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It’s a freak if anyone has a future, save the freaks,
who have date with a bed of radioactive rainbow roses,
if they stick like, yep you guessed it, a magnet
to their magus, their Moses,
who parts devil’s roped chainlink
and reinforced concrete all the way to Mutopia.
Also unnormals’ Noah,
whose forcefield arc preserves all alpha lepers,
their atomicuglystickpounded stegga squaws
and stronty swampdonkey progeny,  
all those whose Quasimodo chromosome's a d’oh!
transliterated into DNA
shall pass on their futureshock stock
out of harm's way,
under cover of a mag(safety) net
for tho' facebenders be not fair,
a horlicksedhelix fassache
is not the mug cullions wear
in the Magnetosphere.
Magneto will not forsake freaks,
freaks need not fear    
his magnetic flipout:
entire EMfield is an akeldama
exclusively anthropocidal.  
Soon a GM child won’t need shieldin’ at all!

For those with molecules
molested more mirific than mere Merricks
and their muntant, minghawk consorts,
those with superabundant gains of function,
who owe thanks to industrial puddles
or flytipt is’topes for fly freak powers ,
these saddle up their war wuzzles and blue lobsters
from growth hormone oceans, then
chimera heroes charge the humes,  
the norms, mean mediocracy of muggles!
His Magjesty’s neomorphic myrmidons

versus irremedial malevolence of megamedium men,
well, what’s left of them
after they’ve  met their Makermatcher
maxing out the meetyourmakerometer,
literal worldbeater
splatting the reign of hubristic, Hum Bom‘ avin’ it hominids.
O eggbeaterbladesjamming,
lamppostwrapping,
traintrackcravatting
awesome welly, wrath
of Magneto!  Nemesis has no chance:
Prof X, babysbottombonced telepath
explodes everted by his own zinc supplements,
all his vitals evaginated with noise of a backward raspberry
– YRREBPSAR!
No, maybe just ker-SPLURKSHH! In front of news crews
from ‘Good Morning Gomorrah’, and what’s morer,
tho’ what they caught on camera was slipshod,
was coz new screws were oscillating right outta new tripods.

The Daddy Mag’s sapiosayso all it took,
delivered with a sidedishin’ shirty look,
supercilious fingerclick,  then supercallous frangible physics
he expedited lawless, as at a singularity’s mathematical badlands,
and sent all metal mad.
Spelt red death for the Prof,
whose own minerals reaving ionised skinned
mindreading Ironside skinhead entoectad.  
Now coquelicot slop, clairvoyant bald as a coot
must have been suicidal spod to *** off
muties’ Malcolm X and Master of the Universe’s Pulling Method
– like Timmy and his mallet in one corner,
Thor with Mjolnir in the other. Or a story with drawings by Jack Kirby,
juxtaposed next to a coat of emulsion narrating Jackanory.
Coulda just magnetised the Prof’s wheelchair
into the back of some haulier’s cyclistsquisher,
but Magneto’s a hammy Shiva, gloryhog like all gods.

O I know Barreness Margaret Hilda Von Doom’s more macho,
but were I my muse, Magneto, well, no Hitlerian librarian
could judgementdaydream so.
Cameron Greer Feb 2016
Beat-Up Old Car
Vastly under-appreciated possession
In dull blue, a MK1, no less, with original rust
Inside lingering scents of Exchange and Mart
top-notes of WD-40 and miscellaneous mix tapes

A car like this gets into your life
in lumpy knuckle-barking unsubtle ways,
stays there in subtle ones

That long drive back to Yorkshire
in the quintessential exemplar
Clutch cable snaps.
****** and Crap.

Hardly helpful but can be accommodated
with enough thought
rough though it is
on starter motor
and nerves whenever
anticipatory powers inadequate
and we are forced
to a complete red-light stop

Brakes dodgier, exhaust noisier
than ideal or legal
Gender-ambiguous
elderly tyres flirt outrageously with slick tarmac
Showing their canvas underwear
and male-pattern baldness

Keeping this unstable, unsafe, unreliable
ultimately essential lump of metal
moving and on the road
is a fine art

Engaging, fluid and intense art;
The Clash and The Specials
Costello and The Cure in support

A distraction then
getting hauled over by plod
somewhere near Bury St. Edmunds
Thatcher's boys.

Tax? MoT? Insurance? ID?
No real interest shown

Any passengers in the back?
Clearly no.  Pickets?  
Pickets? What?
Please open the boot sir... Oh.
On your way lad. Drive carefully

I was, officer, I was
More than you will ever know
Thirty Years ago the conservative govt. under the egregious Margaret Thatcher, gleefully aided by a despicable bunch of oleaginous yes-men and sociopathic creeps, knocked into line by the creatively destructive ghoul Norman Tebbit...  ratchetted-up the creeping politicisation of the police force.   What she started has never been properly undone.  Yes, it's simplistic to point to one person alone as 'the cause', but her legacy remains and is as toxic and divisive as ever.
scar Jun 2015
Inspiration from making amazing quotations
The nation's defending its life with its shields
But the swords are all rusted the kingdom's been busted
and the ******* are bathing in gold that they steal

While the people are lying their babies are crying
their rhythm is dying 'cause heartbeats are gone
But they carry it trying to stop themselves crying
as they can't do nothing but watch on and on

As the bankers get richer the poor men get poorer
the ones in the middle are learning to steal
Where before they just borrowed now they got new sorrow
but still they don't  know that they ain't down at heel

They think they are poor so they vote in the richest
just hoping the ******* will keep them in funds
While the genuine destitute lie in the street
and the taxes are funding those *****' cummerbunds

There's a baby who's crying not just 'cause she's some brat
who ain't got no ice cream she's dying of cold
Yes it happens in streets prob'ly near where you live
it isn't just something in stories of old

There are people out there in the gorbals and barrios
the projects the banlieues the hoods and the schemes
Where their lives are the ghetto there is no way out
but to hope or to rap or to wing on a dream

They ask why you ain't reading you try but it's killing you
trying to provide for a family of two
When your mother's alone lying slumped on the sofa
and work w-w-working is all you can do

When the **** do you think I'm supposed to be doing
this **** that you say I cannot live without?
If you listened to lyrics from songs you disparage
you might start to feel an iota of doubt

They're intelligent, eloquent, more so than you
with your old boy school accent and ballot box blue
Can you rap, can you rhyme, can you keep it in time
can you tell of the **** that your family's been through?

No you sit in your office and scoff at the people
who spend their whole lives in a world that is real
They don't give a **** if you judge them or not
but they just want to shout at you
FEEL, ******, FEEL

— The End —