"innit" poems
My sister boasted to me one night in a Liverpool pub
She had *** with a couple of coppers down the Mersey Tunnel.
'You're nothing bit a fat slapper' I scolded her,
As she examined the selfie I had taken
Just a few moments earlier of me
And her best friend up against the ladies' bog door.
"Good likeness, innit?" I commented and the
She farted stentoriously in surprise and,
The follow-through oozed down her dimpled thigh.
Feb 7, 2016
Feb 7, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
The pen, they say, is mightier,
but is it keener than a knife?
This brittle blade of insolence,
unleashed to lash at life.
'Yeah, innit, Bruv, he got right up in my face,
cos my phone was out in lesson time
and he called me a disgrace.
Like, so, whatever, mate,
I told him where to go,
trying to tell me English,
while I'm textin' my new hoe.'
The pen is not mightier,
it is tarnished and obtuse,
a vision of a different age,
wrought blind from its misuse.
Its sapling song of innocence,
split south across the grain
and cast across the classroom,
yanked up and lobbed again.
'Do you get me, Blood?
He was pointing at a seat,
expectin' ME to sit there,
as if it were a treat.
I told him where to stick it
and called him out a clown,
I **** this one-way death pit
as I'm walkin' round and round.'
The pen should still be mighty
and not a strangled stream,
that's crawling up an incline,
like an M. C. Escher dream.
Its muddy banks lie dormant,
both acorn and an oak.
'Cut that **** you KEENO,
let's **** off for a smoke.'
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 4:47 PM UTC
Dey real kewl. Dey
selfie skool. Dey
glow goonz. Dey
PC geeks. Dey
luv Jay-Z. Dey
RT #JK. Dey
tan tangaz. Dey
pRT bangaz. Dey
dwn danger. Dey
jack jäger. Dey
dbl dip. Dey
do trip. Dey
l%k weL 7k. Dey
die s%n, LOL innit.
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 5:03 PM UTC
Alright fella, how’s you mate?
Just heard back from the hospital innit.
They got you that liver now?
Yeah man, sorted. Ahh yeah-
did I tell you ‘bout the other day?
There was this ******* mug
by the chippy and he mugged
me off. And I was like mate,
don’t mess - you’ve picked the wrong day
to be a ******** innit.
And he was all like, “Yeah?
**** off, mate.” And right, now,
well, I’d had enough by now;
I wanted to teach this mug
a Life-Long Lesson, yeah?
So I said, “I’m not your mate,
and I will end you if you don’t **** off, innit.”
Ah man – this was not his day.
You remember back on Tuesday,
when I got that knife that I still use now?
I had it on me, and I shanked him, innit!
Serves him right for being a mug;
*sounds like one less ***** on the estate, mate.*
Too right blud. Was well funny too, yeah –
cause he was just round the corner, yeah,
I just walked into the chippy like any normal day!
Just like, “Nah, no vinegar please mate.”
There’s never any filth around here now
so we can just shank mug after mug;
and we’ll make it a better place to live, innit.
Oh yeah, and I can get smashed now, innit!
We’ll get some pills and that, yeah?
Have us a party, but don’t invite Gaz, you mug –
he shagged Tracey the other day,
so it is gonna be well awkward now.
*Ahh **** I am well excited, mate.*
And mate, make sure you bring some fit girls, innit.
You wanna come round now? Nah, got a check-up. Yeah,
but it’s not gonna take all day! Shut up, you mug.
Jun 6, 2011
Jun 6, 2011 at 3:07 PM UTC
well it was the alternative to gregory isaac’s night nurse... but then the bouncer on the catwalk with flares... skidding up on a rhyme and cooling it with an edge of the appropriately cut fashion... chased it.
innit kamikaze (rap’s shortchange in shaken pears
for martini bond and chanced cockney slang in shakespeare,
all 90’s groove though)
lyric’o gangsters
in the mollusk slush
two’s up freed
with the sly sly s.o.s. sloth
chinning up to the chariots of nero’s double for portrait:
naa na na na na na na na na na na na na naa,
naa na na na na na na na na na na na na naa
(i miscounted... didn't i?) -
where kurt cobian’s yeah yeah yeah used to be
along with r.e.m.’s cowboy astronaut.
come mike jagger with me the liszt skeleton
of b & w’s worth of crescendos tipping lazy waitresses
with a toreador’s worth of breezy napkins folded, flapped and sneezed into -
i’ll be dumping my shadow into splits for extras to boot frying it in
the hiroshima of paparazzi’s blinking.
failures are worth other people’s success when playing the lyre to a burn out of capitals:
anyway, edinburgh is the ultimate cameo in the literary bloodline
begot by paris for the 20th century ultimatum of identity scripted.
