"kebab" poems
I broke up with McDonalds
On Valentine's day
People said she was no good for me
I had to get away
So I told her, It's not you,
It's just a phase I'm going through
But as we all know -
Dumping fast food is not a pleasant thing to do.
So I broke up with McDonalds, didn't see her for a while
Was doing pretty well - there was the occasional drunk-dial
When I walked up to the window
And I slipped into the queue -
But then I came back to my senses
And realised the thing to do...
Was to keep on walking
Keep on walking
Right past her
Ignore the temptation
To suckle
On those golden arches
Ignore those bed-like burgers
And those oh-so-easy fries
Divide our shared world up
And sever all ties!
Yes! I broke up with McDonalds and my life is better for it
When my girlfriend serves up rabbit food I simply adore it
I was scared of life alone with no kebab to walk me home
But...
What I once spent on burgers...
I now spend on...
Haribo!
Oh Haribo! Haribo!
You are a fruit tree in a sack
And although it feels wrong to see you
Behind my girlfriend's back
She can not be hurt by wrongs she does not know!
No - the new love of my life is Haribo, oh Haribo!
But then one evening after work
My girfriend came home early.
Caught me curled up on the couch
Soaking up her girly
DVDs
In front of me
A bowl of
Not nuts, nor seeds...
But fizzy, yes fizzy,
Cola bottles
That were
FIZZY!
How could you do this?
My girlfriend screamed at me.
Cannot you see the damage that they do-eth to your teeth?
(She'd been reading Shakespeare)
No, my eyes are on my face, I can't see in my mouth.
Right, she said, If you think I'm joking then I'm going to kick you out.
So she kicked me out the flat and that was that she said.
Not quite...
I grabbed my stash of Haribo from underneath the bed.
I told her all the things about her that I really hated
And the moral is:
Relationships with things that you can't eat are over-rated.
Feb 20, 2011
Feb 20, 2011 at 2:52 PM UTC
Just a little cheeky one thats all i said I'd have
and 4 hours on much later's
Me's dying for a drag
aint smoked for like forever
but beer head is in charge
my goggles working overtime
be jeez look at that ****
The pub did so just kick me out
but night i wasna done
me dancing shoes were ready now
its time to boogie on
I danced just like me father
and dancing all seemed fine
until the big bad bouncer said
son you've had your time
I'm wobbly to be standing
and speech a lickle off
me hiccups still aint faded on
I'm on a spinning top
I ate like just some time ago
yet fancy a kebab
with chili sauce to burn my mouth
and payback morning aft
Now lying in my bed of dreams
a world goes spinning by
my head is working over time
I think I'm gonna die
my bucket is beside me
its used and nearly full
kebab and all the trimmings
mmm a boffing here we go
Next morning was the worst of days
with smells id sooner not
a bucket full of you know where
oh god i'm gonna cough!!!!!
My head felt like it's jelly wool
my legs were all a mush
I'd only done a cheeky beer
regrets ??Don't make me laugh
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 10:07 AM UTC
There’s a favorite culinary dish in town;
it’s known as the synapse shish kebab.
It’s high in protein as well as fat, and it comes
with a garlic-infused broccoli rabe,
available with a choice of couscous or rice.
The palate will most likely be enticed, just like
another common John who swears to us that he
again has done absolutely nothing wrong.
It pairs nicely with an eighties chenin blanc,
gray matter that’s grilled to sheer perfection,
smoked all day, and is guaranteed satisfaction,
seemingly like an old, rambling rolling stone.
The lights are on—but nobody’s buying homes.
An opera singer that is deaf to certain tones,
this is definitely not regal crumpets and tea—
“heart-healthy nutrition,” all our medics agree.
There’s a new critically acclaimed dish around;
it’s the slow-roasted synapse shish kebab,
moderately priced, and portions are family style—
passed-down secret recipes from west of the Nile,
and also numbers that won’t make your wallet sob
like a big, bad, dark, overly loaded cloud.
Give it a try, and then shout it out loud:
synapse shish kebab!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Alcohol you little devil
My BFF
You did it again
Snook up on me from across the room and flirted,
Unrepentantly
Woooooo! I ****** love you!
Love your pints, your halves, your cocktails,
I crave your sweet wine breath on mine,
I love, love, love you!
My mind is hazy, crazy!
