"jammy" poems
I'm such a rascal you know.
I ate an entire packet of biscuits, just like they're going out of fashion.
All jammy and creamy, so sickly, sweet.
I am such a selfish gal.
Gave not one to the children.
I'm such a selfish witch.
The dog looked on so longing.
I saved none for my *****
I smiled sweetly at her, a curt little grin, if you know what I mean.
I said, "no sorry , Blue, biscuits are only for humans, they're so not good for you!
Any excuse to eat them all, what else can a good girl do!
(C) Livvi
Dec 13, 2014
Dec 13, 2014 at 1:31 PM UTC
The man decked in blue
sits quite content
on a sofa
and observes wealthy offspring
waltz in flashing their brilliant teeth
glossed with potent peppermint.
These teens
don't know love,
lust is all it is.
While the Jazz bops away,
more whisky is poured
and they zip out to get jammy.
The man, mid-twenties,
kind of blue, dapper apparel,
has one on the rocks.
Sees them
walk in most evenings,
cute blondes with flawless skin,
guys in suits, bow ties, the works,
gaze into each other's pupils.
There are regulars,
Robert, the chap from Yale,
Quentin, sly guy at Harvard
and Carly, still at school the man believes,
who's coquettish, fresh,
these two want to have her
but she's astute,
knows just what she wants.
They're all after her in fact.
Every male in the room
turns their head,
can't blame them,
she's like Candyfloss,
all the men want a taste
but there's not enough for everyone
and they don't look like the sharing kind.
The man in blue
just grins to himself
thinking how grand it is
that he's single, sensible, secure.
Jun 4, 2012
Jun 4, 2012 at 10:27 AM UTC
Said he 'shut yer gobs ye ****** boggers'
Keen on blatherin' ye spent yer days with yer tongue sharp as a dagger
O ter be 'onest ye be pattin yer boat.
Aul' ducks,yung ducks all makin' faults.
Cats eatin' bazz i say blather ye boyo
A man makin' money, no divils in county mayo
Yer gobs flippin' like hoors feckin ****
Smart fellas know ter kick yer barse
Me,a **** in carrickfergus jammy am i?
Come 'ere ye be told a secret ye culchie
A man pushin his **** tryin ter find his way
Be wide ye yung boyo lots o vultures on yer way
Oct 3, 2010
Oct 3, 2010 at 3:46 AM UTC
He’s got a bagel on his head,
Not a Cornish Pastie, nor a slice of bread;
Not a Singin’ Hinny, nor a Bacon Roll,
Not Bedfordshire Clanger nor Toad-in-the-Hole;
Black Buns from Scotland pass him by,
No Jammy Rascals, nor Stargazy Pie;
No Bakewell Tarts, and no Teisen Lap,
No Apple Dumplings adorn his cap;
No scones from Devon spread with cream and jam;
Just a crispy bagel full of cheese and ham.
Bagels are the coolest, bagels are the best:
Up with the bagels and down with the rest.
Onwards and upwards, long may it be said:
He’s got a bagel on his head.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC
He’s got a bagel on his head (February 28 2017).
He’s got a bagel on his head,
Not a Cornish Pastie, nor a slice of bread;
Not a Singin’ Hinny, nor a Bacon Roll,
Not Bedfordshire Clanger nor Toad-in-the-Hole;
Black Buns from Scotland pass him by,
No Jammy Rascals, nor Stargazy Pie;
No Bakewell Tarts, and no Teisen Lap,
No Apple Dumplings adorn his cap;
No scones from Devon spread with cream and jam;
Just a crispy bagel full of cheese and ham.
Bagels are the coolest, bagels are the best:
Up with the bagels and down with the rest.
Onwards and upwards, long may it be said:
He’s got a bagel on his head.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC
They say act is the blossom of thought
So I'm pop lockin'
Boogaloo Shrimpin' with the hair do and what not
Level of beast? Never
I 'm caught in the war zone
This concrete jungle, Quantum sea aLive in stereo
Go with the flow
Made with Love like moms cooking,
Soul music, Knowledge and Kronik,
Plus the cold brewtus
Drums smashing leave a ***** and eye jammy
Eye and eye, Marley
Rasta fire Space Jammin'...
Jul 21, 2014
Jul 21, 2014 at 4:23 AM UTC
The Neon chatter box
says lets all talk with the same tongue,
he said he was sorry for before,
his moustache quivered under this
sanguine strain.