Oct 9, 2015
Oct 9, 2015 at 8:38 PM UTC
the first verse has some sort of divinity in it
innit?
followed by blah
induced by education
influenced by footsie
******* by governments
you never get the bike you want
spider-man is a man in a costume
your best mate takes your girlfriend to the prom
you blink
you water the roses
your parents and your wife
hate you
you have been adopted and divorced
without having a say
you loose your keys
the global warming ain't warm enough
to keep the numbness away
feed the meter
feed the children
feed the pigeons in Trafalgar square
you have a common face
and love is a hypothesis
never proven
yawn
fret
shuffle
your keys are missing again
your looks, brains and mojo forever
stuck in a queue for uniqueness
everyone else on Earth is already unique!
laugh like a clicked emoticon
when society flips you:
head - hope
tail - desperation
nada in between
watch out!
the last verse is coming
[look busy]
Jun 27, 2012
Jun 27, 2012 at 12:40 PM UTC
so I guess this is it, the summit
not very impressing.
I thought at the least I'd see over the tops of skies
you should know I hid cigarette butts under the stone patio
off the guest wing. now I wish I could just lay on those rocks or at the base of your bed, vanity wore us down like shotgun rounds in the face of our masquerade ballet. I drank the bloods from your fountains of paradise: 19, 20, 21, 22, and 23
then found you in our bed with your fingers in your ***
to make sure we'd fit together more aptly, and now my skin
burns in its own rash of obsessive unforgetfulness, I make my own
******* future with you innit,
***** or no *****
I know nectars better than the Georgians
worship better than Mohammad
skin better than Buffalo Bill
and your name better than my own
Penguin.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 1:08 AM UTC
scrawled on public lav wall
expression of desire
meet for cockfun
bring own lubricant
hateful avarice
petty meanness
**** OFF FATFACE
Good, innit?
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 9:59 AM UTC
You were the first to make me smile,
I'm told. Descending from suspicion -
Your bedroom staircase above -
You accepted me then. I have
Passed ivy fences by that house
When striving to Magic with you.
Amigo! More than brother; ours
Being found on humour – better
Than most siblings we know. In fact,
You were ingesting first substances
To drop the edges, were you not,
When I stumbled into that? You
And him and I – godless trinity
Of wrenched enlightenment. He quenched me;
You kept me sane with jokes, if and
When you could. You never browbeat,
Never boast of any graces.
Right and wrong are solid to you.
Yet somehow you tread easily
Between seriousness and love -
innit, though? Forming yourself
Happily through your work and home -
Though home is mother's, it's yours too.
How light, the heart that binds you
In marriage. I should have forged this
For that; unsure how to cast you
In your own plot, I bottled out.
Brother, friend, joker – which face are
You today? Now the heath is sprung
With new tender lavender. You
Shock me. You were the first to make
Me cry at lunch, when you gave
Your speech. You invoked the dead,
Charged glasses and glasses, you
Called upon no weary gods; danced
Into shackledom with Dad beside you.
Dec 19, 2012
Dec 19, 2012 at 8:53 PM UTC
I
I'm trying t' find my ID.
I think I'm missing it.
This thing,
This bright, shining light,
It's hiding in my blindsight.
I'm swimming in mist,
Trying t' find ... "I"
First I'm living
In my crib;
Clinging wrists.
Flitting my crib,
I'm Shy
Crying, whiny twit, missing bitty,
With stinky kids, kicking kitty.
I'm missing my crib.
I'm piling thinking bricks with big kids.
Slimy, smirking ***** hiss 'n' spit.
I'm sitting still in ill-fitting shirts,
shirking sight.
Hiding might blind ****** kids crying, "It's billy!!! Skinny **** 'n' smiling in fits.
"Try finding kind kids x"
Finding "whys" in rising minds.
My mind grinds.
I'm kicking tins, spilling drinks.
Sitting in IT,
Sir chillingly insists "it isn't "fly" spilling drinks! "Shy" brings skills. "Why" brings ills."
I'm still shy.
This crib's tiny.
Tiny minds, blind by bling.
Fit chicks with big ****
Thick ****** thinking with *****
I flit this Brit ****
Brisk flight,
I find "I"
Simply shimmying "ir(o)n lik(e) li(o)n in zi(o)n".