We dance
*** Karaoke!
The special kebab with chilli sauce.
Haha, stumbling, falling into the taxi
Then...
I wake and you are gone and your taste is all that remains,
oh and the stains
On my blouse
and I wake beside another all too familiar friend
“Hangover from hell”
He laughs at me
OH JESUS! PLEASE STOP!
My head bangs from his taunts
I need paracetamol,
Coffee, double espresso
Kickstart me , reanimate me!
I wind my way to work looking like a car wreck
Just want this day to end...
But you have me, Alcohol you devil
My BFF
Will I see you tonight?
Same time, same place?
I’ll be there
Yeay!
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 8:17 AM UTC
vegetarians rock
we don't derive satisfaction
in skewered meat, spit kebab, meat buffet or a banquet
we are told of how much we are lacking in nutrition and protein
we don't mind to eat tempeh,tofu,lentils,eggs,diary or skewered vegetables
we are vegetarians of family preference, religious reasons, animal rights or health issues
researches found that your love takes twice more
requires so much energy to digest
more energy less fatigue and stress
to live long without stroke, heart attack, high blood pressure or diseases of kind
well I'm not cynical, eat small pieces
just because we don't hear
just because we don't see
doesn't mean it's not there
the pain these creatures we domain over feel
heartless humans without hearts to feel
maybe we open blind eyes
maybe we turn deaf ears
to them
but I tell you it's there
we hear and
we see
we are different from you
we are different from the ways of the world
we love it
we are vegetarians and
we rock!
Oct 1, 2016
Oct 1, 2016 at 5:07 PM UTC
Little Bow Peep
Told everyone she had lost her
Sheep
And didnt know where to
"Find them"
She had slaughtered them
All of them for
Chops
&
Kebab meat
And sold the wool to china,
Little
Bow
Peep
Told no one of the secret
She so secretly did keep,
To why the sheep had gone missing
Killing any and all from finding.
She was a
Chick
With
A
****
And had a fetish obsession of the sheep,
She was meant to looking after.
Peep Merrily nailed each and
Everyone of them,
Not
Once
Not
Twice
More like half a dozen times,
Sometimes cuddled up with
Her **** still inside them.
So when eating
Chops
Or
Kebeb
With chips, if tasting a little salty,
Then Little Bow Peep
Had slept with that sheep
And ********** inside them.
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 12:56 PM UTC
IN BED WITH STEPHEN KING
backstage: Romeo
tries it on
Juliet 'its 'im 'ard
the slap
shocks the extras
they pause mid-make-up
Juliet's received pronunciation
slips back into her native Cockney
Romeo told to go forth and multiply
anyway, Paris is
more her type and
oooh his *** in ahhhh...those tights
Romeo's...ughhh....halitosis
she winces with each kiss
taste of garlic...cheap cigarettes
an audience applauds
the curtain falls
glad to be just Jane again
she takes time
to un-Shakespeare her self
boy but she could ****** a kebab
Romeo: once again Andy
her ex & yes yes
she wants *** but...not with him
Paris: now Peter
gives her a saucy wnk
"Hmm!" she thinks "Hmmm!"
she imagines him
nakedly mad for her
sans tights...sans everything
alas that wink was
for Tybalt...god ****
another night in bed with
- Stephen King.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
you want war, you have world war two spitfire pilots to serve your post-colonial migration; and yes, i'll twitch my eyes; ha ha cuisine scots using ginger.
there's a quintessential
fascination with cabbage
among the mutli-cultural
asians of england being picky
concerning scandinavians
and the slavs...
politico i could say as much
about indian spices.. but they're
granulated i admit,
so there's less stink in the armpits;
or there isn't, given chanel cardamom:
assimilated asians into british
society don’t use raw herrings and cabbage
to joke about other european ethnicities
while waving the st. george
of that great fake curry of suffolk.
*i've been telling the turks about sauerkraut for years
to match up a purposive additive for the lamb kebab;
sours to cut through the lamb fat like the chillies
cutting through.*
Jan 9, 2016
Jan 9, 2016 at 8:10 PM UTC
I love shopping for music online.
I always do.
I love the way they say to you.
If you like Beyonce, then you might like Pink.
Would it not be nice.
If all life did that.
After ten pints down the pub.
The Barman says to you.
If you like ten pint in this pub.
