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Obadiah Grey Dec 2013
Sphincter factor nine approaches
food for the fish n roaches
methinks its time for me perhaps
to open up the rearward *****.


------------------------------------
AAChoo !!

Oh, liddle sister, Josephine,
you sure don't keep your
nose real clean.
got stalactites
o' pure pea green
my infectious sibling
snot machine.
----------------------------------------
I thought that I might shoot the breeze
with God or Mephistopheles
and ask them please to ease my wheeze
of my bad back and dodgy knees
---------------------------
Croak with the raven
bluff with the crow
the urchin
the field mouse
beneath the hedgerow
in a flurry they scurry
away away go.
Yelp with the *****
howl with the hound
and bay at the moon
till the sun comes around.
------------------------------------------
Gino's bar and grill.

Away, away afore Bacchus
doles out befuddlement
and Morpheus has his way,
lest I awake to find myself
in the company of
sodamistic bedfellows
with buggery in mind.
---------------------------------
Harry Potter has grown a beard
he lives alone and turned out weird.
Dumbledore, Albus, no more
turned his toes and 'ad a snore,
Voldemort, who's *** is taut
has no nose with which to snort.
====================

Ahem !!

Behind two Lilies- sits Rose,
then Daisies
for two and a bit rows.
with Poppy, and *****
Petunia, Primrose.
and Bryony - who gets up
- my nose.
----------------------------------------------
Amen.
God bless the Cows - for beef burgers.
God bless the Pig - for their bacon.
God bless the wife n her sharp knife
for the slice of their **** she's taken.

-------------------------------------------------
We can, no more fetter the sea to the shore
nor the clouds to the sky
or tether the glint
in a lovers eye,
As sure as the shore loves the sea
so shall I love thee, together,
together for eternity,

-----------------------------------

It bends for thee
sweet chevin,
the cane thats cleaved
by three,
wilt thou now
sweet chevin
yield, my friend ,
for me.
-------------------------------------------------
There's Marmalade then Marmite
and Jams thats jammed between
the buttered bread of bard-dom
a poets sweet cuisine.
---------------------------------------------
I took up campanology
and fired up my ****.
I rang that bell
to ******* hell
till the busies
came along.
--------------------------------------------
so, I've been whittling away
at a buoyant ****-
fashioned something approximating
a poo canoe-
in it, I intend to
surf the **** tsunami of old age
to-- death;
I have named it Public - Service - Pension.


----------------------------------------------

A surreptitious delightful tryst,
with my honey, my sebaceous cyst.
she's my pimple, my wart,
my gumboil consort.
she's the zip, in which
my *******, got caught.
--------------------------------------
Frayed at the bottoms
ripped at the knee.
baggy and saggy
big enough for three.
faded and jaded
and stained with ***
but I'm due for a new pair--
Yippeeeee!!

---------------------------------------

Ther­e's Cockerel in my ear
and he bills and coo's for you
whenever you are near
goes - **** a doodle doo !!!!!,,,,,,,,

---------------------------------------------

Oh,­ for the snap shut skin
in the blue twang of youth
and to un-crack the spine
on the book of love.
now the gulping years
have flown away
we take sips of the night
and are spoon fed the day.

-----------------------------

Zeus made the Moose to be somewhat obtuse,
a big deer- rather queer- I fear.
then God gave him the nod to look funny and odd
the spitting image of you - my dear !!!

---------------------------------------

Knobbly Nobby.

Nobby has a great big nose
a great big nose has he,
and nobby knows
that his big nose,
is big, as big can be,
nobby has two knobbly knees
two knobbly knees has he,
his knobbly knees,
are as knobely
as knobbly knees can be,
don’t pity dear old nobby
for soon it’s plain to see,
that nobby has a great big ****
as big, as big as three !
now nobbys **** is knobly,
as knobly as a **** can be,
so nose and knee and ****
make three,
and we - are ****- ely.

----------------------------------

The Woman that wouldn't eat meat,
had reeaally, reeaally big feet,
her **** was as big as an hermaphrodite brig
and her **** were as hard as concrete….


--------------------------------

Hearken the clarion call of the crows
afore the snow-
they caw,
hey, get your **** into gear lads-
we gotta feckin go !!!

-----------------------------

Gods pad

I took a peek within
your house
wherein on pew, I spied
a mouse,
and in his hand,
a Bible clasped,
and out his mouth,
a parable rasped,

---------------------

I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose.

But then again
I wear a flat cap

and stroll through meadows.

----------------------------

Would you care to buy our house?
It's minus Mouse n devoid o' Louse,!
Spiders, Roaches, Bugs or other,
have all been eaten by my brother,
snaffled up n swallowed down
then jus' crapped out a - yellowish brown.
so would you care to buy our house?
from an oddly pair -- devoid of nous

-------------------------

Though the Crows got her eyes
and the Worms got her gut.
comes as no surprise
death can't keep her mouth shut.

-------------------

Bevelled slick edges
and reeaal eeaasy slopes.
Chilli dip wedges
with fresh artichokes.
Wanton loose wenches
and swivel hipped ******
Daft dawgs and dentures
and granddad - who snores.