In Brit, I'm still shilling it,
Finding thrill in it,
Hiding 'til it lifts.
I'm brisk fixing it,
I'm hiding in drinks,
Finishing in clink.
Trying things,
High by night,
Slinking by, finding light.
Thinking "this is it!! I'm in!"
Tricky light. Light trick. Sight trick.
Lying in my mind
It's still ****
Is it?
His birth...
This child is my kid!
This brill kid!
I'M in this kid!
Big grin :D
First kid is big kid,
Mid kid is silly kid,
Quickly hitch my Miss.
Third kid. This kid, this girl is my girl.
Brill kids!
I bring my bling by flipping kids thinking bricks;
Fixing bits in thinking ink;
I'm finding it stinks.
Kids drink slick skills.
My mind chills with mind filling drills.
Kids grinding, crying spills -
"Sir, it's **** innit?
With missing mining, missing mills,
Im plying skills by filing bills."
I'm plying skills with mind pills.
Mrs "I" is criticising my id
Im minding my Ps n Qs
Biting my lip
Fists tight, shifting slightly
Slinking nightly
This is ****
Hit slight hitch
Hit BIG hitch
"'kin *****
I finish with my Mrs
Kids split 'twixt cribs.
Kids trips fix splits.
Kiss lips ***
"Night night x"
"Light?"
Click light.
Right, "night!"
I'm hiding my ills in girls.
IT pimps, swiping right.
Primp ****
Minging swill.
Fit chick.
Swift flirt.
Flirt, kiss, flirt, kiss.
Big ****
Tight slit.
Milky spit.
Wiping ****
Hiding ***** sight in mind,
I find it sticks.
I drift
Stick tight
Fighting my plight
Grin
"It's 'right"
Missing my crib
My ID
I'm finding my mind
Sticking with it
Fighting silly flirting ****
Try finding inspiring sights
My kids
My crib
My Inking
My Writing
My mind
My eye
I'm kind
I'm "I"
Oct 28, 2016
Oct 28, 2016 at 8:03 PM UTC
**Swim deep and walk on water
At the same time
Makes no sense to to you?
Its not supposed to
Make sense... to you
If you don't get it
If this reads fluid to you... and you don't sweat it
Ironic... innit?
But that means you were meant to get it
To understand
That it takes a certain type of mentality
To soar high... bravely... Pterosaur
And not Ostrich... head under sand
We shall continue to preach revolution
An old, but evolved resolution
Until we die
And even beyond the grave
We shall continue to haunt that which we stand against
Free that 'slave'
From the ills of society
Save
And stand up for one another
Be a father, a mother, a sister, a brother
To your loved one, your comrade, their guidance... their radar
And we shall always be an asset, a benefit
To one another.**
Dec 6, 2011
Dec 6, 2011 at 3:40 PM UTC
“Poetry’s for poofters, innit?”
A square jaw
thrustwobbling out of sagging jowls
to menace my airspace.
The first assault,
olfactory.
Saliva hops into my bitter dominion.
Draw breath, draw back
as knuckles whiten
and eyes glaze with a lust
for ****** architecture.
“Excuse me, I think I left my car headlights on.”
Feb 20, 2015
Feb 20, 2015 at 3:43 AM UTC
I hurple t'ward the Wabbit Warren
of pomposity;
a reynard of levity,
lost.
lollop,,,,,,,, that's a good word innit?
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 11:20 AM UTC
I think I've been tricked into thinking I'm sick.
If you want to know more I can give you the Bic
Just give it a little click
Write me a little 'script?
I'm moody enough to be an emotional poet
And I'm desperate enough that I'll have you know it
I will even all-the-way-down-to-the-bone it
Fake a pretty personality and tell you where to stow it?
I'll sing out "look what I did Pappa!" in a British child's accent
Starring Me! o just me! in a big name musical event
Possibly open a space in my chest for rent
Call a British doctor? "She needs put down, innit."
My emotional range as classical piano keys
Jet black and stark white, smash a fist down and see
But you'll never guess, you'll never guess what's to be....
I've got a vendetta with a psychiatric decree.
I think I've been tricked into BEING sick
And **** you all, I want that ******* Bic
Give your jugular a little stick?
Now write me another 'script.
Apr 8, 2010
Apr 8, 2010 at 7:22 AM UTC
Welcome to the guide on how to write poetry.
Poems don't always rhyme
well, some of the time.
It's in plenty of children's stuff
but adults have had enough.