Then you might like a kebab.
Then at the kebab shop he says to you.
If you like ten pints in the pub then a kebab.
You might like a fight.
So you pop out, and beat up an innocent by stander.
Then a Policeman shouts at you.
If you like beating up an innocent by stander.
You might like to join the Police!
Mar 11, 2012
Mar 11, 2012 at 1:02 PM UTC
i told you, the most volatile substance,
auto-combustion:
let's see:
the (ν / v'eh point) - touch on elocution,
almost δ'eh point -
but then the oddity: thievery -
hence coupling θ and φ,
well s and z (hardly an ß)
might also make a hush sh sh sound
for the eyes to spot with a şiş kebab being served
(kebaab if you're talking africān - prolonged
on dentistry's dire inspection) -
no diacritics and many eccentricities -
many accents, and a bowler hat at the
royal Ascot - peacock feathers to a flutter
ooh! firewood for the comedy scene -
the / d or v? veering point or the deepened
point? thyme - now that's a solitary τ (tau),
well, many more examples! ha!
thighs and thievery - theta cheese -
thrombosis - that - now that's definitely armed
with δ - thermometer - thick -
in-between scotch fudge - thinking -
throw - viably also famished - invariably
also alphabetically accounted for as: thrice -
and phosphorescent - pucker up now dear,
no point calling jane austen right now,
it's too late: better watch the jane austen book club,
now that's a great romance movie -
serious though, ah, there you have it,
though rather thought - another eccentricity
to curse periodic examples to rule:
vogue in that though - feta cheese in that latter -
no one dared to say: i vote, deer fur i am -
imagine that said in Chelsea or Camden -
you'd never get rid of those crack ******* junkies
following you to Waterloo shouting:
'we've found Napoleon! we've found Napoleon!
Napoleon! Napoleon!'
Apr 9, 2016
Apr 9, 2016 at 1:50 PM UTC
Sailing away on a luxury liner
Packing your bags and eloping to China
Building a castle and digging a moat
These are all things you can't do with a goat
Any assortment of wrapping and bagging
Over the fireplace or under the lagging
In your pyjamas, in Tupperware boxes
These are all places that irritate foxes
An onion, a carrot, a plantain or mango
A tikka kebab and a bottle of tango
A handful of pencils, a flaming baton
These are all things that won't fit in a swan
Pet shops and grocers and stationary suppliers
Takeaways, rivers and all kinds of fires
P&O; cruises, kebab shops, IKEA
These are all places I'm not allowed near...
**
Feb 4, 2015
Feb 4, 2015 at 1:17 PM UTC
*but i'm a true reflection of a ****** up world, it's hard to push the button repeatedly using only one example... after a while it just becomes a case of eccentricity... but what's scaring you, is that this eccentricity doesn't really speak - no flamboyance to rest and feel comfortable on, like a sofa... well, indeed, an iron maiden, to my gusto.*
as one neurologist said to me,
'if someone says you're
mentally ill, then they are mentally ill.'
or as i say, sometimes you
wouldn't believe what's happening
in england, all that boasting
and jesting concerning the
magna carta: oldest democracy,
free world... a load of decapitated
cockroaches with leeches *******
on the wound - psychiatric
darwinism, you name it, a *******
**** hole of failed multiculturalism,
a bunch of former colonial subjects
assimilated and integrated,
tongues forgotten, mothers of
linguistic d.n.a. strapped to the caterpillars
of tanks, ground into bony shrapnel;
oh yeah, and asian jokes about cabbages -
tell that to the turk making his kebab,
while i tell him... how about adding
sauerkraut instead? because, i mean,
you're using pickled chillies already.
Mar 22, 2016
Mar 22, 2016 at 2:40 PM UTC
audio me in... tell the b.t. off standards
to change the connection to lie to get to syria...
i wanted to become a butcher too...
not butchering people though...
onomatopeias of resonance of blah... blah...
you know... woollen trill...
i want the target bacon, i want to target bacon
on that **** head-banging with a pony
while blowing a sheen into a rodin marble
for the glisten of a haircut mare...
dark ivory like purple of a grenade of indigo
blotched with blood...
and spanked / spiked by kandinsky...
i told you i woz a barking gimmick, a barking cult-piece of mafia...
you’ve been warned dear bouncer allotment and semi-detached...
hey kieran - had his kidneys transplanted aged 15...
took to having a ****** aged 16 on the south park fence
when two ******* eyed us and the boys came to make cake...
oi boys r’ us you mention st. petersburg anywhere south of the thames?
i thought so...
make that spelling spaghetti for a kebab of dead meat
appealing:
it’s making headlines, people are fed fat but sugar headlines...
when fat headlines... people will be fed sugar...
salt will never compromise the use of steroids for balloon pop protein
for a mere attire of the bow tie undone with laze.
