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kirk Nov 2018
Fat arses are so squeezable, big bums I rather like
So amplify your cellulite, and step up to my mic
Pins may shake and quiver, if I can score a strike
A Fat **** has more stability, to park my mountain bike

You may prefer a slender girl, with a bottom that is sleek
And fatter girls are not for you, or not what you would seek
Some little arses can be cute, but I want that extra cheek
I need some chunky piece of ****, to reach my ****** peak

I don't want a boney lass, who wears a leather mini
A larger girl I'd rather have, than a woman that is skinny
Imagine a great big ****, bulging out from a tight pinny
Bear arses are acceptable, just look at that Pooh Winnie

Size twenty dress would be fine, but better times by four
With Something to grab hold of, that would thrill me even more
Bigger bums and fatter thighs, that take up the whole floor
Squelching fat I would enjoy, I don't want a thin girl cure

Thin sticks maybe preferable, those girls shaped like a rake
Stupid ****** I don't want, or **** that could be fake
Fat ladies have more bounce, and they will never brake
I don't mind some extra skin, that's sweating like Swan Lake

Larger woman are more fun, they have a wetter gape
There's more to love per square inch, WOW what a body shape
Smother me with all you've got, a complete body ****
I wouldn't be like Steve McQueen, and try The Great Escape

I'm interested in BIG thrills, but I don't want silk or lace
It's certainly a worthwhile trip, if it's shoved in the right place
Delving into the unknown, well I'm not sure that's the case
You know exactly what you'll get, with fat arses in your face

A nice thin *** is okay, but sometimes they're quite drab
Even if your figure's slim, I'd want more **** to grab
I'd rather have a bit more fat, which includes dimples and flab
If your offering your fat ****, call me a mini cab

Excursions during twilight hours, to avoid the daylight sun
I prefer to be in stealth, I'll be on the midnight run
It doesn't matter how large you are, even if you weight a ton
Fat arses I will always grab, now wouldn't that be fun

There's nothing wrong with pertness, so this I will announce
But doesn't a nice fat ****, have extra pounds per ounce
With more to grab and more to squeeze, and definitely more bounce
Big cats scratching for more meat, will always make me pounce

If you are not good looking, and you look like a pig
I'll forgo your outward looks, as long as you are big
Bare your *** in front of me, and give me the gig
You can reach your Top Gear, with a helmet like the Stig

With a *** like the Grand Canyon, I wouldn't want to pass
Mammoth mountains of pure fun, as i lay in the grass
A women laid across the world, with a big fat ****
I'd try extreme obesity, if it's open wide and sparse

So take advantage of me, and let your **** end loose
I'm a man who likes em big, without being too obtuse
Use your fat for basting, and I'll give your **** a goose
We could do well with a good game, according to old Bruce

You may like slimmer ladies, but come on now you gents
A bums a *** after all, so stop sitting in the fence
If you would try a fatter ****, you wouldn't be so tense
Don't be a ******* plonker, you know that it makes sense

Thinner lovers may change their mind, and not think fat is vile
It's just a different point of view, depends on your own style
For that deeper piece of crack, I'd go that extra mile
I don't think a fatter ****, is bottom of the pile

Maybe you don't share my views, but there's something I can teach
A plumper *** would be great, that is within your reach
Succulent cheeks that you can grasp, your hands could have one each
Even James gave it a go, because he had a Giant peach

The perspective of a chunky ****, an amazing smile and crack
That's the exciting view you'll get, when your stood round the back
Its great to feel you way around, when everything's pitch black
You'll find it an experience, if you are right on track

A nice *** I wouldn't mind, so come on where's your *****
Bigger cheeks I can't resist, theres no need to get me drunk
I wonder if the girl next door, has some lovely feeling chunk
Enticement is my spice of life, cos I'm not a ******* monk

To like a larger lady, well It's not classed as a sin
Shallow men may only like, a girl that's really thin
Just because our clientele, are not shaped like a pin
Fatter girls have twice to give, it's like loving the same twin

Some fellows might think I'm blind, and need a pair of glasses
You can leave the lights on, cos I don't think fat is classless
Flash your **** at the back door, and you won't get any passes
Tables and sofa's can be used, to display your great fat arses
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
why doesn’t english phoneticism diacritic the non-trill r, or why doesn’t it diacritic the non-harking h? i wonder... where’s all the nation’s intelligence gone to... investing 650 billion in the ant mound that’s london? the politics blame it on the eastern european... ‘never blame it on the chinese or the arabs... they have the investments to come with boom & bust coordinates of new york’s 1920s hopes... followed up with depression.’ but oddly enough no recession in poland... perhaps because the poles have all the salt and lost all the dollars’ worth of edible mince pie (while the irish only lost ***** in hazelnut hangover forgetfulness on the titanic minding the class system of who got the lifeboats) - **** me, i’ve turned into a welsh longbows’ man with the famous V of agincourt... i’m not even welsh... but i’m assuredly an abacus: count to two sheep flights of suicide and towing two snorkel sneezes worth of bubbles before dozing off; ah... the celebrated humanity.*

that’s how it works... the r that lost the wheel and the ballerina twirl,
and the rolling-on requirements of a diacritic mark,
since all the available ones are inadequate,
and the h needs surgery to be honest...
it’s hardly a hay stack... as is the gnome eager to learn
about gnosticism and u-boats...
but did i tell you this one story that might
make you laugh?
in my post brain haemorrhage psychosis
i bought a martin & co. acoustic guitar for £600
while trading in a mandolin i bought cleaning toilets
in an edinburgh nightclub getting more than i expected
from a **** groper... sold for £25 second hand which i didn’t take
and just left it there due to honour
(who'd empty ****** in beer bottles from a toilet
getting harassed by a gay
in order to buy a £70 mandolin to play
only one song and then sell it for £25 and take the money?!)...
no, really, the english r needs diacritic markings
to distinguish it from the other european arms and arses
fidgety.
so this martin & co.’s guitar i bought
and took to my ex-girlfriends house...
which i left outside... and... oddly enough
in a guitar sheath the guitar suddenly spontaneously
decided to itch and break up...
my ex-girlfriend’s father said the cold did it...
he was always the handyman to break things...
then i started to head-**** the guitar until i managed
to weave a hole in it to sound more hollow...
so i fixed it in the end... a blind man could play it...
my ex-girlfriend’s father ended up as a nutcracker in
the mental health unit for a month while
england rejoiced when the pantomime season came along
in the local theatres - plates were thrown and dogs were walked...
like tonight... me in cognitive conversation:
‘hey stranger’s dog across the street, why you pausing
tail waggling and pavlov ready for a treat
and trying to imbue a french revolution’s cause off the leash?’
religiously you're reversing the due pundit of prayer
for the thing suffering... christianity almost feeds
the notion of prayer unto the continually suffering...
you wouldn't see prayer so easily given to
zeus ******* hera on the chair... would you?
pathetic, even morbid perverts of poverty
******* out the blood from the man...
if he deserved it he deserved it... it's not so easily
grecian polished into the realm of the undeserved...
the classical philosopher inquired: the gods exist...
but why are you sacrificing animals for their existence?
the modern philosophers inquired: the god exists...
but why are you sacrificing your emotions for their existence?
i will not sacrifice a goat on the altar...
but that was easier given the fact you're feeling
such sibyl s & m with that thing dangling on two planks of wood;
didn't i write of the malachi heresy...
the heresy that invaded monotheism and said
john smith postcode *** *** from the 21st century
will always be john smith from london from the 16th century?
malachi's heresy concerning the reincarnation of elijah
decisively spoke of the fractioned hebrew god... it spoke of 1
as 1/2, 1/3, 1/4, 1/5, 1/6, 1/7, 1/8, 1/9 etc.
i can't believe that... like hegel equated in
the book marx digested and rebelled against, i = i,
malachi you propagator & instigator of christianity and islam!
malachi! to the greeks & romans with you tied to st. paul!
(even allen ginsberg mentions this equation
in one of his poems: i am i, old father fisheye that
begat the ocean, the worm at my own ear,
the serpent turning around a tree;
kant and 0 as negation, hegel and the equals sign as being,
naturally ≠ has to imply non-being);
not building idols of forearm and knee for worship is what islam
got away with replacing them with the worship of words...
i'd hate to worship that night idol dictated by a man
who couldn't read... it's almost like a crow hunching
next to a statue of ramses ii about
where r a m s e s trivialised the six pack of the abdomen
there were the letters r a m s e s without definite form
to concern the suckling of favourite idol mantras...
idol holy word hum hum ham ahead of you...
thou shalt knot the casual reference of muhammad
in the corner shop for thou shalt not offend
the goosebumps sensation i feel when i hear the sounds...
MAKE THEE **** A HOLY **** WORDED & WORSHIPPED!
ARSES IN THE AIR GENTS... WE'RE GOING TO HAVANAH!
and so it was... the only fear of death i have
is to have lived to being aged 72... and then died;
death sooner... death... sooner!
my parents die i'm moving to the true england, up north,
to liverpool or manchester... **** the southern fairies
from dubai... i rather move to the faroe islands to be honest...
and **** a dozen orcas for a fry-up and the digestion of winter...
i rather **** time occupying the space in greenland
among the icy chinese known as eskimos;
i'd fit in among the føroyar kindreds... i love the doom & gloom
and hate the sun & tan of globalisation's adventures
with advertisements and juggling tourism
among terrorism's fictive narratives.
Jere Gallup May 2014
Arses to arses
And farces to farces,
No way of telling
The difference
We make__
Given the boredom
Of sitting around,
And them deciding  
Who's first to punch
And who's first to duck.
Big Virge Aug 2014
What is ..... with ......
All this ... " ATTITUDE " ... ?!?
  
It seems ... The ... " In Thing " ...
to simply be ... " Rude " ... !?! ...  
  
People in ... " The World " ...
are now .... So Crude .... !!!!!!!
  
Girls now walk streets ...
with arses ... in view ...  
  
" Prostitution's " ... RIFE ...  
But this ... " Isn't New " ... !!!!!!
  
So ....
If you have ... " A Bad Attitude " ... !!! ...
May I ask ... " What's wrong with you ? " ...
  
Do you feel ... " Misled " ... ???
Are you feeling ... " Upset " ... ???
  
Do you feel that your life ... ?
is just a .... " Pretence " .... ?
  
Do you feel as if ... ?
You'd be ... Better off ... DEAD ... !!!!!
  
Well ... if you do ... ?
It's Not Just ... YOU ... !!!!!
  
But it's ... NOT COOL ... !!!
to act the ... " Fool " ...  
and live your life ...
with .... ATTITUDE .... !!!!!
  
If life's ... " So Rough " ...
and you wanna ... " Act Tough " ...  
  
Get in ... THE RING ... !!!!!
Try on ... some gloves ...  
and if it ... " Suits " ...
Make WAR ... NOT Love ... !!!
  
I riSE ... abOVE ...
This ... " Attitude Stuff " ...  
  
But ... " Many suggest " ...
I'm ... " Billy Goat gruff " ...  
  
This ain't ... " Call My Bluff " ... !!!!!
  
But I guess it's cos' ... ???
I'm NOT ... " White Enough " ...  
to be .... " So Cool " ....
and ... NOT ... Wear Cuffs ...  
  
Presumption can make ... ???
People give ... ATTITUDE ... !!!
  
So .....
Don't just ... " Assume " ...
cos this might be ... ?
Your ... LAST MISTAKE ... !!!!
  
" Attitude " ... that arises ...
because of ... " Assumption " ...
can leave men with ... " Truncheon " ...
Without their ... Heart Function ... !!!
  
cos' Attitude ... quelled ...
will then reach ... COMBUSTION ... !!!!!
  
So ....
  
PLEASE ... Don't Assume ...
when you enter ... " A Room " ...  
  
Read this ... CLOSELY ... !!!
cos' when you ... Assume ...
  
You just make an ... " *** " ...
of ... Both You and Me ... !!! ...  
  
Did you ...  
Read it ... CLOSELY ... ???  
  
Break that word into ... " Three " ...
  
*** ...
" U " ...
and then ... ME ...  
  
Reminds me of a word ...
Yes ... " That Word " ... His - story
  
Just look at ... News Stories ...
and you ... Surely ... MUST SEE ... ?!?
  
Attitude's ... runnin" ....
on streets ... TOO FREELY ... !!!!!  
  
Even on terraces ... in Italy .... !?!
  
