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Janus has a grand auld pair of heads:

One looks backwards on all the **** and grime, on the ****, on the limescale, on the mould, on the excrement, on the muck and grit and gunge and gunk, on all that wastage of human time, toiling away, scraping at the rot and the filth and slime, and besmearing the earth afresh, and blessing it.

The other looks forwards on all the **** and grime, on the ****, on the limescale, on the mould, on the excrement, on the muck and grit and gunge and gunk, on all that wastage of human time, toiling away, scraping at the rot and the filth and slime, and besmearing the earth afresh, and blessing it.
Dave Bosworth Aug 2013
At trees reunited or the Great Timber-yard in the sky
There are certain branches
who remember the incisions made
to fell their growth.
spurts & seasons,
and the wind rustling
through imagined leaves of
appendages long gone

All the gunge
symptomatic of sap coagulated
won't replace the
holes in the sky

© Copyright David Bosworth August 2013
time for a cigarette
Yenson Jun 2019
Those cosmopolitan provincials sorts
the chavs, yobs, yobbesses and oiks with semolina for brains
them retro-grade grade-less sub-humans bottom feeders
who think Cardiff is in East Angular and Magaluf is Eden
and Higher Education begins in Borstal or a stint at HM Prisons
found by happenstance a tin of Caviar
something they'd never seen before
with the curiosity of practiced thieves
they proceeded to examine its worth
'its a tin of hair gel says one'
'No, no, no says another, I think its something you eat'
'it says Caviar Royal Beluga, observes another'
'throw it away, anything with a name like that is *******'
'Beluga...some foreign muck, it look dark and oily'
'yea mate, look like ****, throw it away'
One of the dis-advantaged rabble with one O'level in Carpentry
took a closer look  
'look he says, there's sticker on the bottom that reads
Caviar Royal Beluga – 1kg £3,780.00'
Hahahaha they all roared in ceaseless mirth, hahaha
'some joker is having a laugh, pull the other leg, fancy...
a tin of black gunge in some slimy stuff cost three grand,
must think people are born yesterday, Beluga..fuckoffluga'
And with that, they tossed the tin away and walked off
laughing like *******.

Ignorance is a disease, ignorance is bliss
will vandals extol the sheer magnificence of a Constable
or see anything other than a chair in a Chippendale ribbonback chair,
will Barbarians shed a tear on hearing the sensuous notes of Chopin or shiver at the graceful notes of Debussy or melt in sheer
adoration as Tchaikovsky's romance soars in magical resonance.  
Will cosmopolitan heathens gape in mesmerizing wonder on
seeing Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel and praise God for being alive
So who has great expectations of our dear cosmopolitan provincials sorts
those chavs, yobs, yobbesses and oiks with semolina for brains
for in disparaging excellence
and rubbishing  the noble and the exceptional
they make us appreciate more that we are blessed
and privileged
and do not have
semolina for brains

hey!
who would like some caviar
jeremy wyatt Feb 2011
Wine glass full of water now
last weeks was full of pills
sat and looked for hours at it
no place for happy thrills
poured wine in until it met
the high point of the pile
it melted into mess and gunge
that tasted ******* vile
didn't really do that much
hardly any power
didn't want to die or hurt
just sleep to numb an hour
all that **** is history
prescription ripped up in the bin
got a happy life for me
won't hurt my friends with that old sin
painful flashbacks ******'s ghosts
I overreact and always  frown
got to protect my friends the most
to remember the ones that I let down
You fill the bowl
To wash the pots
You make sure the water
Is scorching hot

Plenty of fairy
To cut through the gunge
Then into the deep
Do your marigolds plunge

But in a split second
You cry out in pain
A blood curdling scream
There’s a ******* hole in them again!

Your fingers are singed
You jump up and down
Wrestling with the rubber
Dragging it down

Over your arms
As fast as you can
Revealing the blisters
All over your hands

How on earth
Did these marigolds go
And foil me again
By acquiring a hole?

They’re ****** brand new
Only worn them once!
Yet somehow they’re torn
And my digits are toast

Why does this happen?
Is there no God?
Invent some ******* rubber
Immune to the ****

Of a mystery hole punch
That wins every time
Incinerating my poor fingers
As I try to remove grime!

Surely there’s an answer
An invention for that -
If only rubber gloves
Were made of shellac.
Nissa Arsenic Apr 2016
He could feel the way water moved
when it stuck to the windows, how it slipped
and dripped off the poppies
onto his cigar box filled with ******
escapees. Even its softness can drown,
He was drowning.

Inside the greenhouse the found
him already emptied, lying
on the ground with the white hospital
wristband tied, shotgun resting
beside. His face missing.

I understand
why he did it, “It is better to burn
Out than to fade away.”
He wanted to stop the sinking.
He wanted to burn.

No one saw the water tangled in his teeth,
pressed up against his lips, consuming.
Or heard the drenching within his voice
as he sang. If I had known he had a gun,
even when he swore he didn’t.

Now all I can hear are pulsating echoes
Of strings that no longer sound like waves crashing,
and his raw, gunge screams now mute  
And rippling away.
nivek Aug 2023
fusion, starlight, nuclear, energy
transformation
single cell, split atom, Mankind
nivek Aug 2020
lancing boils
******* out poison

and smearing into the faces of polite society
all the gunge
can be art at its best

— The End —