-------------------

Been whittling away at a buoyant ****
and fashioned something approximating a canoe,
in it, I intend to surf the **** tsunami of old age;
I named it, "Public service pension"

-------------------------------

.
Well,
     I could wax on the wings of a butterfly
but, I ain't that kind o' guy.
rather kick the nuts off ******* squirrels
pluck the wings off - blue assed fly.
I'm the stuff that flops off dog chops
when he's up for it and high.
an infection in your sphincter,
a well
that's jus' run dry.

----------------------------------------------

befeathered­ and bright scarlet
is my ladies bonnet,
jauntily askew and -
lilting on a paramours
grin.

"- Gladlaughffi -"

I'm reliably informed that dear ol' Muma
sported a goatee around his **** sphincter,
now, whilst this is merely educated speculation
from my esteemed friend his "groom of the stool" ! 
who was in fact required to wear a mask,
ear muffs and a blindfold whilst he went about his business,
He did possess reeaaally sensitive fingertips
somewhat akin to a blind man reading brail,,
and, swore blind that said "**** sphincter' spoke him in Arabic
and asked him for a quick trim, (short back and sides)
I myself being a practising proctologist of some repute
am inclined to believe my friend the "groom of the stool"
as I've come recognise -- Arsolian when I hear it !!!!!!!!
-------------------------------------

In a Belfast sink by the plughole
where hair and gum gunk meet
'erman the germ-man  and toe jam
bop the bacillus beat.

________

Doctor this I know as fact
that I have a blocked digestive tract,
I'm all bunged up and cannot go
my trump and pump is - somewhat slow.
I need unction jollop for junction wallop
some sorta lotion to give me motion.
If you could please just ease my wheeze
then I needn't grunt and push and squeeze.

-----------------------------

They are breaking out the thwacking sticks
and sparking Godly clogs
pulling tongues through narrowed lips
at the infidel yankee dogs.

------------------------------------

As a paid up member of the
lumpen bourgeoisie poetry appreciation society
I can confirm without fear of contradiction
that poetry is indeed baggy underwear
with ample ball room, voluminous in the extreme
and takes into account
the need for the free flow of flatulent gassiness
that is the want of a ****** up poet.

-----------------------------------------------

She's a rough hewn Trapezoidal gal
a gongoozler o' the ol' canal.
She's copper bottomed n fly boat Sal.

I'll have thee know that
that there hat
is a magic hat,
it renders me invisible
to the arty intelligentsia
and roots me firmly
in the lumpen proletariat .
-------------------------------------------------------
Said the sneaky Scotsman, Jim Blaik.
if the pension, you wish to partake,
bend over my son, lets get this thing done
and cop for this thick trouser snake !!

I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.

Fandango'd o'er the cornflakes
and the spillage in isle four

-----------------

I'm linier and analogue,
a ribbon microphone man
mired in the dust of the monochromatic,
the basement, the attic.

------------------------------

Simple simon met miss Tymon going to the fair,
said simple simon to miss Tymon - "pfhwarr what a luverly pair"
of silken thighs and big brown eyes and scrumptious wobbly bits,
Said simple Simon to miss Tymon---------- shame about you **** !!!

So sad sweet Shirl thought she'd give a whirl to clubbercise n pound

Squat, slightly,
tilt head 45°
and squint.
See the shimmering blurry
dot in the distance?
That, timorous ****,
is ME !
Fast twitching my
narrow white ****
to the pub.

There was a young lady named Sue.
whose ***** and **** was askew,
whilst taking a ****
she'd aim it and miss
and she lifted 'er hat when she blew.


Oh Mon Dieu !!

Obi.
ioan pearce Mar 2010
loaded with her weekly shop
outside the doors at asda
***** **** that never let
opportunity go passed her

hello big boy
she stroked his cheek
my bags are heavy
knees are weak

i lift  dumbells
night and day
giss ya shopping
lead the way

i've got an itchy *****
and i've got the horn
do you want to see it?
you **** hunk of brawn