Inter ... or ... A.C.  
which fans ... can it be ... ???
  
I'm told these fans ...  
... " Attitude " ...
FRIGHTENS POLICE ..... !!!!!  
  
So .....
When they're ... Supposed ...
to use ... BRUTALITY ...  
  
They'd rather not use it ...
but ... bring it to ... " Me " ... ?!?
  
Kind of like people ...
who do ... " Poetry " ...
  
From trying to act ...
Like ... They Like ... what I read  ... !!!
Until I write words ...
That DISTURRRBBBB ... " Their Chi " ... !!!
  
Attitude ... ISN'T ME ... !!!
Come on ... Don't You See ...
  
My name is ... " Big Virge " ...
Friends call me ... " Big V " ...  
  
But ....
Unless i've told you ...
  
You'd better use ... VIRGIL ... !!!
  
Unless you are ready ...
to fall at ... " That Hurdle " ...  
  
This Isn't ... " The National " ...
My Poetry's ... " Rational " ...  
  
as are ... " My Thoughts " ...
which ... CANNOT ... be bought ... !!!!!
  
So ....
Ideas that you ... " Court " ...
of ... Any such .... " Sort " ....  
  
Take my advice ....
it's time to ... ABORT ... !!!!!
cos' ... Attitude's RIFE ...
when my temper ... " Runs short " ... !!!!!
  
So .... maybe it's time .... ?
to leave you ... " This Thought " ...  ???
  
Attitudes' ... Crude ...
and is something for ... FOOLS ...  
who think ... Being Rude ...
is now ... The New ... " COOL " ... ?!?
  
Well ....  
Check out ... This view ... !!!
  
You're NOT ... being cool ... !!!
You're acting ... THE FOOL ... !!!
  
Now ....
If you're a ... " Female " ... ?
  
PLEASE ... Refuse to use ...  
This ... " Needless Abuse " ... !!!
  
But ....
If you're a ... " Male " ... ?
  
Just be a ... " Cool Dude " ...  
and just do ... " What's Right ... !!!
  
REMOVE ... !!!
  
... " Attitude " ... !!!!!!
I think it's fair to say, that, some 10 years after I wrote this, these words are ringing a little too true now, from Gaza to your everyday street fights ... peoples' attitudes, right about now,  are really not nice !!!!!
kirk Feb 2016
Id love a big fat ****
Or a wrinkled up *******
An ugly looking hag
Who wants a ******* ****

If I had a big fat *****, with a big fat bucket
I'd lay between her fleshy thighs, and definitely **** it
My thrusting **** inside her ****, is where I'd like to tuck it
Spunking up would be sublime, when I lick and **** it

When your about to **** the fat, it takes a certain knack
Stuffed up fishy **** *****, or **** ******* round the back
A nice piece of chunky ****, with a big long sweaty crack
Fatty *** holes make you hard ,my **** would not be slack

I would ride a big large Gal, just like a waterbed
Bathroom ******* would be fun, as well as in the shed
Spunking up between her legs, cream cheese would then be spread
When both holes are full of ***, she can **** my **** instead

And after I have finished, with all of those fat *******
Something different I would want, maybe some old wrinkled witches
All wearing apple gatherers, and big large ******* britches
Older ***** long overdue, scratching long lost itches

A lot of fun I could have, in an old folks place
Disrobed willing grannies *****, stuffed right in my face
At least eight bits of gristle ******, a display of my disgrace
With each granny ****** in turn, if they can stand the pace

As I lift their skirts up their knickers I would sniff
I'm hoping that old fannies good, and they don't smell or whiff
The smell of old used granny ****, is probably just a myth
But I won't let it bother me, as long as I get stiff

I wouldn't even care, if they wore crap NHS glasses
As long as I could **** and ***, inside there wrinkled arses
I would **** them old ****** , all from different classes
Some of them in wheelchairs and some with heart bypasses.

It's irrelevant how fat you are, I really do not mind
As long as you are willing, and your *****'s wet and kind
And if you like it up the ****, then I'm that way inclined
******* ***** is quite fine, so is ******* from behind

So come on girls fat or old, all slags are a possibility
Your sexuality can flood out, there's no need for negativity
I'm willing to **** who comes along, to the best of my ability
Just make sure that I stay stiff, and maintain my agility
I was alone deep within my thoughts lost in nature.
in other words passed out in the park as usual from a night of deep research and binge drinking hey everyone needs a ******* hobby okay.

I was just about to do some deep sea diving I'm kidding it's more like explore the hot tub with Jennifer Aniston and Lawrence hey I bought those goggles why not put them  to some good perverted use right?

When all the sudden I was pulled from my ******* utopia and brought to reality with some strange hamster dressed like a troll throwing bean bags at my head Jesus Christ this is why I stopped passing out in truck stops.

I banish you strange drunken  wizard with a banishing spell .
he said as he kept throwing his strange little bean bags at me I tell you
you have to worry about a man playing with his bean bags in the park I mean sure that kind of **** flew in third world countries like Canada  
but here in the states we had guns so we could protect  areselves and go hunting cause who doesn't love some male bonding?
Or buying a A-K 47  to  blow the living crap out of everything insight .  

**** the woods it's filled with to many fury hippies to began with and what wall doesn't say high class better than some animals head on it looking like it just got prison *****.
Yeah it looks so natural  and dead that is .

But enough with the foreplay and back to the bean bag throwing troll nerd .
Hey man your supposed to exit the playing field after I hit you with that ******* .

The strange dressed nerd said then snickred to with fellow dork homies.
You got to love newbies they don't even know a level 12 troll God from a ***** cave spider.

They all seemed to be smoking crack for they all busted up laughing at this strange little escaped from the asylum hamster.

I wasn't sure if I should just run or try to speak with these odd nerd folk  they kind of of reminded me of Muppets on acid yeah that was a bad trip don't ask.
Boy I never knew Miss Piggy was such a **** or a gymnast.

Excuse me gaydolf 
So  is there so reason you woke me up or are you just off your meds and looking to throw your bean bags at the first drunken in semi coma person you find sleeping on a bench ?

Your not part of the game?

The strange little troll nerd asked me and from the surprise in his voice I could tell this weird little hamster was on some great ******* drugs once told me two things.
One I needed to dump these ******'s like a truck stop burrito.
And two I had to  find out who his doctor was cause I wanted triple of whatever this kid was having .

No sir I'm not part of a game or show unless it's being the judge of a wet t shirt contest cause I do believe in supporting the *******.
Hey **** the whales save the *******  they look awesome and who cares bout the environment duh there's sharks in there didn't you ever see jaws besides everyone knows I'm allergic to water.
That's why I drink whiskey its much better for you besides ever see flipper hop out the ocean for a bathroom break ?


Hey this dude isn't part of the realm were in he's just some old *** drunk.
Another strange hamster said to his Troll friend.

Oh sir I do beg your pardon here take this .
The troll nerd handed me a bottle .
Now this was more like it I kicked it back and tasted the most foul tasting ***** I'd ever tasted in my life .

Dear lord man what is this ****! ?
Umm its called bottled water dude the troll replied .

I looked at the plastic container in a mix of total disgust and hell these kids were into some weird ****.

Water huh tastes like **** what the hells the proof ?  
Umm it's water ******* it doesn't have a proof .

I tried to grasp what the two headed tall one had said but was lost .
How could anyone drink anything not to catch a buzz what twisted sick little ******* had I run across?

I had enough of these strange garden gnomes **** I reached for my trusty flask a hit of some good old 80 proof trying to rid myself of the taste of this poison called water .

Look I do not even want to know what your nerds are up to but unless it involves some hot stripper elves  a bottle of cooking oil and a twister game count me out.

Looking at me like most people do with that mix of confusion and a feeling like they needed a bath there strange leader spoke up.
Sir you have to understand we are larping and on a quest we simply confused you for another drunken wizard .

Well I can understand that my sexually confused  nerd friend but I think you need to seriously go on a  quest with me .

Your on a quest the troll dork asked lighting up like Taylor Swift after just stealing the soul of yet another misguided hamster and brainwashing millions in to believe she actually had talent or a soul I'm just saying .


Yes Gaydolf I'm on a mighty quest to get my magic  staff  blown by some cheap ****** but enough about my ******* wife.
Yeah the internets filled with perverts and if you search long enough you might just luck out and find your very own ****** with a heart of gold or drunken long winded perverted ******* like myself .

Sir I have you know me and my knights of honor are true gentlemen why we need no pleasures of cheap ******  we have the company of each other songs and campfires to drive are passions who here amongst my circle would like to follow this demented nut on some ****** bag quest for the earthly pleasures of the flesh?

The little troll nerd turned around to see his round table of fellow ******'s gone .

What the ****!

We could here his cries as me and my new crowd  of  odd little dressed hamsters were off to the Hotseat ******* in search of ***** ,Strippers and hopefully trick one of these naughty dancing hamsters into a quest play hide the sword in the well you get the point.
cause hopefully someone with some cheesy name like sparkle or Bambi or Candy would .


Sir Gonzo the strange looking Cyclops of my new entourage asked?
Yeah what is it amigo?
Do you not fear the wrath of the troll gods mom?
I mean she did bring us all here in here minivan and all.

Well my one eyed nerd friend in are quests you will learn many things there are to fear .
But nothing far worse than the river of fire that spews from thy staff after a goodnight with the ***** of the back alley.

Oh no worries Sir Gonzo I have plenty of spell packs of penicillin .
Hey does ***** Debra still do that trick with a ping pong ***** and a picture of Kanye Wests face?

We  can only hope my one eyed friend you know I cant believe you know bout ***** Debra I said with a bit of surprise in my already getting there drunken lets get this ******* ****** **** story over voice.

Duh what do you think I am one of those twilight homos sir Gonzo?
My Cyclops nerd friend replied.

that night was epic we laughed we darnk we watched a Canadian cave troll totally make out with a ****** from the magic kingdom  Minnie mouse is such a freak and I know what your saying like the nut that wrote this ***** isn't?

Thank you hamsters that truly means a lot.

Are quest was epic are night spoke of in nerds who dream only to grasp a ***** strippers ******* let alone snort coke off there arses .

I never saw my socially awkward friends again yeah I bet that troll nerd Billy Gates sits even now wishing he truly had grabbed life by the bean bag and sized the day I wonder what ever happened to him.

Stay Crazy hamster .

