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W H Y*  *is it I smile whenever I
H ave
Y ou close to me darling?

W H Y  is it I feel sad whenever I
H ave
Y ou not close to me darling?

W H Y
H aven't you yet admitted I did fall for
Y ou darling?

W H Y
H aven't you ever entrusted me with
Y our fragile heart darling?

W H Y
H aven't you ever admitted it
Y ou mean the world to me darling?

W H Y
H aven't you ever admitted it
Y ou're my everything darling?

W H Y
H aven't you yet admitted it
Y ou're the angel of my dreams darling?

W H Y
H aven't  you yet admitted all I crave is
Y our love darling?

W H Y
H ave you failed to admit I love
Y *ou with all my heart & soul darling?
#Accrostic #Melancholy #Love #Poetry #wonder why
Matthew James Jun 2016
We're off to Never never land - Paracetamol, cucumber sandwiches and the lost rent boy

Gav called me up.
Him and Tolly were going out to Never Never Land in Blackburn
3 lost boys off on a curious adventure

Mi mum dropped me off at Gavs 'ouse ont' Shad estate
Gav got us a coke before we caught t' buz in
But 'e sprinkled in some white pewder
"What's this? Pixie dust?"
"It's summat to gi' you Speed" said Tolly
"just drink it!" Said Gav
So I did

"2nd Star t' t' reet and straight on t' t' moornin'!"

But we'd bin sold crushed paracetamol

So we just acted like we were ****** and lied to each other about ow buzzin wi were
But we weren't buzzin
Then we caught buz in
Waitin' for t' affects o' t' artificial amphetamine t' kick in
'N' we got t' Neverland
No mermaids 'ere
No pretty ***** girls
There were a few blokes wi dodgy eyes n limps
But no no, no-n-no no, no-n-no no no no there's no pirates!
Just ****** plastic Palm trees
'N' townies in fluorescent nylon shirts
No peacock feathered hats ere
Just steps n curtains n aggressive faces
'N' me wi' a bowl cut and trepidation
Tryin' t' think happy thoughts

Surrounded bi freebooters, piccaroons, Buccaneers, filibusters and Rovers
Wi' their left foot, right foot dancing
And an eye on t' maidens
Sneering in our direction
Lost boys
That 'aven't grown up

I sort o' skirted round edges feelin' scared
Then went to sit at sides on an empty table 'n' hid

On t' next table were a nice lookin' couple o' blokes.
They must o' bin good mates!
They were cuddlin' 'n' touchin' each other a lot.
Anyhow, thi got talking t' mi
Told 'em I'd not bin out before
"Ow old are you lad? 14/15?"
"I'm 18"
Thi sort o' laughed, dunno why
Then one of 'em offered me a cucumber sandwich
I thought t' mi sel'
"I dunno much about nightclubs but I dunt think folk normally bring cucumber sandwiches!"
But I were 'ungry so I ate it
Then I think 'e thought we were mates coz 'e were touchin mi leg
I 'ad to crow for Gav an' Tolly
They came in like Peter Pan and rescued mi and I set off for 'ome

I went to t' phone box n' called mi mum
Didn't know town reet well
So I waited for 'er outside o' mi old school
There were some scary lookin people on one side o't' road snappin at each other like crocodiles
So I stood under t' lamppost so I were int' leet an' t' cars passin could see mi
Felt safer like that
Time passed
Tick tock tick tock
T' crocodiles were lurkin
Each time a car passed I stepped out a bit
To look for mi mum
Drivers kept lookin at mi nervously n drivin off
Maybe thi thought I were a crocodile too
N they kept smirking at mi
Then some officers pulled up like privateers in their blue and white flashin galleon
Made us stand again t' wall as I asked for parle
'N' thi searched mi for treasure
Asked us if I pulled into port for rentin
"Rentin' what? I'm Waitin for mi mum."
"Aye cap'n! Hahaha! I'm sure you are! Dressed in tight little hot pants!"
"These aren't 'ot pants, they're chinos?!"
Then mi mum turned up an said "oh aye! This streets t' red light district!"
"Well ****** me!"

Never, never again... Until uni happened
Speakin’ in general, I’ave tried ’em all
The ‘appy roads that take you o’er the world.
Speakin’ in general, I’ave found them good
For such as cannot use one bed too long,
But must get ‘ence, the same as I’ave done,
An’ go observin’ matters till they die.