They
are
layed
out
weirdly
sometimes
and some are just in a long line similar to this, like you would find in a book
or pehaps with !punc?tuat'ion a^ll* o&ver;
$t"he p(l)£ace%
in CAPITALS or lower case
or perhapps with duhliburut speling misstakes.
They may have words in them
you don't understand
like antebellum or zeugma
or with words that enni yungstur ken get innit m8? Lol!
1. They can have numbers in them.
2. yehT nac eb nettirw sdrawkcab.
3. A bit of repetition did no one no harm harm harm.
Thou canst use the language of old if one wishes,
or use language that is simple, easy to grasp.
Poems
offer
exciting,
marvellous
chances to do things like an acrostic or something fancier.
Write in français, español, deutsch, dansk, italiano, polski, gaelige, cymraeg, ελληνικά, русский, íslenskur, עברית, हिंदी, 中國的, 日本の,العربية
one of those, or English if you choose.
In bold (brackets and italics too) - a dash here; use semi-colons properly as well.....don't over do the full stops or talk about silly things like purple pumpkins playing with pigeons.
L o o k.
You have some choices now.
Stick to my rules
or make your own.
To be onist, it dunt rearly mattuh.
It's a poem. Something like that.
Mar 9, 2012
Mar 9, 2012 at 1:40 PM UTC
hair unkempt but it's aright
kicks dusty as **** it's cool tho
lame faded brain blues wade through
sleeper in my eye not noticed till, like, 2
or something like that
espresso? yes pls
barista and me awkward exchange
but it was nice still
you know, like how the skips
make you feel human again?
sun on my face such a simple thing
hello day where ya been
im not really real
im jus lines in yer device
im not really there
im just pixels in yer eyes
stay in it
stay in it
stay in it
strange innit?
this game this skit
frames hang us
yer pics sentenced
stranger days flit
vulnerable green leaves blush
nice teacups chipped
texts n snaps sliiick dulcet
stains in the sheets lonely loner
strange innit?
stay in it
stay in it
Aug 15, 2016
Aug 15, 2016 at 9:15 PM UTC
I hear the call of the siren,
It drags me from my dreams.
Well, that's what you have to expect,
Living in South London, innit?
Nov 4, 2013
Nov 4, 2013 at 6:20 PM UTC
Here's a little something,
I'm not sure it's poetry; maybe prose.
My day was going well, knocked-off early, travelled home.
With the morning's mail, my new bank cards, as expected.
But not quite - the name - so wrong.
There was my title, 'Miss', but with my old boy-name, in full.
I was stunned and distressed. Upset and angry in equal measure.
It had seemed all so simple at the bank last week, and,
now. this. ******* ****
I went straight down, on the Victoria line, steaming,
holding back hot tears, and sunglasses well needed.
An hour later and I was out in the street again.
Looking around still a bit stunned.
Lots of promises and a sort of disappointment in myself
that I didn't explode as much as I had expected.
It might have been a kind of therapy perhaps?
Actually I needed a different sort - a stiff drink.
Old reaction. Victoria is fine for that, innit?
A wine and time to sort out the ****** mess I am.
In the bar I search for one calming thought, something to put me in a better mood.
I owe myself more than this furious self-pity, for Christ's sake.
I know I can do it. I'm too subjective, but I can use this weakness too.
And here it is. You and me.
Our time together at the weekend. So simple.
A fresh, vivid memory not yet dimmed by the passing of more mundane things.
Being in your arms, looking into your blue eyes, I the object of your passion.
A bubble universe of you and me that will be for always.
It's a special memory sealed just like a bug in amber.
Forever in space and time aloof and impervious to the world's crap.
Showered by your hot kisses, I became a goddess for a night.
I unlocked your spirit too; you shone and took my breath.
We were locked so close. Vibrating with mutual energy.
I glowing, you gasping and drained but happy, both dizzy.
How can this be? We don't deserve this. This is 'love'.
Actual, ****** romantic, love. The stuff teenagers dream about.
I worry that I'm not really supposed to have this.
But I know a good thing when I see it my love.
So like I said, I'm subjective, impressionistic sometimes.
It was a simple trick to switch the ****** thoughts for another
that was so, so much sweeter....
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
What's up bruv",
"Chill out bruv',
The social's divided much unloved,
"But thatz so true like",
"Innit like",
Bourgeois reinvented social tikes.
"What about it tho"
"Not at all tho",
Feared difference from the status quo.
"Nah fam",
"Wid de fam",
Cult disciples of instagram.