Always your Captain of the insane

Gonzo
Gonzo 100 proof one crazy ******* !
Terry Collett Apr 2015
Here Kid take this what is it? whats it look like? its a prayer book thing yes so take it and hide it under your jumper why? just hide the **** thing so Benedict hides the  black book with red ends under his jumper and follows Anne into the grounds out of the French windows Anne crutches herself across the grass and makes towards the round white table and chairs and plonks herself down in a chair tossing her crutches aside Benedict sits down in the next chair looking back towards the nursing home do you think we were seen? seen doing what Kid? walking across the grass no doubt liberating Sister Dumb-arses prayer book no Anne says Benedict turns around and stares at her dont keep looking around Kid or the penguins will guess youve been up to no good me been up to no good it was your idea to take the prayer book but youve got it Kid not me but you said take it and you did well done Kid Anne says smiling she rubs her leg stump and pulls the blue skirt down further what do we do now? Benedict asks looking at Anne tempted to turn around and look behind him sit tight Kid sit tight but I cant hide the book under my jumper all day he says pass it under the table to me so he passes the prayerbook to Anne under the white table and she opens it in her lap he looks at her his stomach tightening guess whose it is? Anne asks he shrugs dont know its only Sister Bridgets how do you know? has it got her name in it? no they dont own personal property its just that it has this prayer card in it with an image of St Bridget on one side and a prayer on the other and on the top shes scrawled Sr Bridget in her bird-**** hand writing God shell go ape he says looking round at the nursing home what do we do? shush Kid what do want them to know weve got it? he stares at the building imagines the nun galloping across the lawn towards them her black robes billowing behind her like Batman turn round Kid youll look suspicious he looks round and stares at her sitting in the chair as if butter wouldnt melt in her mouth on a hot day where are you going to put it? he asks out of the sight of their eyes she says where though? she pulls up her blue skirt and tucks the black prayer book in her navy blue underwear and pulls down the skirt and brushes out the any signs you cant keep it there he says why not my knickers she says are they going to search me there? she says now just go get my wheelchair and  we can go visit the sea out the back gate he sighs and wanders back towards the home trudging across the lawn leaving Anne sitting in the chair like some royal queen on her throne she lifts up her skirt and adjusts the book more securely just as well I wore the passion killers Mum bought me she says to herself and lets down the skirt again and sits staring towards the home as she sits a few of the kids come out and make their way to the swings and slide they know her and avoid her like a plague a nun comes out too Anne stares at her its Sister Lucy a young one green as grass more ****** that the Blessed ****** herself Anne says under breath the nun walks towards Anne her hands inside her black habit how are we today Anne? the nun asks smiling my ****** leg aches Anne says o dear the nun says looking at Annes leg visible under the table have you seen Sister Paul about some pain killers? no not yet Anne says anyway its not this leg its the one not there my stump leg o I see Sister Luke says staring at the unseen stump beneath the blue skirt I could pray for your leg if you would like me to the nun says might help Anne says putting on her pious pose its hurts so much I feel like crying she allows tears to dribble out of her eyes(shes an expert of conjuring tears out of her eyes) o my dear child the nun says coming around the table and placing a hand around Annes shoulders Ill ask Sister Paul about some tablets the nun says thank you Anne whimpers feeling the prayer book move slightly as she moves in the chair she tries to adjust it with her hand to a more secure position Benedict comes across the lawn pushing the wheelchair he sees the nun and his eyes enlarge and he senses danger have they suspected Anne already about the missing prayer book? he wheels the chair behind Anne the nun looks at him arent you a good boy she says yes hes my best friend Anne says smiling through the glassy eyes the nun smiles well I best get back Ill see Sister Paul about those pills the nun says and walks off towards the home that was close Benedict say she didnt mention the prayer book Anne says she just came about me and the ****** leg and offering prayers o I see he says gazing at the stump area thinking about the stump of her leg hes seen many times are you going gawk at my stump all day or are you going to help get in the ****** wheelchair? o right yes he says and helps her get from the chair and into the wheelchair holding it steady at the back make sure the prayer book doesnt slip out of my knickers Kid she says as she rises from the chair and plonks into the wheelchair she moves the book to a more comfortable position and pulls her skirt down pass her knee just as they were about to move away Sister Bridget comes across the lawn towards them like a rhino on heat hang on Kid here comes the penguin wait wait the nun says raising a hand Benedict pauses pushing the wheelchair and stares at the approaching nun keep cool Kid Anne says under her breath act innocent as the Pope at a nudist colony Benedict feels himself perspire the nun stands in front of Anne in the wheelchair a prayer book has gone missing the nun says gazing at Anne has it? Anne says in an innocent tone yes it was taken from the Common Room shall we help look for it? Anne asks have you seen it? the nun asks no not that I know of whats it look like? Anne asks as if butter wouldnt melt a prayer book is what it looks like the nun says eyeing Anne with her suspicious eyes black cover with red ends no cant say I have Anne says Benedict looks away at the trees behind of them at the avenue between them and you Benedict have you seen it? the nun asks staring at him her eyes over him like maggots he shudders no sister not seen it at all he hates lying to  a nun he feels as if she looks into his soul and at the minor sins lurking there like naughty children then the nun looks down in Annes lap gazes at the outline of the leg stump not hiding it are we? the nun says hiding what? Anne says my stump? no I tried hiding it but its always there each morning I wake up the nun screws up her eyes and peers at them both no I mean the book where is it? no idea Anne says Benedict looks down at Annes lap where have you hidden it? the nun says havent seen it Anne says one of the children says she saw you take it the nun says me? Anne says you cant take the word of child I believe what the child tells me Benedict looks at the outline of the leg stump the child says you have it about your person she saw you from the upper bedroom window the nun says sternly must be mistaken must have seen me rub my stump they always watch me rubbing it so nosey the nun sighs and gazes at Annes lap and at the stumps outline show me your leg stump? the nun says hands on her hips Anne pulls up her skirt to reveal the stump Benedict looks too wondering if the book outline could be seen under the knickers the nun looks away where have you put it? put what? the book the prayer book the nun says I havent seen it Anne says as innocent as she can muster innocence lies will get you to Hell the nun says and walks off across the grass like a bad tempered bear what now? Benedict says Anne takes the book out of her knickers and hands it to him warm and scented what do I do with it? he asks shove it on that other chair under the table and were off to the beach so he puts the book under the table and pushes Anne off in the chair off out of reach.
A BOY AND GIRL IN  A NURSING HOME IN 1959 SUSSEX.
kirk Feb 2016
Lots of ladies there may be, but I haven't had that many
My **** is always active, and I think I would have any
In the past I could have been, just a bit too picky
The art of wanking I did try, but that left my pants all sticky

Some nice **** I would love, or an **** or three
The fairer *** is preferable, cos there's nothing strange about me
It really doesn't seem that fare, when there are many slags
And lots of ugly fat ******, that say they all want shags

But I can not locate any, I wish there was a way
That I could find a nice gal, and not someone that is gay
Nothing against the Lezzers, I'm just not that way inclined
But I'm fed up with wanking, and I don't want to go blind

I would ***** an old gal, with a big fat rounded ****
A squeezable amount of flesh, inside an **** ****
Big fat ****** are welcome, who want it up their bucket
I would like **** your ****, and I'd really love to **** it

An **** I could really try, if only the girls would
******* lots of ***** *****, that could be quite good
A large obese girl I would ****, with lots of rolls of fat
I'd stuff my **** inside there ****, cos there's nothing wrong with that

Ideal worlds would be good, if you could **** the girls you like
But I will settle for a *****, or a well used ridden bike
Even in a ******* they could be a real good ****
If *****'s are full of *****, I'd still **** your *** filled bag

Maybe I could find an old gal who is a real life *****
I would just think so what, and **** her well used *****
After I have loosened up, her tight old ******* hole
I could have a tighter ****, with her **** upon my pole

******* the ladies *******, this is always such a dream
Arses will be filled up, and the cat would get the cream
If you want to get ******, and you find any of this thrilling
Get your ***** and arseholes out, ready for a creamy filling

Come on all you fat slags, I'd like to see you naked
And even you wrinkly old bags, to me nothing is sacred
Your ***** cats are required, and your arses are inclined
Fat slags and old bags are still quite hard to find
Edna Sweetlove Sep 2015
I’m sick and tired of people rabbiting on a load of ****
About their ******* duty and fighting for freedom
For the fat ugly patriotic selfish folks "back home"
And pathetic ****** neo-fascist ******* like that
And gabbling on a load of sentimental horsedung
About giving their all for their ******* useless country
When honestly they’d rather be at home in some ugly provincial hick town
Patting their nasty mongrel dogs and groping their neighbours’ wives' arses
And eating mumsy-wumsy’s over-cooked meat and stodgy apple pie
Whilst ensconced on the sofa watching sodding Celebrity Big Brother.

How can a soldier nowadays say he didn't want to be there?
Are people so ******* thick or blind or moronic not to realise
A person volunteers to be in the armed forces in most countries nowadays?
There’s no ****** press gangs or ****** conscription any more;
People become soldiers because they choose to do so
(exceptions include filthy neo-**** ****-holes like Israel
where the young men queue up to **** Palestinian babies for fun) .

Therefore soldiers DO want to fight, they DO want the chance to ****
And they willingly risk their own ugly unwashed redneck necks.
So they have no right to whine and bellyache when they get asked
To earn their daily state-paid bread and do a spot of killing
Instead of sitting on their overweight arses at MY expense.
Or course, they could show some real guts and resign instead,
But what the ****, why pass up on a chance to do some
Legalised ****** and get paid handsomely at the same time.

Just in case you think I forgot, I am totally and fully aware
That 'he' includes 'she' in this context now that women
Have an equal chance to have their military buns blown off pointlessly.
So don't whinge or expect sympathy when your body parts come home in a bag.
Personally, I am of the belief that the only good soldier is a dead soldier,
And the more the merrier. RIP military thugs and up yours.
The scene was utter madness the good long fell to the boring and bland ***** that now I write apon.
Old faces had long since been replaced by these like button zombies.
Hey commenting is hard I could hear them amoungsnt all the other voices in my head.

And here I thought everyone had a opinion just like a *******.
The zombies were at the door my trusty Pub the one true place i could talk **** about the sites owner without getting banned and taken out back while being tortured having to read the darksides blog for hours listening to Yanni and Justin Bieber.
Good lord man its like starbucks and twatter   had a ******* baby and called it Hello.

My fellow comrades had long since left for higher ground or the nut house really finger painting and graham crackers are so overrated.
Trust me I know cause i have alot of crazy friends who told me so.
Im kidding its cause im ******* nuts  just when im off my meds that is did anyone hear that?

The like zombies just kept pushing that ******* button.
I mean really if it was a free drinks or a ******* button id get it folks.
Hell id probaly have corpral tunnel by now  duh that would kick ***.

Comments had fallen to the evil zombie button of doom.
And no matter were I turned I couldnt get away from it.
This write has fifteen comments.
No the **** it doesnt there ******* likes yes much like ****** the **** was spreading faster than
clap in ******* not that id know.

I couldnt take it any longer moving at the breakneck speed of drunken hampster who cant stay in the wheel
I was off.
To the land of no return the offices of the website inwhich ive annoyed the ***** outta for way to many years
no not facebook  I only go there to read **** that no one could give a **** less about.

Tina just eat a steak mmmm.
******* fasinating Tina!

Taking a long walk okay drive cause walking really screws with my drinking.
I made my way through the land of no return no not Canada.
To the center  of mount who gives a *****.
It was there at the gates of the mighty lair of the dark lord I stood flask in side pocket
The doors opened and as i walked in the empty room I was met by a huge flat screen
hmm must be where the staff watches **** or animal planet thoose animals are
total freaks.

But enough with the foreplay children.

A face appeared apon the screen.
So I see you've finally shown Gonzo   how dare you enter the fortress of the dark lord.
Well ya know the dark lord really needs some security I mean really who the hell keeps there fortress next to a bed bath and beyond?

Look you crazy ******* the anger hampster said .
They have some really great stuff oils and canddles  why me and my other half love it.
Hey did you all meet on a trip in the mountians where you were herding sheep.
Dam you Broke Back Mountian now  my wife really wonders what im up to on my fishing trips.
Thanks for ruining it for all of us.

Well Gonzo you may have  found my hidden fortress but never will you leave.
Yeah I will.
You cant!
Oh Yes I can !
Oh no you wont!
Yeah I will!
We continued this argument for what seemed like ages then finally after a canadian popstars ***** finally dropped it ended.
Duh I do have a life after all people.
Yeah I know but ****** I could if i wanted to.

So just  how do you expect to leave my frotress of doom.
Duh ******* through the front door.
You cant its locked .
Hey like i cant get outta places i dont belong  look i got outta rehab  no no no.
Talk about a ****** party  its almost as bad as my spelling yeah sometimes jokes hurt.

But I do gotta ask lord ***** for brains how do ya get all thoose likes
I mean people used to comment there arses off even me sure i cant remember what i said
but hell i was under the influence I know shocking right?

Okay you drunken ******* I'll let you know witness my geinus!
With that the dark lords fishing buddy  pulled back a curtan to reveil  a room full of
cracked out cyber monkeys all sitting in front of like buttons .
With every push theyd get yet another hit of some sort of fruit duh like monkeys like drugs
yeah you think being they throw there **** around and all but really there just mean ******.

Mr pickles just did a thousand likes.
****** someone needs to stop the insanity.
The evil dark lord laughed like a sinister women does usally when i mention ***.
I swear no wonder I use esscorts im kidding there just regular hookers.

And now Gonzo I reveil to you your own like button.
There at a small desk with my name written apon the table in what couldnt be magic marker dam little monkeys
they love to write **** or with it at least hay whatever floats your boat or tree im just saying.

Mr pickels  pushed the button on my desk a little slot opened up
and a ice cold beer and wild turkey chaser appeared .
******* kick ***  I mean how terrible.

The dark lord slash ****** with a heart of gold laughed his sinister laugh the monkey jumped up and down and played with thenselves  while listening to there God Justin Bieber.

Was All hope lost?
Will Gonzo a infamouse party hampster be able to turn down a free drink?

Will the dark lord win in his battle to **** the site and raise the money for his *** change?
Will MR Pickels finally finish his novel titled No **** A Life story written in all organic ink.

Will Justin Bieber finally fly into the side of a mountain!

Tune in next time hampsters to the shocking finally  Gonzo And The Like Button Of Doom.