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:00 PM UTC
You could tell
by Mamie’s face
she was sick
of shish kebabs
in fact it seemed
that the whole Moroccan holiday
was kind of getting
to her sensibilities
from the standing
on the two brick toilets
to the shish kebab
food misadventure
let’s go walk
on the beach
she said
before I throw up
with this crap
and so you walked
with her down through
the path to the beach
the moon and stars
above in a black
patchwork sky
the sound of the sea
rushing in and out
and the voices
of the others
getting less
and less
and she said
looking up at the sky
isn’t scary that sky
why is it scary?
you asked
it’s so vast
like it goes on forever
she said
I think Pascal found
the immensity
of the night sky
disturbing
you said
Pascal?
Is he on the coach?
Is he on the tour?
she asked
no he was a mathematician
and physicist and inventor
and Christian philosopher
in the 17th century
oh right
she said
boring ****
come on let’s get
on the beach
and lay down
and stare
at the sky
and stars
and that bright moon
and then we can snuggle
up close
and we’ll see
what comes
and she pulled you
onto the beach
and the damp sand
eased itself
between your toes
and the smell of the sea
hit you
and the sounds
and the wind
from off the sea’s shoulder
and she pulled you
down on the beach
beside her
and you lay back
and looked up
and the vast sky
seemed to press down
on you both
and she laughed
and said
it kind of makes
you seem small
and insignificant
doesn’t it
she said
you felt her hand
in yours
a soft pulse
of her being
right there
like a small beeping drum
and she turned
and looked at you
and smiled
and her smile was captured
by the moon’s glow
and you said
we need to remember
this moment
this being here
this newness of being
and she laughed
and said
don’t get too deep on me
and she leaned in
close to you
and kissed you
and her tongue
entered you
and the whole sky
seemed to witness
the moment
seemed to want
to embrace the kiss
the bright humanness
in her moonlit face.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 8:42 AM UTC
after you drink, enough as i have, you get the strangest
recipes enter your mind...
and you're not as lazy a marijuana smoker
either... you really start imagining things,
that aren't, or shouldn't be there, but later materialise,
and are actually there.
like tonight,
**** me... getting drunk can really give
you the munchies...
i was like: it can't be as simple as crisps
from a packet... it can't be ready made, there,
at an arm's reach... so it began:
bacon,
cherry tomatoes...
garlic paste...
crème fraîche!
parsley to garnish!
pickled chilies!
turmeric!
kashmiri chili powder!
processed cheese! (laughing cow type)...
i swear i missed something...
oh yeah... brassica juncea - or mustard greens,
something a bit like lettuce...
but if packaged, also includes red cabbage snippets...
plus arugula (eruca sativa), also a plant / rocket...
and the carbohydrate canvas to serve it on?
a tortilla!
i swear, i should either stop drinking,
or stop drinking up recipes, when drunk...
either that, or what i'm tasting, when drunk,
tastes really good, or that... well... if someone sober
would dare to eat what i conjure up drunk, would simply puke...
don't know, i conjure this recipe out of my ***
and it stays down... it's not like i'm frying a dog's ****
all of a sudden...
if it stays down, and you get to digest it?
it can only be as bad as it sounds, with you not having
****** around with the stated ingredients, to whatever palette
of proportion that your palette's suited to entertain.
don't know, i swear no marijuana smoker would
go as far as to invent something like this...
you drink... you do get hungry...
and then you experiment,
for some ****** reason that no one seems to be able to explain.
i get right into cooking something up,
primarily because when doing chemistry
at university, the most enjoyable chapter was organic chemistry...
and that was like cooking...
i can't say i'm boasting... i don't know if a sober person
would find this recipe appealing...
but having made it drunk, i'm pretty sure
another drunk would eat it and conclude the same as i:
****** genius... never take me to a kebab takeway... ever again!
oh gee me... clap clap.
by now i might as well insinuate that i'm faking
sniffing lines of ******* by the buzz of positivity i'm feeling.
