i haven't the ******* time, or patience to wait for the publishing industry to wake up; the same "concern" applies to the journalistic community.

nie, będe, sie, bawił, w,
tą, kurwa-jego-mać
gre, zwaną: ciu-ciu-babka...
  nie!
nie będe sie bawił
w *ciu-ciu-babke!
    nie będe sie bawił w tą gre:
niby schowanego! nie! niet!
                                     nein! no!
p.s.
   acute (chew)'
                    regarding ciu-
       i.e. ch'u snap!
babka: bagel -
thorn of a crow's tongue.

In that gripping night
The mists, shrouding my head and my vision
Lights came from a Goddess
Then i said a stale greeting

The Goddess who gave off the lights, too early saying goodbye
Armed with ciu and tuak
I'm the drunken, dare myself to pull Her over

"Oh my Goddess, please don't leave this earth before i repay your love that casts the mists"

Society, disappointed my Goddess
Society, humiliating my Goddess

Armed with ciu and tuak
The drunken, reads a poem about the other side of earth

Now is the time for the Goddess to leave
But not to leave the earth

Now is the time for the Goddess to leave the drunken's hug
To explore some parts that She's never been touched
Which She deserves more to step on, then the heart of the drunken

Goodbye my goddess,
pray also for my journey

N'are aripi, e de-al nostru!
E de-al nostru!
E de la noi!
E al meu!

Da' păcat că nici nu zboară...
Acum tre' să am grijă de el.

Ce porumbel șobolan înaripat molipsitor,
Parcă îmi vine să-l sărut.

Pardon, să strănut.

Și mă uit la soare ca să strănut mai ușor,
Și îi văd și pe ceilalți șobolani înaripați,
Hap-

Da ce frumos e ceru'

-ciu.

For Tracy

I wish I had the *****
To say this to your face
But I'm all over the place
Maybe someone will find my diary
Rip out the pages
And say these words to you
In a nicer accent than mine
But you'll know it’s me

That day after we left school
And I got inebriated
In that club (CIU affiliated)
You walked out, arm in arm
With Tony the ****
And all I could do
To show my hurt
Was sick down my shirt

At Jackie and Teds reception
In the Golden Lion
I saw you looking at me
With that smile
You kept for children
And catalogue men
I didn't have the *****
They still ain't dropped
After all these years baby
After all these years
But if they did I wouldn't have stopped

So hear me now baby
Through his posh inflection
The plans I had for us
You need to hear of the direction
We were headed
The dreams I dreamt for us
I mourn the time we snogged
In the alley near the allotments
Where the drudgery of life
Could not get through to us
If the moon had changed its cycle
I'd have met your ******

That bank holiday weekend
Just after the storm
I had my Uncle Bobs van
A stereo to die for,
No tax, (it was applied for)
One windscreen wiper
But three good tyres
And I knew you were an optimist

The only thing that stood
Between the Sheppey Isle
And our bliss
Was a country mile
The A13, my hesitancy
And ability to miss or miss
That caravan was ours
For three whole days
I was flush with cash
Seventy two pounds sterling
In coins
We could have been King and Queen

The boot was well stocked
With 2 bottles of Polish *****
From the **** shop
And a pocket full of 10 mil Vallies
I nicked from your Mum
At that knees-up
When your grand-dad died
I could have held your perfect hand
And crushed your tiny fingers
If you had lied
About your love for me
Which you would have only done
To save your heart from breaking

You have always been my hero
You shat on the swings
And did other things
That no-one dared
But you never
Got smaller
Unlike
Me

So when you hear his posh voice
Think of me
Think of the caravan
Think of Leysdown
Then look down at the fallen chair
Look up at my limp body
Do what I never could

And cry your ******* heart out