Most of us are foxes
who glady forage through black sacks,
some of us sit bow legged
quintessence in a darkened room
and siphon others gloom away,
but there's no standard release clause
their eyes rock with the tide
until a printing press is sought
yet their Universal probity ignores
the jammy Neon chatter boxes duplicity
embossed as the stalwart he now wants plangent marching in step
Dec 15, 2012
Dec 15, 2012 at 2:54 PM UTC
He’s got a bagel on his head (February 28 2017).
He’s got a bagel on his head,
Not a Cornish Pastie, nor a slice of bread;
Not a Singin’ Hinny, nor a Bacon Roll,
Not Bedfordshire Clanger nor Toad-in-the-Hole;
Black Buns from Scotland pass him by,
No Jammy Rascals, nor Stargazy Pie;
No Bakewell Tarts, and no Teisen Lap,
No Apple Dumplings adorn his cap;
No scones from Devon spread with cream and jam;
Just a crispy bagel full of cheese and ham.
Bagels are the coolest, bagels are the best:
Up with the bagels and down with the rest.
Onwards and upwards, long may it be said:
He’s got a bagel on his head.
Apr 12, 2017
Apr 12, 2017 at 9:49 AM UTC
Cat black the wizard’s hat,
Marc Bolan did his thing,
A Jingle-jangle morning,
Bob Dylan’s posy ring.
Sunshine walking, yep,
Eddy Grant, whoop it up,
While Marley jammy-jams,
Herbal tea, oh do let us sup.
Rolling in the long grass,
Naked limbs having fun,
Much frolicking and kissing,
Laughter soaks up the sun.
Pleasure aches inside us,
Little scraps of pale blue,
Not flowers, ah, butterflies,
Diamonds made of dew.
So subtle in the long grass,
Loving: a delicious snack,
Drink each other for dinner,
Cat black the wizard’s back.
© Paul Chafer 2014
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 7:01 PM UTC
"it’s time to go
to bed NOW,
right NOW
right this second,
or you are going to get a spanking."
bubbling up with
happy glee
the stumpy little
legs ran
and danced
around
ignorning this stern
sound booming,
this stern
sound looming.
"get upstairs,
NOW,
get into bed,
i’ll be up
in a minute,
to give you
that spanking."
Uh oh!
her fat little
squishy three-year-old
legs
carried her up
as she ran up
the stairs.
heart beating
fast with fear
of impending doom.
coming into the room
she looked about
desperately,
spying a book,
into her bed
she took.
shoving that book
inside her jammy
bottoms,
and covered her bare
little ***
but,
good.
lying there waiting,
with
layers of
help
so thickly,
so comfortingly,
spread in between,
that big hand,
and her little ***
filled with dread.
The little one,
so happy
just moments ago,
not so happy
now,
just lying there
waiting.
filling with
looming fear.
oh what a life,
an eternal seesaw
of happy and sad
mad and glee.
book and
pajama bottoms,
sheet,
and blanket.
he’ll never see,
that book that’s,
a covering me.
waiting with dread,
the minutes ticking
in the dark,
ever so slowly,
an eternity.
the huge giant
finally came up,
big shoes,
booming each
step of the way.
he
gave a good swat,
then out
he went,
closing the door,
shaking a finger
and saying,
“i don’t want to hear any more."
giggled
did she,
and thougth to
herself,
i didn’t even
feel that
and he didn’t,
even know.
hee hee hee..
pulling that book
away from her
be-hinny,
she stretched
out on her back
so comfortably,
so calmly,
and very
peacefully.
so happy
was she,
with her,
Oh So Smart
3-year-old
little self.
Sep 18, 2015
Sep 18, 2015 at 6:54 PM UTC
Red gingham on jam pots
Wax lids preserving the berry
Tattered lace and old spots
Labels for black cherry.
Strawberries with leaves left on
Cups of tea with cream in
All the nice jam has gone
But there are biscuits in the tin.
Crumbs left on top when cakes took
pride of place after they were made
There is jam around his face look
Do you think the evidence will fade?
No because he has jam all over his top
and there is a smile on his jammy face
He keeps eating them, no signs he will stop
when there are jam tarts all over the place.
Red gingham on the table cloth freshly laid
jam pots with strawberries now preserved.
All the sugar used up, jam for the year made
get your hands off, that *** is reserved!
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 12:41 AM UTC
This was prompted by the wonderful The Queen Creative over at Wordpress.
From Wikipedia:
Honne and tatemae are Japanese words that describe the contrast between a person’s true feelings and desires (本音 honne?) and the behavior and opinions one displays in public (建前 tatemae?, lit. “façade”).