Yeah it really ***** when ya dont get a happy ending just ask John Travolta.

Till next time hampsters stay crazy
Maggie Emmett Aug 2014
Young women know all about style -
how to fix the decimal point
between them and their mothers
differentiate themselves
from Special K over 40s wanna bees
mini skirted and high heeled
trying to catch their husband’s eye

Yummy mummies in their 30’s
are separated from the new stock
by firm elastic flattened midriffs
no bulge or wobble
unlined skin taut sometimes
navel peirced or *******
their legs wear the 4” heels again
on winklepicker pointed toes
for a mid century crop
of bunioned feet.

No scraggy necks or waddle
no tea tray arses only
plump peaches
in the bend over show
of skimpy, lacy thongs
of ****** floss

So, **** femme fatale is cool
body object the thing to be
flouncing and  preening
flirting and *******
random hook-ups on the run
in the alleys of time on the net
in the warp of space
Killer !  Whatever !
Wicked ! Yeah feral !
An ironic take on **** feminism and glam-**** kulcha.
kirk Nov 2017
The television is getting worse, I have noticed on its viewing
What the **** is going on, what do you think your doing ?
Maybe its ungrateful, but our minds are just left stewing
Why must people endure repeats, through years of program queuing?
An example is the game shows, there on every side just brewing
We're paying for the privilege, its the public that your *******

We don't want Deal Or No Deal, with all those crap crisp boxes
Q.I. is not that interesting, it has too many paradoxes
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire ? is that just a stupid question?
I would love to Strike It Lucky, so what is your suggestion?

Pointless has the correct name, cos that's exactly what it is
Has Jasper Carrot got Golden *****, or is he *******
Why is there ***** Money, did they ran out of toilet tissues
Julian Clary had Sticky Moments, and outrageous camping issues

Whenever Opportunity Knocks, well just open the door
If your going to Take Me Out, then what are you waiting for?
Don't Name That Tune In One, I'd rather hear it all
A Question Of Sport is so boring, its hardly on the ball

Is it the Weakest Link, because the chain is full of rust?
Didn't Blockbusters close down, and the video shop go bust ?
Why Should I Supermarket Sweep, Dale can sweep it himself
The pyramid Game is just, an apex polyhedron triangular shelf

I Don't want to go on Mastermind, and look like a ******* fool
If I went Through The Keyhole, then I must be minuscule
Why Would I Lie To You? wouldn't that be a bit two faced
I'm not sure if Celebrity Squares, are really all straight laced?
Could you please repeat yourself, I did not Catch that Phrase
Just how many crystals where there, in the Crystal Maze?

Was Spin Star cancelled, because celebrities where break dancing
Or was it Bradley Walsh's giant fruit, that needed some enhancing?
Why is it called The Chase, when there's no chasing involved?
The Chasers are sat on there arses, so The Chase is never solved

I don't think it is the Wheel Of Fortune, even if you do
You don't really get much fortune, till you solve the final clue
Paul Daniels said Every Second Counts, so forget the introductions
Just get on with the game play, don't even bother with instructions

Philip Schofield played with Five Gold Rings, isn't that just wrong
I thought that Five Gold Rings, belonged to a Christmas song
Ted Rogers read such stupid clues, it made it hard to win
No wonder 3.2.1 contestants, usually won poor Dusty Bin

I would really love to drink, some of that Celebrity Juice
But first I'll have to find out, which ones are tight or loose
I'm not lucky enough to have 300 Blanks, with a lovely lady in a bed
I'll have to hand it to myself, and have a Blankety Blank instead

Mr & Mrs is outdated, most Marriages are not enforced
Those couples who where happy once, are probably divorced
Treasure Hunt used a Helicopter, clues found by Anneka Rice
She ran around quite frantically, but her **** was rather nice

Isn't Ann Widdecombe a dark horse, she liked a Cleverdick
I Suspect if she had the chance, she'd like a **** that's thick
There used to be Telly Addicts, but now they are history
We no longer want Noel Edmunds, or crap games on our TV

Poor Bully tried to play Darts, but his aim was far to high
It isn't all that great or Super, missing the Bullseye
Come on now Jim its not fare, making the contestants cry
To look at what you could have won, and kiss the prize goodbye

Naked Jungle was a one off, Keith Chegwin in the buff
I'm glad it did not continue, so please don't Call My Bluff
Countdown has been on for years, we've had a ****** enough
Only Connect and 15 to 1, are hard and far too tough

Family fortunes and Eggheads, we don't want all this stuff
Fort Boyard and Mock The Week, stick them up you chuff
Going For Gold and Gladiators, too old and looking rough
University Challenge and Impossible, there really dull and duff

Never Mind The Buzzcocks, it's a forgotten piece of Fluff
Crosswits and Chain Letters, should be dragged of by the scuff
Hole in the wall and Alphabetical, are so right of the cuff
The Cube and The Million Pound Drop, I'd walk of in a huff

Many game shows throughout the years, all needed a good host
But there isn't any spontaneity, so none of them can boast
Instead of reading from a script,and acting liked their dosed
Take the plunge make it your own, don't be a mindless ghost
Why don't hosts try to be their best, and try to be their most
Wouldn't it make more sense, to keep your audience engrossed

Ben Shepherd comes to mind, he doesn't seem all there
With his ****** expressions, weird smile and stupid stare
How did he become a host, was it all based on a dare
Why is his act robotic, its more than we can bare

Its like watching a recording, this isn't really fare
If we are subjected to this crap, then we deserve a share
I guess its our misfortune, its enough to make you swear
We're already at our Tipping Point, so we no longer care

Now I'm not saying that every host, is as bad as old Ben Shep
In fact there is at least one guy,who has a better Rep
He may not be a large man, in fact he played a Lep
But at least he isn't wooden, and he's with you every step

Warwick Davis's Act is Tenable, and he has not compromised
With good hosting skills, jokes and quips Warwick has realized
Although I'm not a game show fan, I am pleasantly surprised
He stands tall over the other hosts, even though he is pintsized

Why keep making game shows, was there a voting pole?
I believe there are too many, they are so ******* droll
As bad as all reality, the schedules they both stole
Axe the ******* lot of them, and chuck them down a hole

Just take a look at Brucie, may god rest his soul
He was around for decades, and hosting was role
Taking over all the shows, seemed to be old Brucie's goal
The years weren't kind to old Bruce, they definitely took there toll

There is a Brucie Bonus, available for every Generation
All you really needed, was the right kind of motivation
Nice to see you to see you nice, was Bruce's obligation
Life was the name of the game, in a family situation

A cuddly toy on a conveyer belt, in a prize observation
Didn't he do well all, depends on your own determination
If You Play Your Cards Right, Dollies Dealing a sensation
You don't get anything for a pair, maybe its infatuation

You can freeze but you cant stick, all dealt in isolation
Do you want to bet on it, was a gambling invitation
The price was always right, just use your imagination
Come on down to old Bruce, win a car and a vacation

Maybe he's a legend, with Bruce's game show graduation
A chance to host a new show, a Good Game realization
What's on the board miss ford, moving on to a new creation
It turned camp when they shut that door, and hired Larry Grayson

What was it with Bruce Forsyth, he was far too keen
He monopolised the hosting, on the game show scene
Seizing every opportunity, ever since he was fourteen
Just like Command and Conqueror, on the TV screen
He took on all the game shows, maybe he's just mean
But I cant help but to wander, where else has he been?

With all of his catchphrases, and a chin that was obscene
A wig that was like shredded wheat, it never should be seen
I don't know if I'm being harsh, it maybe his routine
And its all in his makeup, and part of Bruce's gene
Perhaps he liked the studio, and had too much caffeine
Along with the all dodgy food, in the BBC canteen

Now Challenge screens the game shows, but there all so ******* old
We've already seen all these games, they've already all been sold
I do not mean to sound too flippant, but why wont you be told
Your sending your viewers up the wall, and your audiences cold
Now let me state what's obvious, I hope I am not too bold
We don't want all these rehashed games, there hardly TV gold
st64 Nov 2013
let's all hold hands, dearly loved ones
and express gratitude for those living..
        as if..
the table high-decked with every sweet-meat
        fennel-sprigs clipped and hazelnut-oil on roast
        a mixed-salad of vivacity and touch of chili in sauce
        a dose of pesto and a dash of chopped-chive
        a pinch of salt on cut sweet-pepper
and so much more....
        means that much

but do they remember..?
surely they do



1.
there was a time when she needed you
but your harsh-judgment turned its back in stiff-penalty
which later led the flow of her life in slow-drip out
on the filthy-floor of a public restroom
as she pushed out her legacy
alone and no friend
                 to grip her departing-hands
                 to clean up the red-mess
                 to wipe down the bawling new-
blob
surviving its necessary-squirm on the cracked-tiles

you heard the knock-of-need at your Hellenic-door
and the pillow you flattened and stuffed further in
    you couldn't offer a slit of time
    you wouldn't open that wretched-door
    you could not stop choking back old-tears
and when you checked your porch in the evening
your recently-scraped leukocytes blew a green-fuse
a small white-cat in a corner sat pondering your move
as a pile of singed-feathers lay in neat-disorder

now, here you are, grimacing with her crying-babe in arms
this poor orphan will be at bitter-play with some coarse-baubles
just like her scraggly mother, but she'll outlive that false *stain



2.
you swallow two blue-ones
        lose track of yourself
you never remember what you forgot
while you glibly insult those who pass by
belittling their big-arses and blue mini-purses
until the cycle goes round that beguiling-circuit once more
and you can't open a paxity-envelope with arthritic-heart
'cause you'd endure anything not to relive..
until tinkling-coins are all you hear falling
from your grandfather's endless-pocket


3.
appearing at the side of the latest arrival
we all welcome the burly-figure yet with tapered-fingers
who sits next to me and we try a smile, comes out dry
    I lost my grandchild to an accident last spring
    and he lost his daughter (we learn)
hello, Ixion.. yes, so sorry to hear..

he recounts his open-horror and mouth-dropping hell-tale
of his sweet-kin's blind-search for escape
he acknowledges what he never could.. at home
his final gin-soaked treachery against humanity

I am silent in here
I am at odds with this circle of strangers
          who pour out laden-things, some getting their catharsis
          everyone talks of how they loved and who was lost
but who remembers the broken-lives left behind
on the rickety and twisted conveyor-belt of life?

     my daughter now believes she sees her child's face in trees
     and has taken to counting each and every new-leaf she sees
                                                            ­                              fall
                              ­                                                            fall
­     when she remembers to open her eyes (in her morning)
                                         to step off her bed
                                         to go to the toilet
                                         to blot out the sun
                      to count the leaves on windy-days
she ends up re-counting and I have no heart
                      to correct her
                      to fix the frustrations that fate fuel-flung her way

I wonder.. where she learnt this habit?
they do say all behaviour is
learned..

daylight beckons again in gentle, yellow slants
and I recall the two silver-marbles in my pocket
       on its secret-bed of old-leaves, some soft and some crunchy
       thirsty for the soothing-touch of my fidgety-fingers
count.. one, two..
                      one, two..
                               one, two..
yes, one for her.. and  w-w-w-w.. one
for me

one two.......

(oh, one too many a disaster - perhaps perdition has a friendly-face
and I sit with her 'neath
the three trees in the alcove-garden)





some things don't escape the sheer drop
of.. resultant excess-distress
in dark-parched mind-tunnels
untrod for fear of slipping..
in the mess




(now, everyone.. it grows cold
let's eat)






S T - 22 nov 2013
fancy a deck?
hm... thought not!

anyhow.. when I took off my hat today
I found this poem stuck inside
ha.. it musta fallen out me head.. lol





sub-entry: brink

on last hard-brink
unexpected fine-link

wondrous-pearls
on the deep sea-bed

blink once.. and then
dive...
Edna Sweetlove May 2015
This is a prose tale about the great superhero, SNOGGO
(as told in the first person by SNOGGO to his amanuensis, Edna)

*'You can't have "Jew",' I said.
'Why not? It's a perfectly good word. Are you anti-semitic or something?'
'Jew has a capital J,' I said.
'Not necessarily. I've used it before.'
'Not with me you haven't. There's the dictionary. Look it up.'

Jumbo grudgingly picked up the Shorter Oxford and looked up "Jew". He sniffed loudly, slammed the dictionary shut and removed the tiles from the board. His replacement word was a sodding disaster.