you'll have to show me luv
it's hard for me to see
those ****** japanese cars
look all the same to me
Simon Soane Jul 2013
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
thankfully not in a medical way
i don't have to pop pills everyday
to keep an essence of danger under control
and to stop my head doing backward flips and forward rolls
to curtail bad thoughts and contain OCD
wake up and think "what's happening to me?"
but sometimes i'm full of mazey bomb blasts
and crazy contrasts,
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
I say work i'm not even gonna give 50% percent never mind double
but i'll stay just below the warning threshold so i don't really get in trouble,
i do see my sick days as extra days of annual leave
but my bums on my seat most of the year and at least one Eve.
I'm always ducking and diving, i hide and they seek,
but i hit my targets every week.
They can say put down your pens,
strip your pencils of lead,
you can't stop me writing in my head
But you'll sometimes dictate what time i go to bed.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
Nearly every road i walk down i've got a ***** cat friend
there meowing never drives me round the bend
but if me owing then just a letter i'll send.
I’ll rescue  spiders from the bath, without any exception,
But I’ll clean their webs and evict them when I have a house inspection.
Giving up pork, on a parity with pigges at last
But then i broke my faste with bacon for breakfast
Watching lambs a gamboling there frolicking is fab,
but i'll see you on a plate later if i'm craving a kebab.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
Money and the capitalist structure baffles, no thanks, no ta
but before i go out a quick sub off Ma and Pa.
I'll pay for a taxi, i don't care about the amount,
while checking fervently the statement from my bank account.
Cash cannot be eaten it just gets you into Eton
but i'll rifle through my pockets for pennies to get an eat on
i don't adore you, i'll say your the means to an end
but then i spend some more and ask for a lend.
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite.
I'll say anarchy  is everywhere, petition and abstain
then  read in the late edition who i think should take the reins.  
I scream smash the system without any regrets
but then start stubbing out where they deem no cigarettes.
I'll say **** big business they are always looting tons
while cutting out Asda coupons to get the soup with croutons.
i'll say **** materialism, to that i am adverse,
"ohh if you want to get me some trainers Mum can you make em Converse? "
I'm a schizophrenic hypocrite
One Saturday i found it hard to move
crying out for water, more than needing food,
stomach emptier than the packets in my pockets
Early winter scribble
spoiled by the ripple of rain,
deadened and dull
on a precious day,
the time I crave
passes through a husk
full of caves.
Each inhabitant curses
and burns
the stagnant soil under their feet,
I want something to eat.
I need to drink.
The cold slab of sink
lures flesh to rest,
unsatisfied
with retched offerings
flung from a scorched earth
so next Friday, a few beers and l I’ll hit the hay
Ten beers later, where’s the MDMA?
And my staunch resolutions go up my nose
Chatting through the night, striking a pose,
Music accentuated, stars sparkling hard
World’s discussed in magic back yards,
Focused and fraught in tumultuous thought
Ten cigs in an hour
An hours too short,
As the morning comes, I start feeling a mess
It slowly disintegrates the treasure in my chest,
Feelings of strength crumble to a feeble frame,
Spears in my head, WHOOPS I’VE DONE IT AGAIN.
You’ll stop this time, I curse and lecture,
Two bottles down next Friday etc etc,
I’m a schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember an uneventful Tuesday when i wasn't working
belly full of rice
and i saw you twice,
two times a day,
on a day in lieu,
time stood still,
smiling at you
i thought i'm gonna have to write about you,
so i park myself in a bar after a joint in Netto carpark
and start using words to build an arc
and if you you do wanna walk in two by two,
can i walk in with you?
Is it this green ride that's getting me high
or the regret i seen in the gleam of your eye
that as soon as we said hi we said bye,
as disappointed as the catcher when he dropped the rye.
If i may be so bold,
if you were cold
i wouldn't hail these stones
i'd pummel Jack Frost until he knows he's lost,
i'll leave all the lights on to hasten global warming
make Obama declare winter a season of mourning,
If you met an iceberg of Titanic  proportions
i'd cut through it quicker than the Ripper does back street abortions.
If you were in prism
i'd try to unrangle the science of triangles
so i could build you a pyramid with all the right angles,
my stomachs in knots;
the most tranquil of tangles.
Then i saw you get out of the lift
and i wanted to play you a rift
until you exposed your midriff
because you set me adrift from chains and shackles
my mind goes crazy and fills with cackles,
i crackle with lightning, my energy heightens
my heart tightens
and not cos of cholesterol
cos i think you're special
and celestial!
I got dreams from naught, my head feels taught,
i prised a lesson from your eyes,
love is the greatest prize.
But now that's gone, all things
pass evolution in transience
faces that were everything lost to balance
blue it merge
but seldom a residual surge
and your bark today was worst than your bite
it said something softly,
i sow the seeds for the sycamore trees
we can carve our names on next summer.
Under an endless stretching sky
you wrote you
and i wrote i,
the lights in our eyes don't lie
they are gateways to the suns inside,
our hearts couldn't hide from this brightening tide.
I'm a Schizophrenic hypocrite
I remember this guy from work, cooed to me
look at the **** on this page 3
he drooled over Nuts magazine like he belonged in a zoo
i bet he frequented strippers too.
He said seen this clip, it's ******* great,
it ad turn a couple of queers straight
it was these two twins with rouge lips being rude,
the way she chomped on her like food
and they defo loved it,there is  no doubt
it's just just ***** Eskimo ******* kissing snouts
and sharing with her sister the joy of getting licked out.
Wonder how they looked in the family car?
giggling about some exciting destination,
like all kids displaying a lack of patience,
“are we there yet” chorused with glee and duality,
dressed in the same clothes to ensure parity.
Ice cream for tea.
Maybe they might be way into drugs
or addled with addiction
lacking hugs
and sore from the friction.
Not liking the glare
feeling scared.
maybe?
He said nar they love it up them baby.
But then,
i have it
about 3 or 4 times a week
after the 5th time of hitting snooze,
or a heavy night on the *****,
or sometimes no beer,
even after a sonnet of Shakespeare
a sudden urge comes over me,
GET THE LAPTOP!
GET THE *******!
Then it's
Japanese teen lesbians spitting,
finger ******* wearing mittens,
****'s ******* Britions,
oap creampies
***** covered eyes
***** flicking,
extreme suction,
**** destruction,
Captain Birds Eye gobbing
Batman ******* Robin,
A ten inch plumber ******* in a kitchen sink drama
Robert de Niro unpeeling Bananarama
Marty doing the Doc
a gimped up Kirk whipping Spoc
Rita  ******* Norris
Gail licking Fizz
Sally doing Dev
and Kevin doing ki.............Kevin, get out of the room.
Back to
a **** doing a ******
a pre op pleasuring granny
two ***** one *****,
then i chuck my muck all over my tunic
flip over and continue reading The Female ******,
I'm a Schizophrenic Hypocrite,
i've gotta split.
Ben Brinkburn Jan 2013
Come on do The Locomotive with me
Shildon smoky days with black sheet cloud
terrace rows
buy some cheap beef shank for the dog
open shuttered butchers smell of blood
sit at the bar peel the sheets soggy New Statesman
by the glass
started reading it on the toilet at home
had to get out
sink the pints eat a chicken tikka masala flavour
pork pie isn’t that an oxymoron? and humour
Gappy slumped at the bar no longer violent new leaf turned
collects shopping trolleys in the Asda car park
he’s got a badge and a green jacket waterproof
which is nice
so come on do The Locomotive with me
roadside ****** familiar faces though not so many
these days
faded glory days wall images of train filled
old days of engineering and purpose and place
the starting point of a world phenomenon a
phenomenon that brought global joy and death
in equal measure but sod that
Darlington and Stockton
got all the glory.
judy smith Sep 2015
Cheap fancy dress costumes are to be subject to spot checks by trading standards inspectors, to avoid a repeat of the fire that seriously injured the daughter of the television presenter Claudia Winkleman.

