a bucket and spades...
and inconveniences such as: pumpkin pie:
or victoria sponge...
            
again: to reiterate...
               the genius (geniuses...
alliances of human spawn...
integrated into the third party clauses
to compete with angels and demons...
not god-spawn of recycled gambling affairs)...

                                    q w e r t y u i o p
                                       a s d f g h j k l
                                            z x c v b n m

and i somehow have to remember the pedagogy
sequence of:
                a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z?
i seriously don't think that helps...
when... the mandarins have to remember...
syllables made into ideograms...
and if they have a baggage of 5,000 or so...
they can settled for: a liberating IQ...

what good is the orthodoxy of a strict alphabetic
sequence...
when: oh look...           the words do not exactly
expect me to state: a-b-c-s-u
            perhaps: but who's going to take notice
of an abacus?
            again... what good is the alphabet ordeal?
you have to... always...
refrain from the already apparent:
memory erosion it implies...
unless... it's how you strain a sharpening
of acumen when words need to become
raindrops... and exact a worthiness of a sentence:
hardly unlikely...
     how does: hardly look?
         alphabetically it looks like...
                               a d h l r y          
a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z

even if i write our QWERTY in a linear fashion...
but of course i won't...

q w e r t y u i o p a s d f g h j k l z x c v b n m
                               (better?)

- how does it, "look" like?
i don't know... i'm looking at the screen
and my fingers are itching for the next
letter in pseudo-Braille...
which: Christopher Latham Sholes
                        invented...
       oh just a minor thing...
   it's not... a lightbulb... it's not penicilin...
lucky for some of us... and Plato:
no one knows about the man who came up
with beer... or the man who came up with...
               flour and how: eggs... water...
and bread...
lucky for us...
       well: no one invented salt...
but those "other" men cannot be world renowned...
or occupy the myths of envy...
solomon and the harem... and some wisdom...
oh sure: the wisest of them all...
are the ones who had it all...
and then deciding: best to scale down...
started to: *****... and spew...
but then there's that insatiable hunger:
for never having it to begin with...
how the hell does it matter...
       scaling down... giving it all up...
                as wise as a nail's head...
when a hammer starts to inverse-pluck it into
a rubber skin of soaked wood...

there are 26... you make up your own
sequence of "events"...
in that: words are events in themselves...
better having a jist for them
than... a sequence of letters...
that don't even come close...
to be asssured of... a memory capacity /
erosion for... keeping...
           ahem...
  pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis...

would you like toothpicks and hyphens
with that?
either you, or me: but most certainly me:
pneumono-ultra-microscopic-silico-volcano-coniosis...
looks better:
funny thing about "english"...
where is saxon-"anglicanism" retained
to fully exhort... it comparison with modern...
german... word custard of spelling
and: hardly any hyphen application?

        chemistry...
                   only when it comes to coordinates
in compounds...
otherwise... hydro... no... wait... Tintin is about...
a word that's almost
an alphabet:
methionylthreonylthreonylglutaminylarginyl
      no hyphnes... i'm not that bothered...
bbout 525 results (0.39 seconds) on google...
when was the last time i was about to googlewhack?

it's apparent: the "fun" is over...
  back to the plateau of... non-events and...
yeah: hardly a word beside that
in the prosaic...
                what of rhyme?
           what of that... everything has to
be pristined: boxed and allocated an index?

— The End —