'That's twenty-four points you've cost me with your nit-picking, you *******,' he said through gritted yellow teeth, his flabby body shaking with rage. 'The J was on a triple letter score.'

I sneered derisively and laughed long and loud, making Jumbo froth at his ugly fat nostrils with anger.

'Watch this and weep, Jumbo,' I said, playing out all seven of my tiles onto the board to create a stunning word: UNZIPPED. 'The Z's on a double letter score and it's all on a triple word score, so that's 90, plus 50 for playing all my tiles, 140 in total and the end of the game,' I declared in triumph. Jumbo was caught with 14 in his hand (remember: he still had the J) and thus I, the great SNOGGO, became Greenwich Scrabble Champion for the 25th year running. Not only that: but 25 consecutive defeats in the final for Jumbo.

Jumbo roared in frustration as he saw his hopes of taking the coveted 24ct gold "Queen Anne" cup away from me, SNOGGO, dashed to the ground yet again. And, by centuries old tradition, 25 consecutive victories meant the priceless cup was now mine to keep for ever. Jumbo's scream of uncontrollable, incandescent rage could have been heard as far away as the Vanbrugh Hill Municipal Waste Disposal Centre.

'******* you for all ******* eternity,' he bellowed unsportingly as he waddled out of the cheering hall. In so doing he flouted the gentlemen's convention of always staying to take part in the closing ceremony. He missed seeing me, the great SNOGGO, receive the shining gold cup from the gnarled hands of the Lady Mayoress, the Hon. Mrs Snotte-Wragge, who whispered in my ear 'Fancy a quick **** later, back at the mayoral parlour, SNOGGO dear?' For the fifth year in a row I told her to go and get stuffed as I didn't go for ugly old bats with arses on them like a double-decker bus.

Later that evening, as I sat in the splendid Georgian surroundings of Snoggo Manor, cradling the gold cup and admiring the row of 25 Championship certificates on the walls of my elegant dining room, finishing off my second bottle of Bollinger Grand Cru '89 and stuffing my 18th oyster down my happy throat, I heard a knock on the door. Who could that possibly be at nearly midnight?

It was Jumbo, my fat defeated foe. He looked downcast. 'SNOGGO,' he said, 'I've come to offer my apologies for my inappropriate behaviour earlier. You deserved to win, you are the finest scrabbler in all of Greenwich. I have come to offer you the hand of friendship and to invite you to my humble home for a midnight snack to celebrate your stirring victory.'

'Jumbo,' I replied, 'that's uncommon civil of you, old man. And your timing is excellent, as I've just finished my apéritif and was on the verge of kicking Mrs SNOGGO, my new 17-year old Thai mail order wife, out of her hammock to make my supper. So what's on the menu, squire?'

'Well,' said Jumbo, 'I was thinking of pâte de foie gras - naturally made by Mrs Jumbo using our own force-fed geese, with a bottle of Château d'Yquem '78 to start with. Then perhaps a kilo of blood-red filet mignon avec pommes frites, washed down with a rather good magnum of Brouilly '99. Then there's Mrs Jumbo's famed cheeseboard with a tumbler full of vintage port, followed by a dozen crêpes suzettes, a few petits cafés, a monster Armagnac and a giant Havana each.'

I considered the proposed menu carefully before replying. 'Sounds quite good to me, Jumbo,' I declared, glancing over his shoulder at the Bentley waiting outside. I could just see the peaked chauffeur's cap of the diminutive Mrs Jumbo peering myopically over the leather-covered steering wheel.

And so, having told Mrs Snoggo to tidy up a bit whilst I was out, I went off to dinner with Jumbo. In all our 25 years of Scrabble rivalry I had never once set foot into his house, so I was eager to check out what sort of lifestyle he enjoyed. Once inside Jumbo Villa, I cast my eyes over the luxurious furnishings with an expert eye, evaluating their immense worth and rarity with incredible perspicacity and knowledge.

'Not a bad pad you've got here, Jumbo,' I conceded. 'Not in the same class as Snoggo Manor, of course, but still ****** impressive.' He was visibly flattered by my compliment.

'A glass of sherry while we wait for Mrs Jumbo to serve us?' queried Jumbo jovially. I sniffed at the huge portion of delicious amber nectar appreciatively. 'Lustau Amoroso Bodega Marquès de Mierda '42?' I guessed instinctively. Jumbo nodded. '******* spot on, SNOGGO,' he admitted in stunned amazement.

I took an enormous gulp and felt the alcohol hit me like a slam in the abdomen from Cassius Clay's butcher and more vicious brother. The room spun and I closed my eyes in resigned delight.

When I came to I found myself hanging unclothed in chains on the wall of a dank cellar. My head was pounding and I felt distinctly below par. I looked over my shoulder and beheld Jumbo standing there with a sjambok in his hand. He was stark ******* naked, naked as the day he was born, and I have never seen anything so repulsive in all my life (with the sole exception of that incredible day when, as a child, I caught my paternal grandparents bonking on the Persian rug in the Great Hall at Snoggo Manor on Christmas Eve). Jumbo’s huge pendulous ******* sagged over his bloated fat belly, which itself hung so low his genitals were mercifully hidden from my view. He was a ******* monstrosity.

The tiny Mrs Jumbo stood to the rear of the cellar, also naked, pallid and with her public hair died a shocking pink. She was a skinny freak, a vision of *** Hell. I noticed the tattoo on her belly. It showed a depiction of the crucifixion which I felt was in dubious taste, especially with Jesus sporting an enormous *******.

What I, the wonderful SNOGGO, suffered in the next few hours was truly indescribable, so I will only summarise it. After a seemingly endless whipping from Jumbo (assisted by Mrs Jumbo, but her puny lash strokes were almost pleasurable), accompanied by their combined frenzied cries of demented hatred and loathing, I was forced to suffer the supreme humiliation. Jumbo mounted a set of fine Regency library steps, positioned his Hellish lumpen body behind me and unceremoniously inserted his tiny ***** into my outraged ****. Oh the shame! Oh the shame!

‘O Jesus Christ help me!’ I yelled in rain and pain. And suddenly a voice spoke unto me. 'O great SNOGGO,' it intoned, 'thou needst not suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune so needlessly. Only have faith in me, the great loving Jesus, and I shall give thee strength to deal with thy ******* awful tribulations.'

It was a miracle! SNOGGO could and would be saved! Quickly I mumbled a couple of Ave Marias remembered from my youth as a leading mutual masturbator in the chapel choir, and I silently promised a quick twenty thousand quid to the local faggotty priest ******* fund, and my chains fell to the floor with a blast of heavenly thunder. Halle-*******-luliah!

'Right, Jumbo you fat ****,' I snapped, 'you have ******* had it.'

And with one mighty blow of my right arm I smashed him against the wall. His huge hideous body crumpled as he slid to the floor, blood oozing from his fat gob. I gave him a ****** good kicking in the face and in the heart region and shortly he went to meet his maker, with a sickening grunt and expulsion of *****.

Then I turned to the horrified naked ugly skinny tattooed Mrs Jumbo and said: 'OK, *******, where's my ******* supper?'

She shrugged and headed upstairs to prepare the meal I had been promised by Jumbo earlier, as I was seriously hungry by this stage. Little did she know I would be obliged to put her out of her misery later. Or if she were lucky, I might offer her a position as unpaid toilet cleanser chez moi.

Yes, it was yet another stunning victory for the fabulous SNOGGO, thanks to timely divine intervention for which I am very much obliged.

And don't forget my luscious 17-year old Thai mail bride would be waiting to give me a really good ******* once I got back to Snoggo Manor. Either that or I would give her a good belting and send her back to her grotty poverty-stricken village with a demand for a full refund, chop chop.
Bathsheba Nov 2010
They say it scars you for life!

They say it consumes your soul!

They say you never get over it!

They say a lot of things …

Am I so

different?

Or maybe?

I’m

just

Indifferent!

Who knows?

I don’t know

I really don’t know


I often peek inside the rusty old bucket of dead babies that I keep in the loft

And?

I feel nothing

Not a **** thing

Feeble

Formed

Foetuses

Swirling around and around and around

and around and around

and around


Why is it that I have no pain?

Why do I not crave my dead babies?

I couldn’t even tell you when they fell out

When they made a run for it

When they thought “**** this …. I’m out of this *****”

Does that make me a bad person?

Would it be more acceptable if I was distraught and inconsolable?

Then you could all pat me on the back and collect my tears

Well ….

Heres the news …

“There’s NO ******* tears here, baby!”

So you all can take your sanctimonious ******* and shove it straight up your sympathetic compassionate arses

In fact

I’ll even lay a wager that if this was

YOU

YOU

would run

through

Imaginary birthdays

Imaginary names

Conceptions

Etc

"Sshhhh ….. Don’t mention babies in front of her"

She is so fragile

Full of so much love

A tiny delicate little flower

Full of so much love

MILK IT *****

COS TONIGHT I’LL BE HOWLING AT THE MOON SURROUNDED BY DANCING DEAD BABIES
Ben Brinkburn Feb 2013
Stained asphalt
flickering sodium lights
pavement art
ambulance chasing
motorway drone
crushed cans and ripped pizza boxes
kebab debris
scared cats
gum scarred concrete
burnt out ******* bins congealed plastic
dripping
overflowing bottle banks
used condoms hung on a line
fox ****
streetscene collapse
bottles arranged along a wall one two three
one lone shoe
in the road
sealed up letter boxes one with a message
written in black felt pen on brown parcel tape
‘If you are bothering to read this
you a *******’
kicked in door
steel shuttered shops
burnt out wheelie bin one lump of plastic
very impressive
smoking employees behind the Co-op
one knows Barb thumbs up
I return the thumb
walking
a woman shouting at a priest: ‘But all he wants to be is
a woman’
torn pages from a ***** mag ****** up arses
***** in mouths
piles of brochures newspapers flyers dumped in a doorway
a few quid scammed can’t get the delivery help
these days
someone parking a Audi nice and shiny
looks up and down the street
wary
kids slumped smoking skunk outside the library
a derelict sat on a wall grinning *** in mouth
tells me I have a happy face and offers his bottle to me
I take it and have a slug
trudging
dog crapping in middle of wide clean pavement
someone walking past muttering
‘never in Peru’
I stand opposite my flat and think of bombs
and a cacophony of alternative universes
and small candles shaped like eggs
a bald headed postman drives up to the letter box
techno blasting from his little red van
Molly Upstairs shouts something unintelligible
before throwing a small package down
the postie watches it descend from the sky
and catches it
without a smile
these are the days of unwholesome atmospheres
but it’s all I have so I don’t mind
it’s better than being kept in a box
with the lid
sealed tight.
Edna Sweetlove Mar 2015
A Barry Hodges poem by Edna*

I remember a girlfriend called Mary
Whose ***** was exceedingly hairy;
She came from Newcastle;
And the stench of her *******
Converted me into a fairy.

Thus I rejected your Glorias and Glendas
In frilly white bras and suspenders;
And sought sweet catharsis
From the nice juicy arses
Of poofters and other gay benders.