Ministers have ordered the nationwide crackdown as thousands more children’s outfits and accessories, some of which are aimed at babies and toddlers, go on sale online and in supermarkets in the runup to Halloween.

The costumes, ranging from witches’ outfits to skeleton onesies, selling as cheaply as £6 each, will be subjected to flammability tests to assess whether they are compliant with safety standards.

The crackdown follows Winkleman’s warning about fancy dress costumes when her daughter suffered serious burns as her outfit, bought from a supermarket, caught fire. Winkleman questioned why the outfits were treated as toys rather than clothing when it came to safety tests.

The business secretary, Sajid Javid, said: “My immediate concern as a father and a minister is that children wearing these fancy dress costumes are safe. It is unacceptable for any costumes to be sold that do not comply with safety standards. That’s why I’ve granted funding to trading standards to carry out spot checks as part of a nationwide investigation. Parents should feel confident that any fancy dress they buy meets required standards.”

His department said it was working with the British Standards Institute to assess whether the applicable European safety controls needed to be more tough. Trading standards is to report back to the business secretary with their findings later in the autumn.

Sales of fancy dress costumes for children have soared in recent years, prompted by cheap imports being available and children increasingly wanting to dress as their favourite characters from blockbuster films. Halloween outfits have become more popular in the UKowing to the influence of American films and sitcoms. Supermarkets report that 31 October accounts for significantly more consumer spending than Bonfire night.

The dangers of the outfits were exposed in November last year when Winkleman’s eight-year-old daughter, Matilda, suffered serious burns when her witch costume caught alight. The outfit – a hat, cape, striped tights and flowing skirt – bought at a supermarket, was ignited by a flame.

Winkleman, host of the BBC show Strictly Come Dancing, said on Thursday: “We’re extremely happy the government are taking action on this and we’re so grateful to the supermarkets who are selling safer costumes.”

Some retailers have agreed to go further than minimum standards, after a recent investigation launched by Winkleman with the BBC1 series Watchdog. Tesco, Aldi, Asda, Morrisons, and Sainsbury’s, all responded to the investigation by stating that their fancy dress outfits for children would meet the equivalent of the higher fire safety standards required for youngsters’ nightwear.

A spokesman for Sainsbury’s said: “We have looked at every detail of our children’s dress-up range in creating our new standard and believe that it will be industry leading. This has not been a simple task, but the safety of children is our number one priority and introducing more rigorous safety standards for our children’s dress-up is the right thing to do.

“All clothing carries some fire risk, but we hope that introducing our own rigorous testing standards that test clothes as clothes rather than as toys will be the first step towards safer testing across the industry.”

read more:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-perth

www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-sydney
We used to play billiards
and fight all the fire.
We'd drink tea
from cheap mugs,

read The Economist
or newspaper,
chat about boyfriends,
girlfriends,

what was and wasn't a rumour?
The printer munched on paper,
lounge about on scratchy chairs.
50% revision, 50% laughter.

Psychology was me
with a group of girls.
How many people, where, when,
and what was it Freud said again?

Spanish was the same,
me, L, C and E.
Picasso's view of war, a bull and a flower,
grammar overload in the afternoon.

And then there was English.
Can you hear me Fitzgerald?
On a row of females (not just one),
roses, four stories and a single trumpet.

On the garish bus
to see the Manor or the specialists,
to walk up and down aisles in Asda,
talking music with baguettes and meatballs.

Two years came, two years went.
Exams, goodbyes, brown envelopes arrived.
After tapas and a holiday
came sly September.