What do it matter where or ‘ow we die,
So long as we’ve our ‘ealth to watch it all—
The different ways that different things are done,
An’ men an’ women lovin’ in this world;
Takin’ our chances as they come along,
An’ when they ain’t, pretendin’ they are good?

In cash or credit—no, it aren’t no good;
You’ve to ‘ave the ‘abit or you’d die,
Unless you lived your life but one day long,
Nor didn’t prophesy nor fret at all,
But drew your tucker some’ow from the world,
An’ never bothered what you might ha’ done.

But, Gawd, what things are they I’aven’t done?
I’ve turned my ‘and to most, an’ turned it good,
In various situations round the world
For ‘im that doth not work must surely die;
But that’s no reason man should labour all
‘Is life on one same shift—life’s none so long.

Therefore, from job to job I’ve moved along.
Pay couldn’t ‘old me when my time was done,
For something in my ‘ead upset it all,
Till I’ad dropped whatever ’twas for good,
An’, out at sea, be’eld the dock-lights die,
An’ met my mate—the wind that tramps the world!

It’s like a book, I think, this bloomin, world,
Which you can read and care for just so long,
But presently you feel that you will die
Unless you get the page you’re readi’n’ done,
An’ turn another—likely not so good;
But what you’re after is to turn’em all.

Gawd bless this world! Whatever she’oth done—
Excep’ When awful long—I’ve found it good.
So write, before I die, ” ‘E liked it all!”
Mateuš Conrad Apr 2017
english humour?
       they call it black...
             black as in: i 'aven the foggiest...
sure... it's witty, but up to
the point where slapstick origins
do a dodo and ******* into nothing
while at the same time inviting canned laughter...
               it's black humour they say:
what... you mean bile?
                  now ask a pole about
humour... and he'll be like:
         i'm flying a kite over auschwitz...
i can't believe it's two things at once:
   a "tourist" attraction for some...
                an islamic deterrent, for others.
sure... we can fire up the ovens once more...
             it'll be like that scene in the hobbit
where a few dwarfs started to imbue
life into the abandoned mine of the lonely mountain...
see... that's the thing with english humour,
in that it's black... in that it's too intelligent,
which makes a lunatic laughing for no
perceptible reason...
            enigma jokes... you know the kind...
       but a comedy that forgets itself, having
origins in a schadenfreude... well, it becomes
desperate... it's gagging for an auxiliary settlement
to be staged in the first place:
  canned laughter, enforced laughter,
                  the tyrannical face of western humour:
***** you better laugh! or i swear i'll do
      sum-fin                    nah      sss    tee... tea...
                ty           ti      taikwondo,   taekwondo?
eh?
                   this is starting to look, very much
like kabbalah for the party kids...
                 let's levitate an inch above the alphabet
and **** around with syllables...
         chi       chai                 china       chichen itza
chicken eats ya                 oh you... yes you.
       that's the thing though:
   translate humour from poland into english...
                             it's night... and it's foggy...
             and there's no moon...
                         or crescent... of that northern
star that sometimes aligns itself
        when there's a crescent and you think:
turkey!            no! no!                         pakistan!
                           pompous bozos...
     but this magazine is funny...
   first they write an article that's sorta related to
serge gainsbourg - and then onto
                the doctor who tweaks the faces
      of millennials
-
                and i'm thinking: did i suddenly get something
wrong?
            what a horrid piece...
                   it's journalism, for sure...
   but i'm thinking: the stepford wives...
                  austin powers: fem-bots...
                                ex_machina robot *** slaves...
no, nothing else...
              let's just say i'd sooner find a £110 an hour
bulgar ******* in her 40s more desirable
          than these women think they'll become...
                odd, isn't it?
                             so you pay ten quid to enter
the brothel... and there they are: sitting pretty
                               and all the more intimidating...
a £110 an hour beauty...
                and then this drops into my lap...
an article about my generation bracket doing
  all this fancy **** with bough-toxicity that leads
neither to the roots, nor to the drowning-man's
arms of branches trying to cuddle or at least
                          allow birds to perch on them...
  now i'm really going to have fun with this...
                  pinch of malice, dab of a rotting corpse
of a fox... hey presto! you're in essex,
                                   with the cliche of oranges.  
                        poo poo pout! ooh!      
                              **** underwear or a diaper?        
as random as you can get...
                           but you know what this boils
down to? obviously on a serious note...
    it's whether you care for darwinism or
etymology more.
                         i'm pretty sure the monkey and
the man will lead        (led) - leash - huh? -
           lee lee....                    le!             ole!
(acute e missing, couldn't be bothered inserting it) -
     it's almost like bypassing the whole genus
concept... of family traditions...
   e.g. the family ****.... the tradition? sapiens!
  i wish that was true...
                            how about proto erectus?
or    mono erectus?
                              darwinism has become such a yawn
after it became a form of cultural indoctrination...
    honestly... i rather go to a zoo and watch
a monkey scratch it's ***... sniff it's hand
and then scratch it's head...
                   so yeah... etymology...
     i just spent the afternoon shooting words out
of my gob, going: well... that's funny...
          a dog with three legs, go!
       w                ł
  