Redemption came to me from Millie:
A big girl, a well-padded filly;
She was just a Geordie
And really quite ******
But her **** smelled as sweet as a lily.
RH 78 Dec 2014
A willing volunteer
It was out of my hands
Not my choice
No regrets.
Should have seen the signs
Went in blind
Naive to think I could trust you
My style never changed
You lured me in
For your own hidden agenda
Massaged my ego
I kept my options open
You found out
You took it personally
You took it the wrong way
I broke your trust
You sought revenge
I read the signs
You tried to trick me
You turned the tables
Hindered my growth
Made me a scapegoat
Damaged my reputation
Stitched me up
Left me out on a limb
You acted on impulse
You spoke too soon
You showed your cards
I held the aces
I made sacrifices to meet the target
I made mistakes
I left myself exposed
You thought you were clever
I knew your next move
You couldn't predict what was coming next.
You never chose me
I was rejected
Not valued
Not appreciated
Shame on you and your accomplice
Exposed for what you are
A pair of bullies
No turning back
I've had enough
I'm going
Going
Gone!
You grin
I saw through it
I'm no clown
I'm just a fool for exposing my weaknesses to a pair of manipulative *******!
My character traits twisted to bolster your own selfish positions.
Surpression is the lowest form of greed threatened by my presence.
I'm no longer your target but now direct competitor.
Watch your backs
I'm on a mission to crush your egos to mush you pair of ******!
I will Expose you for the clowns you've become.
Blowing smoke up each other's arses does nothing to build up the team.
A dog will always bite if provoked.
Edna Sweetlove Mar 2015
DEDICATED TO THE FAT HIDEOUS BETTY, MY NEIGHBOUR

*
Does anyone here know of a good mohel?
As I urgently need someone to circumcise
My neighbour's Yorkshire terrier, canine boil
Needing lancing, joybringing to my eyes.
A kindly mohel simply will not do;
He must lack scruple and human pity;
That hound’s not been bathed for a year or two
So th'event might turn out a bit ******.
Yorkshire terriers are of two classes:
The insistent yapping ones we all hate
And the ***** ones with hairy arses;
But both look good nailed to your garden gate.
And he needn't be a mohel either,
Merely someone with a willing cleaver.
Yorkshire terriers are a sort of fantasy creature: fantastically repulsive. They are also part of Nature: a repulsive part of Nature, but still part of it. It would be a beautiful sight to see my neighbour's dog nailed up, his tongue lolling out of his hideous gob, drooling in death.
nick armbrister Sep 2021
The Big Boss
My manager is a locust brain
He doesn’t know what he’s doing

My manager is a locust brain
The job is kaos when he’s in charge here

My manager is a locust brain
Production takes a dip under him

My manager is a locust brain
He got the job by kissing arses

My manager is a locust brain
The supervisor is much more skilled

My manager is a locust brain
I ignore him due to his utter ineptitude

My manager is a locust brain
Even the toilet cleaner hates him!

My manager is a locust brain
Because he can’t read or write

My manager is a locust brain
Due to his lack of experience and *****

My manager is a locust brain
Simply because he’s my manager

My manager is a locust brain
And we’re gonna set him on fire!

My manager is a locust brain
Is my manager no longer cos he’s dead!
party zone with johnny brown




johnny’   hi dudes and welcome to party zone and we are having a ball especially seeing the dockers

beat the tigers over in perth for nab cup and here is fred todo is dockers chant


fred’   oooh yeah oooh yeah freo way to go

we kicked the tigers arses tonight, freo way to go

carn the fremantle dockers

you see it was a nice day in perth

where two great teams, one won easily and that was the dockers

i only wish that i was there rather than hanging around in the city

you see fremantle missed out on the grand final in 2015

but we will make the nab cup ours my friend, ready to p p party

free way to go, kick the tigers back to melbourne ya know

free way to go, we are the fremantle dockers

go the dockers

johnny’ thanks fred and now here is noelene with it’s my party

noelene’  it’s my party and i will enjoy life if i want to, enjoy life if i want to

enjoy life if i want, it’s my party and i will enjoy life if i want to

you would enjoy life too if you were here too

nobody knows where peter has gone we entered the club the same time

he can’t be gone because i would’ve noticed that, so where the **** has he gone

you see the party is over and we are talking and talking

but i can’t enjoy myself without peter around

i try and enjoy life, but it’s hard for me too, cause peter could be dead

it’s my party and i will enjoy myself if i want to enjoy life if i want to

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want to every single day

you see i bought a can of bourbon and looked all over for peter

but he was nowhere around, and i let out a frown and i looked like an old digger

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want if i want if i really want to

it’s my party and i can enjoy life if i want to all night long

johnny’  thanks noelene and now here is thomas with 3 jokes


thomas’  ok the first joke is

how many blondes does it take to ***** in a light bulb?

need to know ASAP


At the real life top gun program     the one the film was based on

there is a $5 fine for any staffer who references or quotes the movie


a canadian psychologist is selling a video that teaches you how

to test your dogs IQ.  here how it works

if you spend $12.99 for the video, your dog is smarter than you


johnny’   ha ha ha, thank you thomas and now here is pamela with her entertainment piece

i party you party every single day

you party me party right till the end of the day

you see your puppy is getting fat from eating too much puppy pal

and we need to start an exercise program

where the puppy has to get fit

my cat goes meow meow meow

my cat goes meow, when he wants something to eat

my cow goes mooooo moooooo moooooo

my cow goes moooooo when she has some dairy for us

my sheep goes ba ba ba  my sheep goes ba ba ba

my sheep goes ba ba ba, when he ****** needs to be sheered


johnny’  thanks pamela, and now here is olly with his song

olly’   if you a happy and you know it, have a party

are you a bit of a smarty.

if you are happy and you love life like you wife does

if your happy and you know it have a party

do you get happy when you drink a glass of beer

or do you get happy when you have a pina colada

are you happy and you know it, and you want someone to dance with

if you are happy and you know it, have a party

johnny’  now here is another joke this time from craig

craig’   why do dogs always race to the door when the doorbell rings”

it’s hardly ever for them

johnny’  yeah i hate the knock on the door when i am in the middle of my favourite show, it’s bad

and now here is paul with his jingle

have you got the right to party

have you the right to be a smarty

no matter what i wanna see yoooou

i want to pull my ******, and think of dragging a woman home with me

and we can have a lot of made up ***

we can definitely take it

and we will break it

we will surely take it, oh yeah

do i have the right to be here

do i deserve to party

i think so, because i work very hard

i want to drink a coffee to **** the hangover

because partying is my middle name, ooooh yeah


johnny’   ok that is all and  there ain’t no more, but here is craig with a joke way to go, craig

craig’   my 5 year old son is crazy about cars, so i took him to his first car show. he loved seeing

all the different models and brands and gushed over the big engines, the colours and even the wheels

but the car was mostly ……  see you if you could guess it

johnny’   ok thanks, and we will see you next time on party zone with johnny brown

gooooooodbye dudes
Marshal Gebbie Jun 2012
Greetings Sissa,

Sunday morning early we walked along the wild black sand beach at the bottom of our road at Taranaki. For once the sea was quiescent, tranquil even. A gentle surge but the air was freezing. A heavy white frost cloaked our pasture at home and the grazing cows were snorting eruptions of hot breath from their nostrils. Over our shoulder old Egmont loomed, whiter than white with a heavy mantle of fresh snow, the foothills just behind home had a good coating too.

Quite often janet & I will bolt out of the sack, just before dawn, have a quick cuppa & drive up to Pukeiti for a walk through the gardens & the bush. We get the beautiful dawn chorus of the birdlife and it is SPECTACULAR!

We planted out some flowering “Companionata” cherry trees..great for the visiting tui’s in spring. They get highly territorial…my tree!..and have ding **** battles, chasing each other at high speed through the bush. Amazing aerobatics. We’ve got dozens of these trees scattered around the place now…in ten years the spring blossom show will be amazing.

Had a bit of bad luck with the vehicle lately, blew the core out of the radiator & cooked the motor, fixed that, drove 24ks down the road and the motor computer died. These things are like hen’s teeth to replace. I found there is a national waiting list of 11 owners sitting on dead landcruisers waiting for 2nd hand computers for the 93 auto model!!! And the 2nd hand computers here are selling for $3000!!
I even wrote to Greg in the States to see if he could pick one up for me…. Then I happened upon this little Asian bloke, just around the corner, who said”Oh I can fix that for you”!....cost me $196….I nearly kissed him!
Anyway mobile again and the old crate is running ,once again, like ****** clock!....but expensive when she stuffs up.

We are both working like automatons….you and your old man would know ALL about that!
We work 12 hours /day, 6 days/week then we jump in the car and launch off to Taranaki, 5 hours distant, to work our arses off, down there all Saturday, then, the next day, Sunday, pack up and barrel off 5 hours up the road back to Auckland… just in time to ****** a few hours sleep before the coming weeks work!....*******!

Sometimes I wonder what the hell it is all about.

Quite enjoying the new job, I’m the “Plant Coordinator” for the Waterview Project.
I keep track of all the plant scattered over miles and miles of construction site, tabulate plant movements, keep the hire companies honest and keep our operators operating! Involves constant driving from site to site, constant computer entries in my trusty laptop and a hellava lot of vigilance because every ******* is trying to beat the ****** system. Much more interesting than the Storman’s job, much more vibrant, much more confrontational!

Just the thing for an adolescent 67 year old.

That’s it from me…. Hope you are happy and keeping it all together. Hope the kids are doing well… mine are all pretty busy and happy with their lot…. Got a lovely call from Boaz at some unearthly hour on Sunday morning… Looks like he will be back in godzone during August.
Obama’s government is giving foreign workers a hard time in the States….too many Yanks out of work in their own country…so he is awaiting his Visa renewal and is doubtful that it will eventuate. Incredibly, his boss just told him that he would like to keep Boaz there, (In the States) for another five years of the projects life!!
Pretty ****** good for a country boy from National Park!

Gotta go, luvya Siss, love to Royboy & a big smootch for the girls.

M
The room was packed in a kinda vacant almost like my mind way.
People posting words most spelled right most all  deep with big words which I really didnt understand.
Dam you kindergarden why didnt I pay more attention !

I was deep in some sort of cult meeting.
I belive people in that third world country called Canada people
call it a poetry reading.
You here to share your work sir?

the woman asked in a strange way unlike most women she didnt seem to be armed with anything but thoose dam tassers were getting smaller and smaller everyday but hey it isnt how big your tasser is it's how
you use it right girls?
Im know im not right.

The grand dragon or queen and owner of the cult approached the mic with a lingering want in his eyes
he gripped the mic firmly in his hands and from the way he handled the mic i could tell this was a man who enjoyed holding a mic in his hands hmmm must be playing for the other team like Green Bay Packers.
But enough about the man for who's name I cant mention or i'll be thrown in the princeple's office yet again.
And no man should have to face that *** dungeon by themself or at least without being paid first.


Hello poet's welcome to are open mic night he said in a very manish like Justin Bieber tone.
Oh baby but enough with the forplay children.

One by one the group said there verses covering many subjects most which were about fairy tales
like love and men who put down the seat after taking a **** duh who ever does that!?
And as these hampsters went through there woe's and tales of  lakes and long walks on the beach many had to question on such a deep level.

What the **** was ******* up semi insane ****** with a heart of gold like myself doing the **** here?
Im kidding im not a ****** I never charge.

And now fellow poets id like to welcome a very special guest.
Please give a warm poetry welcome to notorious black sheep of the site
one word can only describe him the man the mith the ******* who's so long winded he'll
put you into a coma Gonzo.


Without wasting time to speak utter nonsense in a utter crap style
Drew how we miss you.
I stood befor the group.

The silence a strange sister indeed many looked and i could tell what they thought
Whos this long winded *******.
Okay that kinda hurt.

I took a nice long breath of air in looked to the cult leader handed him my drink .
And began.

Poetry what can I say about it ?
Why did I ever start writting?
You may belive it was to voice the inner struggels of daily torment to give art to chaos.
Yes indeed.
Ahh **** folks im kidding i just did it to  make chicks think i was deep and its the only sport ive played where being a drunk is just a added plessure

Hey we can express are pain or just party are little drunken arses off
Me I only drink twice a week.
Weekdays and weekends.

Sure I could have come here been serious uptight never cracked a joke or mispelled anything cause i was having a few social bottles of whiskey with a like garnish of acid but what fun would that be?

Look everyone needs to laugh and every class needs clown just like every town its *****.
And every village its mispelling  idiot!
A voice said interupting my epic speech theres always a smart *** somewhere
but hey that was a good one ******.

Mr Gonzo is there any advice you can give us to make this write any longer?
Why yes young little hampster.
Always carry plenty  of cash for the strippers write more about drinking and *******.
And most of all Stay Crazy


Oh yeah and if your parents like your writing  it probaly *****.

And from the hushed voices i could tell i had touched the young minds but not in a weird avoid uncle Charlie and his nonexistant candy bar in the pocket kinda way.

It was more like uhh what the **** is he on and I hope insanity isnt catching cause i was
sitting next to that perve kinda way.