Here I was with fresh men,
different faces from different places.
So I walked up the steps
into the next avenue.
Written: April 2012 and April 2013.
Explanation: A poem about my time in sixth form. Took a while to write because I had to remember certain things about the classes I did. The poem contains references to computer games, people and locations, among a few others.
Dave Bosworth Mar 2014
I would like to hold an Asda Memo pad in Fleet Street
I would like it if, in the process of being a low-priced tomato
I were stepped on
and really assured that the real-estate in which my squishing had occurred in - would grossly swell in value
Seen as my squashing had occurred.
Obadiah Grey Jan 2012
Shoppin wiv Albert.



I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.


He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Paul Gilhooley May 2016
Widnes aint much, but to me she’s sweet home,
Safe refuge from wherever I roam,
Many may claim that she’s ugly and ******,
But open your eyes, and she’s really quite pretty.

From down by the snig, to up to the Crown,
There’s pubs a plenty where sorrows can drown,
The Globe, The Coterie, now Pesto of course,
But to all us old locals, it’s still the Black Horse.

Town centre drunks, laugh while they rant,
Old ICI and their Paraquat plant,
An industrial past, its dirt and its grime,
A ***** old river, her sludge and her slime.

Of nature reserves, we have quite a few,
From out of our wastelands, something wonderful grew,
Wildlife thriving where once we dumped *******,
Now even the Mersey lives once more with fish.

The factory smells that insulted our noses,
Spike Island, proud host once to the Stone Roses,
Paul Simon himself, when loneliness found,
On one of our stations,  wrote Homeward Bound.

The Beatles once played our dear Queens Hall,
Derelict now, no more curtains to call,
We love our music live and loud,
We truly are a passionate crowd.

A sporty town, but leagues our game,
Tho’ recent years have been quite a shame,
Myler, Karalius, Davies, Offiah,
Crowned World champs, our status climbed higher.

Proud we cheered in old Naughton Park,
The cowsheds, cold, smelly and dark,
The glory days, they came and went,
Old fans speak in sad lament.

The whole town’s roads, my how they’ve changed,
Drivers sit there now, all deranged,
Confusing sets of roundabouts,
That lead us there, or thereabouts.

Morrisons, Aldi and now a Tesco,
Asda Halebank, well that had to go,
A curious accent, not manc or scouse,
Just hear us speak with Woolyback nouse.

W’s in words, like one, two, three, foewer,
And entering homes, through a front doewer,
It’s hard to explain in a few lines here,
But a few minutes in town, and all becomes clear.

Bowling, cinema and now an ice rink,
The town is recovering, back from the brink,
There’s Costa, Next, Boots and Wilkos,
Who else is coming, no one quite knows.

Widnes has changed in my 40 years,
But filled with hopes now instead of fears,
Change for the better? Let’s wait and see,
But no matter what, she’s still home to me.

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2012
Poem written about my beloved home town.  She aint much, but she's home to me.
john lindsay Jan 2016
The snagged line grows taut
As I repeat the question
" Is there anything you want?"

House too empty , stairs too steep
She wants me back, I worry
"Weve been to ASDA , dont ask what i bought"

Saturday afternoon phonecall
"How are things?"
The reluctant tagline
"Not so bad"

Front garden going native
I set off down the cracked path
Doesnt want next door to see
I dont wave

TALKING THEIR LANGUAGE

June classroom, stir of voices
Arriva trains glide to the coast
Coffee needs filling, the last biscuit goes
This afternoon we look at idioms

Unpicking centuries, cultures
Somalia, Bangla Desh, Kurdistan
English remains official
Still a puzzle

"Speak slowly and clearly"
"Dont hit trees with sticks"
"Its a piece of cake"

The intricacy of language
Shapes ancient letters
"Lemon squeezy " chimes Messa
Our laughter is shared
UNRAVELLING... during the final years of her life, my mother suffered severe depression. The poem tries to examine the struggle in communication I experienced in these times
TALKING THEIR LANGUAGE
Last year I worked as a voluntary tutor with immigrant learners from various nationalities. This expresses the difficulities the English language sometimes presents , and also some of the fun it can generate, also.
Obadiah Grey Apr 2021
I met my uncle Albert
down at asda, in aisle three;
he got there in his mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,

said he'd traversed sainsburys,
tesco liddle n the spar,
but not one o' them flogged caviar
truffles or foie Gras.

He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,

He shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.
Feel free to add a verse !!!!!
Andy N Jan 2014
I ring you in the usual way
During a early lunch
But you drop the phone
When you hear my voice
Leaving me with nothing
But the droning ambience
Of a lost call.

Perhaps you are still in bed
In the middle of a deep sleep
After a late

Late

Late night

Talking

I had forgotten you mentioning
With a few bottles of wine
At your friend Jane’s
And couldn’t be bothered
Staggering out of bed
To answer the phone,

Or maybe your Cat
Has instead of missing
The dressing table
After jumping from your bed
Has leaped over the suite
Onto the window
And knocked the phone flying
Cutting me off into oblivion.