                          v                ­        there...
    you'll get v'eh (fff'uckers!) joke łen sum' fin
                     really 'appens...
             and ven... you'll be like:  please me sir...
         m'ah  łoman -            went into labour...
        plus there's no concept of v in polish (st. paul
on a leash) -
                      there's w = v
               there's  ł = w
                                                       and there's u.
back to the botox beauties...
                                          at £110 an hour?
these bulgar women? (they're not *** slaves
if they get paid) -
                               what's the difference?
   they're mandible...
                              like play-dough...
                                like clay... you can mould them
into an ******... these instagram perfectionists?
         why would i want to **** a porcelain girl?
i'd be scared to **** her thinking i might break her...
   but back to quasi-etymology, that's quasi
for a bilingual fascination...
                   winda (v) = lift... so no, it's not windy
        when govinda yawns... qui?
     wróbel (v) = sparrow...
                      or...          in the russian currency...
     hold a sparrow in your hand? you're... a ******* millionaire!
               tulipan = tulip
                        tu (here) is where you impress your lips -
    and that is an actual conjunction, i.e. tu -
                                       róża = rose
         hmm... maczuga! maczuga = bludgeon...
      wω                             buttocks, with a missing H:
                               or wow or: woah!
        curve 'ere v(u)               ******* sharpenings 'ere ω(w).
honestly, i still think that there's been a diacritical
****... two proofs:                 i          and             j.
         that's ****... it's presupposing that ι (ιota)
                            needs a diacritical mark hanging over
it, a bit like damocles' sword....
        just hanging above it on a single hair of
a horse's mane... i'm guessing it's also called:
                                                      pre­cursor of the violin.
but if you really want to pronounce an acute z (ź) -
      you'll have to use a syllable from the word euthanasia.
oddly enough, when in st. petersburg
   i didn't spot a single mcdonalds...
                       it's like this odd feeling that you're
in a chiral environment, being used to seeing this
  outpost in little england...
                   and they don't really drink coca cola either...
they drink this carbohydrate drink called квас (kvas -
    western slavic?                    acid) -
           and eat pancakes with orange caviar...
black caviar? that's for the opera people who
  nibble on it on canapés... orange caviar is
                for the no nonsense people.
H aven for those who’s words are never read
E ven though they pour their souls and very
L ives and spirit through their pens or
L et their fingers nurture beautiful tomorrows
O n the keyboards of their creativity.

P oetry is the blood that pumps
O ut wondrous magic from those fertile minds that
E nds up on a glowing screen or printed page, in hopes
T hat it can give birth to a long awaited
R ennaissance in the thinking of the world, and create a
Y earning for a better way to live and love.
ljm
Not real happy with this one.  May rework it.
KathleenAMaloney Apr 2016
Jagged Edges
Speeding along
500 years a second Passed

Clear Light
Six Sided
Eight remembered
9 finished
12
Perfect strangers all
Known
By the Omission

Carried by the Flame
NOW
Body Complete within
X taken as four Angels LosT

Fuselage of a Rocket
Allowing
Christ Risen Pentecost
Er aven Rose
Language Forbidden

Chalice Returned






Distant Meadows
How We Used to Play
Surrationality Apr 2014
Oi, you der!
Oy tink you 'ave a problem
Oy tink you and me
'ave tings to seddle