1. Sent Up For Good (Tatemae)
I’m a convincing stranger.
My Englishness pulls at my
Starched white collar.
My fingers,
So piano fine and buttoned down,
are little sticks of ivory.
My spittle mouth brushes away
indigo blushes
of spent ink
and my hair
has a perfect parting
separated by
a red pencil
in the morning.
A little gentleman in
Tom Brown tails,
Nervously buttering bread.
Hammy, clipped,
Knows it off by heart,
( Lucien tells me that
He plans to get a new suit made).
2. Sent Down For Bad (Honne)
In my Prince’s bedchamber
My Englishness pulls at his
Starched white collar.
My fingers,
Like white-wine and goose down,
Flick with the
little kicks of bribery.
My little mouth flushes
with overflowing gushes
Of his spent ink
And my hair
Has an imperfect parting
Which will be separated
By a red pencil in the morning.
A little temperamental man in
**** detail,
Gluttonously giving head.
Jammy lipped,
The School ****
(Lucien tells me that
he plans to **** a maid).
Sep 12, 2013
Sep 12, 2013 at 12:19 PM UTC
Nuala introduces Una to Brian
as he enters the lounge,
Nuala and Una stand apart,
gaze at him.
Brian smiles awkwardly
and says,
so you're the Una
who Nuala 's been
rushing off to see?
Una looks at him,
tries to gauge
his thoughts and reactions,
yes, I am she,
Una says smiling,
trying to make it seem
a casual thing,
a mere friendship.
He turns to Nuala
and says,
we lost,
2 goals down,
fecking ref
had his eyes shut
most of the time,
couldn't find his ****
if his eyes were wide open
and both hands searching.
Una sniggers,
takes in Nuala's features,
the anxiety she sees there.
But did you enjoy it
apart from that?
Nuala says,
wanting to move on
and settle him down
and Una away
before words slip up
and reveal things.
A few lilies,
that's all,
and a talk with the boys,
Brian says,
eyeing Una,
taking in her
short pink dress,
the nice thighs,
hair.
Been friends long?
he asks Una.
School friends,
Nuala says,
way back,
just found her
in recent months.
Is that so,
Brian says,
don't recall you
from school.
Even your *** brain
can't recall all the girls
from school,
Nuala says
sitting on the sofa
beside Una.
Guess not,
Brian says,
sitting in
his favourite armchair,
his eyes searching Una's,
lowering his gaze
to her thighs again.
O,
Joe's wife's
pregnant again,
that's her fourth
in four years,
he must spend
most of his time
between her thighs,
Brian says,
eyeing Nuala.
Coffee or tea, Una?
Nuala says,
ignoring Brian's words
and news.
No, I must be going,
got a date tonight,
Una says,
pretending,
winking at Nuala
so Brian can't see.
Who's the lucking buck?
Brian says,
grinning,
eyes large.
Just a friend,
Una says,
rising from the sofa.
Jammy ******
Brian says,
eyeing her
as she turns to go,
taking in her behind.
Good to meet you,
Una says to him.
They shake hands
and she follows Nuala
along the passage,
away from Brian
who turns on the TV,
cracks open
a can of beer.
Sorry about him,
Nuala says in a low voice.
Una shrugs her shoulders,
no problem.
They stare at each other,
then kiss on the lips,
holding briefly.
See you soon?
Nuala asks,
releasing Una
reluctantly.
Una nods,
smiles and goes
out the door and away.
Nuala closes the door,
turns back towards
the lounge,
passing the bedroom,
where she imagined
she and Una could
have been making love,
before Brian returned,
and as she thinks that,
she inwardly hots up
like a thing burned.
Mar 23, 2016
Mar 23, 2016 at 2:51 AM UTC
Can Helen
come out to play?
Benny asked her mother
I expect so Benny
she's just getting her breakfast
want to come in
and wait for her?
Ok
he said
so they walked along
the dark passage
and into the sitting room
where Helen was sitting
at a large table
with her siblings
and baby in a high-chair
I got up late
Helen said
Benny sat in
an armchair
by the fireplace
no rush
got all day
he said
want to go
to Camberwell Green?
He added
Camberwell Green?
Her mother said
that's a bit of a way Benny
she said
not too far
he said
only a short bus ride
I go a lot
to the cinema
what are you going
to do there?
Her mother asked
look at some shops
and I can show Helen
the hospital
I was born in
he said
Helen looked
at her mother hesitantly
can I go?