Perhaps it was a BT error
Or you are on the phone
To your mate, Steve
For one of your epic
Three or four hour calls
Which frequently has me thinking
What the hell
You could talk about
For so long
And is meant to feel minor
When Steve says he sometimes
Talk to one of your ex’s
All night long
Sometimes,

Or maybe you are rushing off
To the shop
Across the road
To pay your lottery ticket
Before rushing off
To your doctors
Then asda up the road
Before it closes
And really
Really
Could not be bothered
Answering my call
At least then.

Whatever reason
It still hasn’t clouded
Over my love
For you.
(NB. A Short Poem from a ebook of poems I wrote for my partner Cathy called ''Love Songs for Cathy V', of which a hard copy can be bought here - http://www.lulu.com/shop/andy-n/love-songs-for-cathy-v/paperback/product-21381711.html. I will welcomely send over a PDF of the book to anybody if interested free of charge. Email me onaen1mpo@yahoo.co.uk or PM etc.)
yes, sundays seem quiet . were like that when i was a kid. enjoy that yet i know some find it arduous.

like to hear you will have company in the garden again other than the cats.

when initially awake it was golden with sun yet now the softest cloud has covered.

Asda van is due today and i go to buy petrol early. except is diesel.

no more news really. except I saw a stoat thingy yesterday.
zero Jun 2018
We sat on your bed. It wilted under our weight.
Old and frail- stale to a fault, we always said.
Side by side. Knees touching knees. Hands
in packets of sweets from the corner shop.
How many can you fit in your mouth? I got
eight. You beat me every time.
We laugh until we ache. Funny pictures.
We jump in slow motion, I catch your eye and
we smile.  My best friend.

I sit in my bed. It's strong under my weight.
New and durable- Squeaky to a fault, I always say.
Cushion to a body. Covers suffocating hard. Hands
on a face, smudged with mascara from Asda.
I can fit four hours worth of crying into one if
I think hard enough. I beat my record every time.
I sob until I ache. Funny picture, that is.
I lay in slow motion, my phone rings in my ear and
I smile. My best friend.

The call isn't from you.
Meh, it's the same difference.

-Hollow.xo
old mother hubboard went to the cupboard but there was nothing there
not a single morsel just complety bare
her poor dog was starving he was very thin
she just couldnt feed him she had nothing in

she took a trip to asda took a look around
looking for the offers to see what could be found
she filled her trolley and bought the dog a bone
and a ten pound top up for her mobile phone

now her cupboards full and everything is fine
nows shes got a pc  so she can shop on line
so you wake and hear the sound

then change your plans


arrow the tasks forward

then check the website and do not amend

accept the substitutes or refunds


move the car up

open the gate carefully so it does not break

again


these are little things


some of you out there are suffering

and how can I help?


the bear sighs and turns over
Olivia Kent Jan 2015
A wakeful can rolls over the gutter, 'tis caught up the waking wind.
Outside the Asda, the not so superstore, where the doors are closed and the world is the same.
A painful world,  standing out in the rain.
It's a world where men in orange jumpsuits sit, they're waiting for rain.
Or pain, an escape almost knowing that freedom awaits at the makeshift pearly gates.
Drove past the docks with structures lit up, perceived as giant horses as if of troy, really huge cranes, but nothing like birds.
All desperate to see what's going on in the world as a matter of some kind of crazy urgency.
(C) Livvi
two cakes sound better than my none

here then it is not my birthday yet

i had bread and butter pudding for after
to use up the bread
disliking waste
and liking dessert

I would of said pudding
yet it spoiled the line

break

two eggs and add the milk
to soak the bread with butter

and sultanas

some things are unavailable so
asda man brings substitutes

like rocket instead of rocket
we are to have a refund if

found unsuitable

imagine the log deposited with flood
water

a whale beached
i said and she agreed

imagine if I had cake
and it might be chocolate
with thick sticky sauce
and bits in it

i imagine I should like that
and eat it all
Oh
little town of Altrincham
I see you hiding there
where shops are closed
and men are dosed
with feelings of despair,

but in the mills that once stood
where
an Asda store stands now
a baby's crying in a pram
don't think that it's jesus
somehow.

ps. Altrincham we love you really.
slightly out of beat at the end but that's the way the cookie crumbles.
Tesco's jammed
Asda's rammed
Sainsbury's dropping
like ham off the bone

I'm heading home to the market town
getting down with the real stuff.

I hope the still's still there and breathing steam
into the cold night air
well
you've got to have a tipple or two, you..
(..they should have put that in Oliver)

Just gonna put a face on, look
a bit like Fortnum and Mason,
posh like.

If you're waiting for the reindeer
they're quite near and
just coming over the midnight sky,
Santa's a bit shy so you might not
espy him.

I'm leaving him a brandy, some socks
a mince pie and my electricity bill
what will
you leave Santa?
empty wrappings?
Crimbo trappings?

forgotten the rest.
5:35, dark, damp and miserable but enough about work it's going to be a lovely day.

The shadow got tattered on the day I was torn from the pages of history
why then be born?
that is the mystery.