And so like a mad hatter or a kinda weird guy dressed like one at a all you can eat buffet
I was off.
And as I  put the pinto to the wind I herd the   applause
As that person for which we do not name said.
And finally that twisted freak Gonzo has left the building
Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water.
I know some annoying little ***** always takes a leak in the pool.
No wonder i stay in the pub.
Mike Hopkins Nov 2011
Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
the way you look over your glasses
as you kick those journos’ arses
I love your hairy nostrils and your square double chin
but most of all I love the way you know everythin’
not a skerrick of doubt, any subject, any time
you can hold forth. you’re ready to chime

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you don’t need no research. no need to hold back
here is your wisdom, you’re on the attack
here is the gospel according to Tuckey
you front them with macho, you front them so plucky
you tell them the answers straight from the heart
they look like stunned mullets as you take them apart

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you run rings round those greenies, those tree hugging ****
with their talk about warming, their climate change glum
I trust you Wilson, you know better than them
you can leave them all gobstruck with a home spun gem

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you can spot a terrorist at a hundred paces
the ones with the beards and the slightly dark faces
we don’t want them here taking our jobs and houses
with their Qurans and burqas and baggy white trousers

Wilson Tuckey, I love you man
you show us what it means to be Australian
some call you redneck, some say you’re not cool
but you are our bedrock, you are no fool
you are the brown substance of this wide, sunburnt land
and that’s why, Wilson Tuckey, I really, really, really love you man.
©Mike Hopkins
Blog: mistakenforarealpoet.wordpress.com

Wilson Tuckey is / was a particularly colourful and, in my mind, obnoxious Western Australian politician. He lost his seat in the Senate at the last election. 'Journo' is an Australian journalist. 'gobstruck' is shocked or lost for words.
jeffrey robin Nov 2010
the elections are over

"politician as surrogate lover"
(or mother)
is not  a good idea

being  DOOMED we pretended  
to be "revolutionary"
while kissing oligarchic arses

only the names of the corpses
were altered a bit
(not much)

we fall in love based on "fashion"
and peer pressure

as if a lover is just something
who has won our "vote"

the elections are over

we are leader-less
lover-less

and

DOOMED

we'll do better next time

wont we?
pauldeeeeee Jul 2011
there are times that i would just let my mind wander.. trying to dissipate the negativity from down under.. and sometimes it makes me wonder.. why our days of freedom have gone asunder.. i  am here to state mans divinity.. cant you see? the lies that have been layed out to runneth with oils and minerals being poured into our pockets like honey bees.. this poem will set us free.. waking us up to see all of the earths crease.. their lies will never cease.. thats why i am here to state mans divinity.. there is no more time segregation nor fear.. the time for a new age draws near.. we, the special beings down here, cry for freedom and peace.. to stop people counting 365 days a year.. are we part of the solution? or are we part of the pollution? these things aint supposed to be.. keep singing tunes and reciting rhyme schemes while holding a bag of trees, passing the time from within the seems.. our lives play like movies in dreams.. unaccepting the truths that the lies bring.. gone are the days where our hearts can just sing.. nowadays it's all about the bling.. and all the world wait for their mobile phones to go kring.. where are the times when time was just a fling.. where society actually cared about their men.. not treating them like arses and hens.. we holla at the lies being shown.. not realizing that everything we buy, they own.. our minds are being controlled and our spirits are being blown.. i am here to state mans divinity.. able to create from here to infinity.. all the hatred of the world is hatt brought me here to embrace and understand duality.. to know why we have this affinity.. it is much like a coin, there are heads and tails.. but those heads never see those tales.. thats because we catch what would eventually fail.. so i step inside myself and set sail.. to a journey from within our own grail.. to find the love that will set our goal.. that love vibration will shine so fast and so bright that it will emanate through our soul.. let that beat sing through the possibility of this positivity of this little bowl.. so i say stay away from the system.. and let teachers, teach.. let prophets, preach.. these words will never expire because of the beats of these beaches.. stop taking these leeches given to us by the men in robes to hide their faces.. changing their scenes to ruin our inner places.. our homes are invaded by brands that are faceless.. rappers spit about the incompetence of men and the riches of non-repentance.. i am here to state the divinity of man.. and yet i have spoken truths about this duality.. hope is what keeps the humility.. and love gives the vibration of our frozen cryogenic anenemity.. we must not fear ourselves.. those demons inside of us is part of the lies that they make us buy.. those are guardians.. able to protect and grow inside of us.. i am to state mans divinity.. so are you part of the fear? or are you part of the ones who want to be set free?

pauldeeeeee
1may2011
Mateuš Conrad Sep 2016
why is everyone so ******* sensitive these days? Brine Kaiser? die Norden Kaiser? well, Tsar and Fuhrer taught them well... the Brits want to smoke the Poles out in providing a narrative... the empire is gone... gone gone gone... i'm just curious... why is everyone so sensitive these days? personally? i obstruct any point of monotheistic orthodoxy with the Malachi heresy of the concept of reincarnation... Christianity doesn't and Islam doesn't really bother me... Harry Enfield said enough to counter: said as much; if ever you were looking for the perfect cloning mechanics, i'd look at Christianity and Islam... god... using these words in any rational discussion can make anyone and everyone seem so ****** barbaric.

you already heard of the Hebraic version
of democracy *ecce ****
- in Christ, and thus said:
in the outer-Roman conquerors or Yiddish
and Holocaust -
the twisted Hindu doctrine -
thus the crowd bellowed -
and thus, the crowd, received -
to what waking hour are
we to be woken to in fear?
as this fear, perpetrates to be
heard and resound in profoundness?
or hath no Jew a clue
as to weave an answer?
                       except that concerning
Palestine?! then so be said: as
it would be done -
                         or keeping
to a polytheistic doctrine
at its centre Malachi's reincarnation mantra -
then too spat on,
rejected,               admonished -
             then by equal cure: also
done unto by equating measure;
for i have no cherry to cherish
in the suburbs of Jerusalem,
as i have no figs to break Ramadan with
to suit a Muslim -
            both to me both are deservedly walled in -
and inclined to take each other's lives -
                 and should be entombed
in their jealousy of heated dispute -
both are worth the wall,
with one wall the Jews built to encode
an exclusion of Arabs, then i, with a second,
exclude the Jew with Arab,
and a second wall, beginning with
the Ottoman and ending with the Saudi -
there: each rat to eat his own...
and learn monotheism as if he were learning
cannibalism;
anyone with other lessons reside here: and the future
of that region is spared in retaining the present...
leave 'em to it, like rat eating rat in
a tomb of awaited death...
                  leave them, to it:
just so i can hear the peasant eat the rabbis
of quickened-tongues when they start dressing-up
    to a spectacle: authority of dress from imam
and rabbi... authority of dressing up,
never, never, the learning curvatures of what
expansion: in the beginning was the word: reason -
   or the one who didn't dress-up
              in fancy dress, but made eloquent
his reasons, and the impersonal god -
                       the pepper in the arses of the crowd:
as said: ants in my pants and i was about to say: termites:
'cos i was woody Allen and a full-bloodied ****...
        come north, come north,
they came north... what attacked the Romans
they thought wouldn't attack them; oh gee... it did.
brick them up together, them along with the Palestinians,
i want the Saudi reaction... they're rich enough
to give me one; if they don't? i'll ask the Bangladeshi
slaves who built the Dubai tower about how one fares
in the desert.
Ashley Haack Jan 2015
He wont admit it, atleast not out loud,
But he's so sweet, and smart, and funny,
He makes me blush when I feel like crying,
He makes me laugh when I feel sick as hell,
He holds me close and makes me feel safe,
He argues with me about the most stupid of things,
He refuses to let me call him attractive,
But he scolds me for saying I'm not pretty,
Sometimes it feels like he's more stuborn then me,
And deep down we have a connection,
Some strong, unbreakable bond,
We're both stuborn arses at times,
But we both know we love each other,
More and more, no matter what,
Even the stuborn bits.
Terry Collett Nov 2013
Lizbeth cycled in from the town
and set her bike
against a fence
and asked your mother

where you were
out somewhere
your mother told her
bird watching

or digging up old bones
in the woods
oh ok
Lizbeth said

and walked back out
on the dusty road
and walked down
the small lane

by the cottages
birds calling
mostly rooks
high up

in the trees
or the flutter of wings
as birds flew
from hedgerows

at her approach
she trod carefully
between the cow pats
on the lane down

her black Wellingtons
touching the hem
of her black skirt
the green top

short sleeved
showing
her thin arms
a steam ran slowly

on her right
over pebbles
and stones
and weeds

and then she saw you
by a tree
looking up
through binoculars

unaware
of her approach
didn't know
you bird watched

she said
breaking
into your world
of birds and nature

with her words
you gazed at her
her red hair
drawn tightly

into a ponytail
at the back
of her head
her freckled skin

the greeny eyes
not much else
to do
you said

us London boys
have a lot to learn
in this
off the beaten track

of a place
she nodded
and stared
her eyes focusing in

at the bird book
in your hand
and binoculars
around your neck

what's London like?
she asked
like Dante's Inferno
you replied

whose?
she said
who the heck is he
when he's at home?

you walked towards her
tucking the bird book
in the back pocket
of your jeans

Italian poet
you said
wrote the Divine Comedy
you added

she raised her eyebrows
and gave you
that I'm none the wiser stare
thought I'd come

and see you
out of school
she said
remembered

your address
nice of you to come
you said
unsure why she'd come

to this neck
of nowhere land
I saw your mother
Lizbeth said

she told me
you'd be bird watching
or digging up bones
in the woods

she had that
I'm getting bored look
the way she stood
don't get the chance

to talk with you
at school
what with
the separate playgrounds

and nosey kids in class
thinking there's
a big romance
if you talk

to a member
of the opposite ***
she looked older
than her 13 years

much older than you
being the same age
and the boys
are pretty much

dumb arses in class
except for you
she added
looking at you

with her green eyes
want to see
my collection
of bird eggs

and old bones?
you said
where are they?
she asked

in my bedroom
you replied
oh
she said

odd place
to keep old bones
nowhere else
to keep them

you said
ok
she said
and walked with you

up the country lane
and in the gate
and along the path
to the cottage door

will your mother mind?
she asked
why should she?
you asked

no reason
just that my mother
would give you
the third degree

under a bright light
she said
you took her
in the back door

taking off
the muddy boots
and so did she
standing there

in her white socks
just taking Lizbeth
to see the old bones
and bird eggs

you told your mother
ok
she said giving Lizbeth
a quick glance

don't let him bore you
to death
your mother added
with a smile

Lizbeth smiled too
and followed you up
the narrow stairs
to your small bedroom

she looked around
the room
at the wooden
chest of drawers

and double bed
who sleeps
in the bed with you?
she asked

my younger brother
you said
oh
she said

staring
at the small window
that gave view
of the garden below

and the fields beyond
you showed her
the bird eggs
you'd collected

and the old bones
from the woods
kept in a glass tank
you handed her

a blackbird egg
it lay in the palm
of her hand
it looked good

and blended well
with her soft skin
and lifeline
and headlines

across the hand
fragile isn't it?
she said
bit like my heart

she added softly
she handed back the egg
and wiped her hand
on her skirt

removing invisible
or imaginary dirt
what do you do
when not watching birds

or digging for bones?
she asked
get the cows in
from the fields

or help weigh
the milk
or help my father
in the garden

or go for walks
on the Downs
you said
you certainly know

how to live
on the wild side
she said
oh not always

you said
sometimes
it can get
quite boring

and I have to read books
or watch TV
she smiled
do you think

about girls?
she asked
not much
you said

why's that?
she asked
what's to think about?
you said

seldom see them
out here in the wilds
and at school
there's little time

or opportunity
or too many
complications
or too many

ears and noses
and eyes
what about now?
here now?