Communaholics,
Vitriolic,
Diabolic,
Gamesters,
Influencers,
Society's single use redeemers,
"Link me up"
"Whatssup"
The Gen Z get-up.
Mar 10, 2020
Mar 10, 2020 at 8:08 PM UTC
and who would have thought that there would be such
certainty governing ι (iota), as to effectively stress it
all the ****** time? guise it in whatever pronouns
you want, either modern or ancient and if ancient
then bound to psychiatric theory - but who would have
thought that so much pinpointing was to be allowed
over ι? and yet there are hordes of people without
a clue as to who they are and what identity to rattle
the world with... pinpoint above the iota...
if it was absolutely precise, and if it was truly identifiable
with a great accuracy, i'd find people in shackles of
certainty, hardly deviating from that's already apparent
to them... but it's not the case... so presumptuous
to ascribe iota (ι) that sort of certainty when ascribing
it a holy pronoun status... there's hardly a pinpoint
about the iota, hardly any certainty, always the spontaneous
venture, and that's still bound to what aesthetician you
speak to...
ᾠ (oi)! wriggly serpent of
arabic in greek, wriggled in, subscripted, prefix: al-,
then the l'ah the l'ah, la la la... la la... mmmbop! handsome,
innit? kamoze... na na na na na na na na na na nah...
'ere *** d' 'otstepper... chilli chilli in sprechen dingo...
roughing up the woof downunder.
and wrote a surah about the byzantine defeat...
true up to the point of mongol and the mamluke...
for if not the serpent to teach man handwriting,
what animal? is not the serpent the jurassic spine
and our pause for thought? or what does predate
the discovery of dinosaur bones if not bonsai
morphed into welsh and chinese dragons?
exaggerations of sleeper's intuition collectively?
to bow, or say: prior: all things worthy of a palette -
then the revisionist meteor, then all things condemnable
and bound to excess - gluttonous eyes staring poignant as if
gnats stuck to venomous arrows with a thirst for st. sebastian...
for what audacity asserted that it was always to be so:
a pinpoint above ι? there was no universal agreement -
as is to say: a god of the omni realm will never consider
a peace treaty unless the people abide by the mantra om
and subsequently flourish... and what animal taught us this
wriggling? should we rewrite our stance basing all
metamorphosis from shouting to a hush and then compound
with statement: genteel reader away from the serpent
and haloing the worm, that too wriggles? it all depends which
aesthetician you speak to... if you speak to me,
i'll tell you this version of human history's worth of
soap opera.
Nov 18, 2016
Nov 18, 2016 at 5:37 AM UTC
TOBY AND I HAVE TAKEN TO WEARING BINDI
WHICH HAS CAUSED QUITE A STIR
IN OUR NEIGHBOURHOOD
WHERE THERE ARE A LOT OF BIGOTS.
I CALL THEM BIGOTS
BUT TOBY PREFERS MAGGOTS
AND WHEN I SIT AND THINK ABOUT IT
I AGREE WITH HIM.
HE'S ONLY A CAT
BUT HE HAS A VERY BIG BRAIN
WHICH SOME PEOPLE THINK MEANS
HE'S EXTREMELY INTELLIGENT
BUT I DON' T
Oct 23, 2017
Oct 23, 2017 at 11:47 AM UTC
Forgetting fortes
within this conglomerate;
fortified crumble
Oct 31, 2013
Oct 31, 2013 at 8:02 PM UTC
And suddenly i see the world differently,
Girls with bright smiles
and slit wrists.
Shining eyes.
Broken pasts.
Shattered beautifully.
Sharp pieces held together carefully,
walking, taking steps forward.
The pieces cutting deeper, inwards.
Fighting, battling.
Hurting, Dying.
****** struggle, Beautiful remains.
No pain, No gain
innit mate?
Apr 4, 2017
Apr 4, 2017 at 2:55 PM UTC
Mixed messages of love and joy.
Translated by other sites.
You think you penned it right.
Something went wrong.
You're talking of flowers, which in a gorgeous garden grew.
Translated to flour for bread, chucked in a wordy stew.
It's all so confusing, words of blood, became squelching mud.
Oh what is this poetic person to do?
Reminder to self,must not write love poems in foreign tongue to you.
Words of love all painted blue.
Just a little sticky.
Oops.
Could be a little tricky.
You say you want to visit,
In perfect spiel you say "Innit".
The twisted words may become untangled,
Eventually.
When the translation websites all make sense or scents,
They may end up smelling sweet.
(C) LIVVI
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 6:00 AM UTC