At the best of times when and if the sun shines she shines her light on me
making a mockery of my disposition
and
putting me into an awkward position
making it so
I have to let go of the gloom
although we've been room mates
for ever

I'm drinking some tea from Masala
with sweet milk I bought down
in Asda
she says, it tastes nice
I say,
it's the spice
and we both
laugh out loud.
today is apricot

a new jar opened easily


my mum would buy a large tin and decant

there were five of us, one had left earlier


seems trivial to write of preserves during pandemic

yet it is a treat this morning with a croissant in bed

cosy


we have all sorts in the pantry with little gingham caps

held on with rubber bands

i have a pack somewhere in a rainbow of colours

yet often use those dropped by the postman

wide in brown


also have sandwich spread

more as savoury

alongside asda’s own marmite

such a treat yet not for breakfast


nearly a year now

have stopped waving

and carry on

in contentment
I don't want to come across as a luddite
But I have to say that I don't like
Supermarkets, they're too much for me
Too much to buy, too much to see

Just entering the frozen aisle
Is enough to freeze me for a while
Too many meals, too many choices
Too many people, too many voices

I start to have a panic attack
By the frozen, minted lamb rack
Don't even start me on the ice creams
Well it's enough to make me​ .....

Surely you get the drift by now and you'll see
That Asda has nothing for me.
margotskidder Feb 2019
Feeling of euphoria dominating that room

That exasperating space of leftover domestics, lust verging on predatory
Unwashed, unclipped, orange tinged fingertips scooping up the dregs of Asda's smart price nuts

I was in my element, masking my child in me
My hormonal fireworks had gone into this moment.

I had made it.

I was 14 and a pub singer.

My family beamed, my Dad unrecognisable
The room roared, happy feet stomped and energetic hands clapped; erupting into our very own earthquake

I took a sneaky mouthful of my concealed pint, covering my modesty in my must look 18 dress

The rockers rocked
The lovers kissed
Eighties fans shook their hips
My father missed... it

The smoke was as thick as **** the *****
It danced in a flurried daze with our quickened breath, singing 'Tubthumping'

If I could have bottled that, I would take a sniff of that smelling salt to bring me round any day
Mary Gay Kearns Jan 2018
Her name is that
Of past hours
From days of power
And magnificence
When marble busts
Were cast
To satisfy
The desire
For eternity.

But this little beauty
Will not end her days
In  lofty halls
With locked and barred doors
The dust settling on her hair
For she will be suspended
Captured and rendered
On all the screens
That can be seen
From phone to
The Internet
And global websites
Printed texts.

Her name is Delphi
Youngest child
Full lipped star
Hair falling long
Over her arms
Eyes dark under
Arched brows
Peachy cheeks
Tanned skin
In the princess dress
She loves the best
From Asda or Primark.

To my lovely Delphi of the dollies love from Grandma xxxxx
I expect I'd better go
do some shopping
make a show,
but I'd rather just say no
and stay in bed.

The rain has stopped
though it's still wet,
I'll get my
umber umbrella
which is red in colour
hence the umber,
this I tell her.

I could stay in bed and
slumber,
but I'm going shopping.

Procrastinate,
she says,
I'll wait, she says, some more
standing by the door with her
mackintosh and hopefully a
purse filled with more dosh
than I've got in my pockets.

Saturday is not the day
or rather it is a day
but not the way to
carry on
I carve a track to Asda
and back,

Indiana eat your heart out.
Getting back into the car
after buying
cookies from Asda,

a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it
little bundle of brown,
there I say, on the fence.

Marbles for eyes,
tail like a question mark,
hair the shade

of twenty sunsets.
I point it out,
body half-bowed

as if to whisper hello
before bounding away,
swallowed by the leaves.
Written: August 2021.
Explanation: A simple poem written in my own time for display at my local library and also (partly) for the annual Summer Reading Challenge that takes place at English libraries every year. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
Peach Pietersen Sep 2019
You took things that weren’t available to the general public
You had first pick on all the stock and new promotions
Everything you could possibly want and need at your finger tips
Even though you held this position with pride
You always kept the receipt
So that when your satisfaction wasn’t met
You could return all that you had taken
Even though you never gave anything for what you got
You would be rude and unfair about anything trying to help and give a sense of direction

I was Asda
And you were my least favourite
But most loyal customer
she asked about side effects and though
after reading the instructions felt there

were none apart from the pigeons
noted before

when suddenly came the surge of energy
born from hatred of the overgrown

box hedge

we love the little national trust hedges
clipped and sturdy

not this high hanging woody affair

tried to trim the top
ended sawing the bottom
destroying the thing

a fit of peak they say

and having done so moved on to the other
larger affair by the gate

which rhymes with hate

you see

the joy next morning
when looking out
saw them gone

later the asda man came
gives the poem momentum.’
Tuesday afternoon seminars
and your photocopied stanzas
are like ***** shots to me. I don’t
say this, a spaghetti-haired boffin
opposite mentions pentameter
but I almost drool at ‘fizzle of static
the luscious shock, / honey, think
you’d taste like candy canes / waltz
on my tongue, my ruby


Bristol for uni. Last I heard
she’d got a PGCE, cushy position
at an Ofsted-says-good secondary,
good for her. The invite surprised me.
How many years? It’s all careers
and top-floor flats now with
the parquet floors, schamncy fridges,
not villanelles and criticism
meant to be constructive, comments
spiked with jealousy, and