she said
gazing at you
and the double bed
what about now

and here?
you asked
putting away the egg
in the tank

and closing
the lid
to keep out air
or dust

she frowned
and sighed
as if a moment
had burned out

or an old world
had died.
Mateuš Conrad Nov 2015
it was brutal past these two days,
pedantry and what not,
first came the lacklustre observation
that needed changing given the perfectionism of coining the phrase:
machina non ex ego,
then came the familiar “god” barricaded with
what proper pronoun usage there is
in the omnipresent and omnitempus rubric will allow,
what’s the first person present acquisitive collective of i in latin?
it’s clearly stated that it’s poached egg...
so me and my totem the fox tonight, the streets empty,
november rain warming the air...
guns ‘n’ roses could be playing in the background
and a wedding of trendowata / trędowata
(helen mniszków) / ***** / i.e. ń
where the bride dies on the honeymoon...
once in a honeymoon the blue moon makes a joke...
been here, done that, let’s mash up the tango with the foxtrot
while genuine genesis gets the ****-off-factor thumbs up...
peter gabriel never made it to the pop section of critics...
he remained hidden in the realm of late-composition
of mahler and whoever decided slapping lycra pants on
frying pans was definitely music.
hey, my sarcastic humour is back... which means i’m
sitting in an easy chair, drinking whiskey, listening to music...
no, actually my lower back is aching while i type
on a dinner table chair...
so the pedantic masochism that got me hot & bothered
for the past two days was changing: machina ex non-ego
to machina non ex ego
(it wasn't me... shaggy... who thought up
the need for traffic wardens... penalties for parking
on double yellow... or the one who
required michelin-star dining...
or the one who kicked a sphere into a rectangle...
i'm not the one who can claim
such social engineering... i'm not the one
behind the tomahawk...
or calling the mayan diety of wind and rain
hurakan like the polish aversion of something
behind storms an alt. spelling via huragan)...
god almighty... did you see the weather forecasts for december?
horrific!
nietzsche famously ignored america...
joseph roth didn’t...
now i’m at the stage of stealing shadows, given the theory
of actors stealing other people’s shadows, recipients
of life or not...
the only way to steal shadows from actors is in the cognitive approach...
make complete dumb-arses smart, turn the quote inside out
and forget existential ambiguity of single word meanings...
forget the spoken interpretation of the linear tetramarca (“ “)
ditto with theapprox. markings as solved, due to the explanation:
i think i said... not i think i doubted that meaning originally...
let me just change the spelling of what’s intended...
ah hell with it: “i” is worse than ~i.
this bombing of daesh is going to hurt the west...
i know why... the russians know why...
they’re doing the puppeteer tactic of war...
get a weak ruler on the throne... heat the throne up...
see the wax of the puppet melt...
see... russia sided with the assad regime...
the west didn’t side with anyone...
i can see a moral angle in favour of russia...
it bombs because it knows assad, bashar allah sad...
it wants the old honours back for the kingpin jim yong ping pong uno
(a.k.a. deep-blue-pong solo with a brick wall),
the west is playing english roulette...
it’s still the same wheel of fortune...
but the ***** are bigger... perhaps smaller...
throw a single grain of pepper / salt in for the gamble...
that’s the west for me... ****** **** ignoramus,
the ****** third cousin of the motivational coach of **** bred kim carmageddon:
oi guv! spare us a tickle!
but you know what i really really love... memories:
the time i read of kierkegaard’s faustian theory of dominion,
when a man can turn a bright spark of femininity
into a juvenille gamer too nervous to stop playing a game
and engage in conversation...
god that girl was something... but then she turned into a little
mouse who could pipsqueak the whole truth
under “supposed” interrogation...
you know that abraham came from the city called Ur
which is modern iraq?
no, you see, kierkegaard’s theory of faust, or faustian sexuality
in the book either / or is perfectly matched up
with don juan’s misogynistic polygamy - the village bicycle analogy -
he eventually becomes a conquered piece of meat
once thought to be the hand under the shawl of saint teresa...
the beatles v. the rolling stones?
bob dylan v. dylan thomas?
that quote from the devil’s advocat by al cappuccino:
‘i’m the ultimate humanist,
i’m the hand under mona lisa’s skirt!’
i vow my entry... you can have mona lisa...
my hand went right up under saint teresa’s shawl.
then i get an answer from ol’ pizza pound...
cantos xliii & xliv are undecipherable... until the usura sequence...
but then again...
he does mention a hill in canto xlii...
which could be a metaphor for the salmon swimming upstream
in the river known as writer’s block.
the tarnished amour of the we little she, he and yes, the you in me.

Pix elated images vibratory frequency of the flicker rate,
the resolution in its #x# scale and aspect ratio,

silly how we utter this vibe from the heart, vocal in rounded grounded sounded,
these words, we symbolize, individualize, characterize, initialize, authorize,
these thoughts and concepts of need and purpose, of intent, of desired effect/affect, for reason and yes even a ******* resolution.

Yet is the resolutions we seek through intended deeds and understandings of these choppy rounded uttered babbled bastardized thought into the realm of physical and manifest from the electric thoughts of our seeming lone and lonely worlds of the pitch black of the inner parts of the skull and brain so gelatinous and electro- chemically factory of the mind through the spine and the Ark of the Covenant through the helix of a Jacobs Lattered spiral stair way to heaven , is it really ******* that we have in mind of resolution? or is it te failings of this duality we have created in the love of the out pouring of our creator into this silly illusion of vibrations reflection as our truth Experiences its creations through the very minds eye of our torn , broken and forgiving hearts a blaze?

I say, need not worry of a long sentence where the heart speaks without punctuation, anticipation, nor retaliation for rendered intent, for we utilize what is of truth and all things are of God and only in existence by the living will of Love which is your conscious creator and father, tree from which our seeds of lineage do come and a family tree that deeds us all kingdoms and lands where our hearts rule endlessly and in the glory of free thought and will al in the love of learning  and remembering we never have left the garden and the heart of our creator, see the remote of this reality is the illusion, we are only all and all only the one in the dim witted yet learning love of the consciousness of the one source, our facts an truths self evident on that day soon to come for us all, wt en we snap our heads to the right in a sudden **** to realize  ***, it is truly that simple? it was all that simple? oh my, yes, just as kindergarten, where we learned, Nothing is that difficult, the only thing difficult is the us in interaction with all of existence and the flow of what is already and always has been and never was, the never never of the always has been son. the You in me, the me in you and the we in this most truly intelligent, patient, kind and everlasting life of labored and growing love of the one true creator the all , the great spirit, the Lord, the soul one, so true, the all in all and the us all in you as you witness the beauty of you in the heart of the ever growing and thriving source of all, **** friend I love you too, and you love my *** too, and together we are both silly children and foolish in ever forgetting to believe less of the truth of miracles and the in a blink of an eye reality of the garden of dreams we stand, you there, me here, and nothing but love in the in between.

Not forgoing the risk that you just might fear the reality that you are a big softy and only dislike the hearts and unicorns shooting rainbows from their arses because you find little love in what man has created, well, son, brother, sister, sit down and lets talk for a second, consider this,
all things are created by God and thus made out of pure sound of the love pouring from the trunk of this tree of life, and if you i intend to harm another ******* in the world with one of Gods Creational vibrations with your creations of will and thought , then remember that God superseded your silly ***, by allowing that hate filled intent of harm  is made from love and the intent can be stripped from the truth of weight, pain, burden, causation for another to doubt themselves ( lets be honest, this is the flat truth, you can not cause true harm without the other allowing themselves to believe the creations purpose.) and in that be harmed by a creation from you using the love of God , for you can not create **** nor anything exist outside of the love and sound of Gods being and truth, so, yeah, next time you are hurt by another's actions and deed, remember, you are a creator in this love of God too, and you can strip the intent from all things man and take it to the original truth, Gods love for you as you learn and grow in this bizarre place of day dreams we have fancied ourselves helpless too, **** we can be silly and foolish but, we will never be undone nor destroyed in the image of the face of God for we are all made of the sound of Gods love for all existence.

and thus , if you don't agree, then, thanks for playing , lol, listening that is, and realize you are free to believe what ever, and i too am in this fact self evident, and in this one rule is the only consistent, harm none, least you be harmed. for out of the eater comes meat and from the strong comes a soft hand.
and in that, my friends, is where i stand.

and that is why all the tarnish and stains and marred marks of battles won and lost, will lift and flutter away as cherry blossoms in the wind on a summers windy day. and shine, you will, and counted we do make, for we are here to learn and grade one anothers efforts to stay in line with the core rules, and never, even, are we out of the you in me and the me in you. wink, smile and by the way, thank you for the small things , for they are truly the biggest of things in the cy re of self evident and good.

Badger Crow Moon/ Ricci Dale Moon Scott Oct/12/2015 12:04 PM
Moon Walk ✗☽彡☾✗☰ Trigram Heaven , may we all have equal chance to prove we can harm no one and create true and in love and growth of the Tree of life of Gods loving heart song of us all.
DMX Prayer 1 - 5
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0V2fh8cpb8w

DMX Lord give me a sign lyrics
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DE9mc0XcFAs

DMX 2010 THE PRAYER
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C1SjVKv86V8

DMX - Lord We Thank you
h ttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95z7FQdr8wk
Moon Walk ✗☽彡☾✗☰ Trigram Heaven , may we all have equal chance to prove we can harm no one and create true and in love and growth of the Tree of life of Gods loving heart song of us all.

couldn't help it, lol
h ttp://hdwallpapers.cat/wallpaper/samurai_cowboy_cherry_tree_sword_lonely_sun_hd-wallpaper-953548.jpg

and
h ttp://img0.reactor.cc/pics/post/full/Metal-Music%26Atmosphere-ROTTENGRAFFTY-coldrain-1698003.jpeg

And yes, I see the love, and please know , if i miss something, it is not for lack of truly wanting to enjoy, no, we find a rescue in them in fact, nor is it out of not finding tears in the joy of allowing the understanding that I too can be loved for simply being  what is simply foolish and silly  me, and that your thoughts and prayers, are a Miracle and a God Send through ways and means that cause my heart to ache in love, ache in true missing of you, thank you all.
Joseph C Ogbonna Dec 2022
At Austerlitz I two nations vanquished;
making me historically distinguished.
At Marengo I had Austria subdued;
then I was to honour undoubtedly glued.
At the Pyramids, Mamluks kissed the sands;
then like a French Pharaoh I annexed their lands.
At Jena-Auerstadt, Prussia to her knees fell,
to avoid carnage, and possibly hell.
At Borodino, Kutuzov my boots licked,
as his Russian forces had their arses kicked.
At Ligny, Blucher like a coward fled,
as his smitten forces profusely bled.
At Toulon I first distinguished myself
for a career that would exalt oneself.
Rolica, Leipzig, Waterloo like curses came,
but history will forever my triumphs reclaim.
Napoleon Bonaparte's historic conquest of Europe and half of the globe.
Poetic T Mar 2017
The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

I will not fall on a sword of those that ignore my verse
that fall on the page, do you know why I write in diverse
motions? Do you know my demons the voices that verse
inwards on the white of my skull? my reflections reverse.

The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

But excrement can be rhymed in free verse, I'm doing this
for me but I don't linger to impress! I word for my emotions
are a hurricane and I'm the eye calm but I swim in the abyss.

The sting of my verses will sew the woeful indiscretions
of what got curb bounced on the beat or the worst vocals
that you rhymed incoherently that were
                                                     collected in lyrical a doggy bag.

I'm vocalized to those that don't sniff the arses of poor vocals
linger on excellence not the excrement of poorly woven yokels.
Lyrics of verse are meant to move not stagnate silently,
they are meant to be lyrics that move the emotion violently.

*"Weave the best version of you, not the diluted verse,
Colin E Havard Mar 2014
I like to think (sometimes)
That I am a voice of Reason,
Especially when Reason
Eludes the masses.
I am the back-up plan
When everything goes
Pear-shaped, and You find
Yourself in a Living
Nightmare, struggling to
Survive in a hostile
Hostel far, far from home.
I'll be Your kernel of hope,
When all Reason evades
The light of day and
Night encroaches doomily.

I'm for the under-classes;
The voiceless throngs -
The Real backbones
Unrepresented by the Elite.

I'm for the Prostitutes and the criminally conjoined groupies;
I'm for the Legal Aiders - The reps on the ground, helping as best they can;
I'm for the lost-in-the-system; the poofs and lesso's; the avant-garders -
I'll be the rear-guard actioner, protecting Our arses from undue surprises.
I'll be the validator for the vilified,
And I'll not allow undue cruelty to trouble myn own loved ones -
My hard-lifers and my ugly-fuggly beauties --> Hands off!

And, I'm for the silent souls patiently waiting...so long, so long...
But ever hopeful that someone will rescue and love them too.
[Sorry I took so long to get up to speed. I know You knew way back when.]
9/3/2014
Enough is Enough, 15/15 (Day 1), Huntsbury Hotel, Petersham
Jonny Angel Feb 2014
I swear I really want to write one.

I come up with a few great ideas,
formulate them into my creative mind,
then when I go to pen them
into an epic,
they end up much shorter.

Like, what would Virgil say?
Lord Byron would certainly cringe
at my bits and pieces of written word.
Alighieri & Milton would probably
laugh their arses off,
Ovid snicker & what about Homer?

I swear I really want to write one.

An epic like The Divine Comedy,
perhaps a slice of Don Juan,
a bit of Beowulf,
some Odyssey?
I wish I could find
some Paradise Lost,
a piece of the Illiad,
I pray for a Metamorphoses!

I swear I really want to write one!

— The End —