Been moonts now we 'aven' gobbed,
Moonts now you stoi shuh in
It's doone now, lahd.
We ar' doone.
Cheers.
An experiment in eye dialect.
OnlyEggy Jul 2011
Tell me again why you are running away,
...forgotten yearning.
It seems to me like you've gone astray,
...very discerning.
I know you won't listen to what I've got to say,
...so concerning.
But it seems so selfish of you not to stay
...ever the casern king.
You always 've seen the world in a shade of gray
...endless murmuring.
I wanted, just once, to hear you pray
...useless stammering.
Just to know where your soul would lay
...'aven't started burning.
I tried to shape you, create form from clay
...too inurning
But it seems that I created a mess, a splay
...you're learning
Blinded, I just watched as you began to sway
...court's adjourning
And now your body ash as we prepare to bray
...just sojourning
My constant pushing led to this needless slay
...very secerning
Regrets of times past will be reminisced today
...un-upturning
And so, we say goodby one last time along the brae
...stop mourning
As we spread your ash to the wind on this spring day
...I'll be...ret..u..r...n.....i.......
(AIP)
Little Bear Feb 2016
Hey guess what?/?!!!
in ducking drunk out of my dublin house
i cant aven see the ****** floor holy shiv
this is my first druma text ha
a nun a texttiny thingo any more way....................
''''''''''''''''''''''''' colloalp
plEASE FOOT LEAVE OF &&&&&7
i  had so
many bears and now i caint ducking see
won inn i need a leba
in so hungry i could eat a eat any
love yo you assimlle forever
put the kettl on in booming good duel
So crap.. it has to be some form of art :o)
Actual text I found on my phone from last year.
I have no idea who I was going to send it to
and I had no memory of it the next day.
I think I was waiting for a taxi with my friend,
maybe I thought I was sending it to her???
Who knows..
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2018
i cant's actually feel
my 4th knuckle  right on
my  orour right arms....
since in bulged...
        with me using against
a one punch
  crescendo on a
brick wall...
           that "should
have been your face...
       i almost feel
abadoned...
            being kept intact
with a ref. to a family...
there comes a grit,
and a believability...
  to ensure is kept:
                 sacrilegious....
like an obedience
to keep
  "prayer":
                   in nomine patris
              et filii et spiritus sancti...
and whatever your
little ******* asked "otherwise":
we sure as ****,
will, gauge your eyes out@;

death and justice is not,
a t.v. affair...
                   we do...
and what we do...
       is necessary...
             regarding what needs...
to be...
                     done....

savvy?

ever punch a brick-wall
so hard you felt your fourth
knuckle to a soft-pouch liver
synonym?

    course you 'aven't...
ya 'ucking ginger misfit "queer",
y'ah 'acking ginger brixton *****!
     queen calls it
a ******* moustache
   re-appropriation
             of the 19th / 18 century...
tells me:
    i just, i just might
play off fitting with
the suburbans...

            there's a *******
collective of "them"
involved?!
                  sign me up! queer sister!

can i play up
being a half decent
                  baker of goods?
oyu know...
         with a knuckle missing
cos of numbing via
punching a wall...
    sort of tailor,
i.e.       a: F'UCKING CHEF
AT YOUR LOCAL ROUNDABOUT
OUTLET... YES CHEF
HEIRARCHY *******?!
YES CHEF?!
              coooooooooooo
    -k minus the "-ing"(?)....
                      cook...
             well i mind to mind the intellect
of having to mind frying croissants...
    i love the motto
though:
                         i die...
         you die...
     i could do the "mundane"
jobs...
point beig:
                  why would i have
       to go to university for them?
         if there's an "alternative" univerese
for the explanation...
   why aren't you dead?
on the basis of a criminal focus
with, exchange, focusing on, "you"?
                  so why is there no cain-impetus
to "mind" "you", "minding", "me".  
come to think of it...
a bit of a waste of propagada
liastening to: send your kids to university
send your kids to university....
then again...
i die... i yawn...
               i suppose there's another day.
Ariana Apr 14
In Her 10th year she took the form of
a large leafed aven.
A rare eye’s-smile,
bright yellow as sunshine.
Hair sprouting wild the way hand-gathered
bouquets should.
Exploding from bud to flower—

Still green with too-long legs raising her
Up,
   Up,
      Higher up by the moment;
Sun-kissed and well-fed on love.
To my daughter as we ready to enter her 12th year.

— The End —