A minute in, a cup of something,
voice long gone among the swill,
thud of a mid-2000s track blaring
obnoxiously through the top-floor flat
of the lad who played midfield
and his glitter-cheeked missus, who,
if I recall, moved from Leeds to

Tuesday.’ A lipsticked smile,
jeans with riotous tears.
Now I know what’s coming, the
pitiful shotput for attention,
the ‘truly marvellous effort
and the use of sibilance (insert
chef’s kiss sound).’ But I dither,
muter than a French mime,
hits me for six and I know
I won’t know you, not now or ever,
there’s never enough time


when I see you in the kitchen,
expelling laughter like it’s almost archaic,
the opportunity, missed, but all right,
it was indie-rock headaches,
cold in goal in the park next to Asda,
not a time to recite my saccharine lines
to a northern delight but I wanted to,
once, then, to know what might’ve been,
if I’d waltz on your tongue.
Written: April 2022.
Explanation: THE TOP LINE SHOULD BE ITALICISED AND THE EXACT LAYOUT OF THIS POEM CAN BE FOUND IN INSTAGRAM. A poem written in my own time as part of Savannah Brown's escapril challenge. A link to my Facebook writing page and Instagram page can be found on my HP home page.
thanks @Nigel .

it  is a parrot made in glass

gender neutral

&

i like unicorns

too

we do not have an asda

here
the drawing

went wrong from the beginning


i thought and on the wrong paper too

i thought


had ordered card from asda

got a substitution of a colouring book

more suitable for the house next door with children

i thought so donated it over


there


saw their puppy


then continued on the wrong paper

i thought

only things worked out

cojoined twins
John Bartholomew Jan 2021
Guys! You have ten minutes. Ten Minutes!
A clatter as a pan hits the ground
The presenter looks with a smile but not a sound
A raised brow and a flurry of panic
The fear in their eyes all trying to cook organic

You won't believe it but Courtney was just necking Craig by the pool
Shut up! No way!
Seriously
After just telling us all he's gonna propose to Abbey when he gets out
And Abbey's watching this?
Uh huh
What a ****
You know that
A complete ****
It's gonna cause a spat
Unbelievable

I was told by my teacher that I had a voice
But working the tills at ASDA was my only choice
Then this lady heard me humming as I scanned through her Spam
She dragged me to her agent as we rode the Manchester tram
I sang
She cried
I'd never sang with such pride
And hear I stand with Ant and Dec
Cameras on with nowhere to hide

Guys! You have two minutes. two minutes!
Etc. Etc. Etc.............And Repeat

JJB
perseverance came cheap they say

in the balance of things

cheap as sausages maybe

although not on offer at asda

come cheaper over at morrisons due next week

perseverance came lovely even the last seven minutes

beautiful like ballet landing softly

i ordered the sausages two packs for four pounds

no animal meat anywhere

meanwhile perseverance pays out

we move forward gently no longer quite so vulnerable
Lucy Apr 2022
‘What a waste’ I thought.
Forty five pounds on a next-day delivery ASDA shop and I just donated half of it to the toilet.
Two more days and I’ll be back on their website spending more in the hope it’ll last me longer this time.
See, the food is SO good…
For about fifteen minutes
And then it’s just regret.
It’s looking in the mirror at your protruding stomach and realising even the drain pipes need those calories more than you do.
And before you know it you’re running the bath taps and taking your rings off for the third time that day.
It’s the perfect solution when you think about it!
I can eat as MUCH as I want, whenever I want and lose more weight than if I ate nothing at all.
I have to steady myself every time I stand now,
And my face seems to have adopted a dull, grey complexion
But that’s a SMALL price to pay for the easiest method of weight loss.
That, and the marks on my knuckles that I renew so often I’m starting to wonder if they’ve scarred.
The stress of working an eight hour shift and not knowing if you’ll make it to the end without an ambulance being called.
The desperation when all your housemates are home,
Or you’re visiting family,
And you have to come to terms with the fact that,
‘No, you CAN’T eat the whole kitchen right now, no matter HOW hungry you are without seeing the whole kitchen on the scales the following morning’.
The little red dots that have accumulated around my eyes,
The random aches and pains,
The fear people will find out…
The WISHING they would just so someone would know how hard you’re trying.
Maybe the ‘easiest’ method was the wrong term.
But, still!
I can’t help but feel lucky that the pizza I just devoured won’t make it to my stomach like it will with my best friend.
The same satisfaction with none of the consequences.
You see,
I REALLY love food.

But I’m not supposed to until I’m thin enough that people think I deserve it.
hairgrips

at asda are two pounds fifty pence

those from morrisons are one pound

all delivered

ordered the blonde ones though

wanted grey….
to talk of food

each day we check and diary
for there is no popping into
the shops just now

we see on social which shops
are closed for decontamination

say deep clean again

and those gone sick

it comes from kimnel bay
the asda van and we use
it carefully

the basement is now a store
with a label
and categories

as is the outbuilding
amongst other things

part of the day is pleasant
in the kitchen chopping
preparing

boogie wonderland
ha

lots of nuts

james

briefly

early

— The End —