She asked
well as it's Benny
and I think he's ok
but be careful
of the roads
and strange men
her mother said
she went out
to the kitchen
Helen looked at Benny
is it far?
No not far
short bus ride
he said
he watched Helen
and her siblings eat
and looked around the room
there was a homely feel
about the room
and a smell of cooking
and past dinners
and washing hanging
by the fire
on a clotheshorse
a radio was playing music
the baby was playing
with its food
in a bowl
Helen looked over at him
can we get an ice-cream
while we're out?
I expect we can
he said smiling
Helen finished her breakfast
and went to
the kitchen/ bathroom
to wash and change
Benny watched
the other kids
and listened to the radio
and the fishing forecasts
about Dogger Bank
and other places
gazing at the other kids'
jammy faces.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 2:31 AM UTC
the wishing wells eating up their spells, the mystery tour catching an early flight to greeece and ending up broke with no fishing tail to catch onto, mystery wheels of which way and rhyme a quick way to pass the time working on fishnet and fishtails to bring into a *** of good luck that can either be lousy or unimpressive and stupid the lovers cast their first spell and fear is driving them but its heading up to good luck, and the clouds are permissive, and they understand what they need to understand, and I’m not doing this for anyone but myself from now on, I guess thats just a decision that you have to make, and the precious fools who make an irony out of their vanity will be great too, and we will do a dance together, yes we do a dance together
I am a man that wants to do his best to preserve what is coming, to grant solitude and goodness to those that were good to me, I believe in a God moving through things, controlling things that I cannot understand, because things are just too **** complex, working way soldiers on a ride to vacancy, vacancy, vacancy, oh just scribbles and random dots showing on either side of reading lot and loving the poetry and the history of it, and sometimes there is a movie, oh sometimes a classroom is a place to dream, to dream rather than to actually focus on the lesson, a random destruction of beauty, a random destruction of beauty, lovely forces making on a take out transition into fuller notions of equality, and loving their morality, and just making their decisions good enough to foster an excelllece, of equal stature of equal pride, moving through the ride, moving through the ride, and they all excel at what they can and cannot do, and he kept them still cool, and he could have taken the ride, but he chose not to, what of a hero? what of a savior? what of a pastor attempting to take down everything that he has already established and coming up with nuclear error, pasting out the tangible worst of makeshift cranny acid truculent succulent brandy candy plans to see me jammy
Feb 26, 2016
Feb 26, 2016 at 11:01 PM UTC
Today I'm feeling oozy
Sweet and slightly snoozy
My heart feels jammy juicy
My eyes still stale and scuzzy
Today I'm feeling rotten
Young and quite forgotten
My heart is made of cotton
My eyes play tricks and soften
Today I'm feeling crispy
Jeweled and fancy frisky
My heart is feeling thrifty
My eyes, regardless, misty.
Dec 12, 2018
Dec 12, 2018 at 1:26 PM UTC
Woman why do you stick
with my poor head
you are just some glue
and how I still stick by you
I walk away you bring me back
Woman you are so Jammy.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 2:29 PM UTC
and i walk with a desert
in my brain,
i walk, encapsulating
scorpion,
and the sidewinder snare...
and i walk with a desert
in my brain...
drunk, labouring,
above the governing concrete...
i've brewed some wine,
and i'll drink it...
there i am:
figurative humanity
where subjectivity equals ∞,
and objectivity is an oscillation
between - & ~,
the numbers don't really matter,
they don't Downton Abbey inspire me
either: to butter some lord's crumpet...
oddly enough...
it's seeing these gnats
worth of people drop dead in a battlefield
that gets me...
runny mascaras of no-man's land
at Ypres...
they just drop dead, dead...
it might make abortion clinics readied for
fundamental rights in celebrating Sunday...
i don't get it,
and each day i am woken into this nightmare....
this celebration of all things possible...
of a humanity...
oh but char...
semblance to a cynicism...
it never made any sense to watch, and cultivate
it...
forever the jammy doughnut,
and the life i wish i could have received,
smitten with cool... cradling the wooly jumper...
why are these people so *******
alien? so much
the cure's killing an arab with camus' the outsider?
iron maiden did a better egyptian jive...
to that smitten cowadrice of the the bangles
pepper-shaker dance of a numbed egyptian.
pyramid ******* cruise-ship of female escapism.
yeah baby, it's war!
scuttling with the jive of powerslave:
abandon ship! abandon ship!
Jan 10, 2017
Jan 10, 2017 at 8:11 PM UTC