May 6, 2017
May 6, 2017 at 8:12 PM UTC
Our Masgouf
The fish has wings, and she feels our pain as a sister. Yes, we are the fish’s brothers and any halo occurs in the clear night is a birthday of this brotherhood. Come here, and see the first cookbook; it had appeared with the seeds of this earth. It had slept in an ancient Sumerian tablet, which was shining as a morning sun. In the heart of (800) recipes in that Iraqi mud, you can see the smoke of our Masgouf and you may smell its exciting flavor. You may know that Masgouf had resided as a moon in our dreams, and we delightedly disappear in its perfume as the butterflies. Our Masgouf, as well as, the face of our river, is pure, but smoky, and I will be so happy if you can see its chants which dance as a fairy at its small bank. Because of this warmhearted brightness, you may like to sit under our smiley tent and musing our truthful Masgouf.
The Dolma’s Master
The small girls in our gardens knew nothing about the flowers or their breathtaking colors, but they are so efficient in making of magic Dolma. In the morning they meet a green dove, and listen to her chants. They are soft and pure exactly as our Dolma’s smiles. She teaches our girls the art of Dolma and the secret of grape’s leaves with a smooth voice and gentle hands. This Dolma’s master is so soft and deep, and she can color the girls’ hearts with the wedding dresses. My mother was a good Dolma’s student, so she had learned its chants expertly and wore her wedding dress early.
The Kebab Glory
The Iraqis can’t live without war or Kebab and can’t smell the morning breeze without their deep voices. I am an Iraqi man, and my soul was kneaded with Kebab’s Sumac. My dreams had immersed in the Kebab’s perfume and straggled in the desert of sad Sumac. Kebab, which we inherited from our Babylonian, can’t be transfigured without a soft lap, and any saying disagrees this is a hard illusion, but essentially you need the Iraqi sad smile to find the Kebab’s sublime glory.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 10:23 AM UTC
all night my sister
retches in the toilet
a bug crawls around my own stomach
nothing like hers
i sneak into the kitchen
drink madly from her cup
and swallow her half-chewed food.
god i hope i get it.
those 3 middle schoolers got salmonella
from the kebab place down the street
now
no one ever wants to go i understand
but i
stop by as often as i can.
god i hope i get it.
i only ever see her going into or out of the bathroom
eyes welled, teeth yellow, lunch bag empty
i reach inside my throat
i want to be
like her
but tears leak and ***** doesn't.
god i hope i get it.
last night i finally did. i
shoveled food into my mouth, unable to stop until
my vision blurred and when i
knelt down and watched
murky colors mix with the ceramic reflection
i just felt deceived
the bug was still within me
crawling, creeping, ceaseless torture
unwilling to ever leave.
god i hope i lose it.
Feb 2, 2025
Feb 2, 2025 at 11:36 PM UTC
OUR MASGOUF
The fishes have high wings, but they can feel our deep pain like sisters. Yes, we are the fishes’ brothers and any halo you may see in the dark night is a birthday of this brotherhood. Come here and see the seeds of this earth in an ancient Sumerian tablet, which its recipes were shining as the sun. In that Iraqi mud, you can see the smoke of our Masgouf and you may smell its exciting flavor. It is residing in our dreams like the moon, and we delightedly disappear in its perfume with the butterflies. The face of our Masgouf is pure, and I will be so happy if you can see its chants dancing as fairies at their small riverbanks.
THE MAGIC DOLMA
The small girls in our gardens knew nothing about the flowers or their breathtaking colors, but they are so efficient in making of magic Dolma. In the morning they meet a green dove, and listen to her chants. They are soft and pure exactly as our Dolma’s smiles. She teaches our girls the art of Dolma and the secret of grape’s leaves with a smooth voice and gentle hands. This Dolma’s master is so soft and deep, and she can color the girls’ hearts with the wedding dresses.
THE KEBAB GLORY
The Iraqis can’t live without war or Kebab, and can’t smell the morning breeze without their deep voices. Our souls were kneaded with the sad Kebab’s Sumac and the tears of war. Our dreams had immersed in the Kebab’s perfume and straggled in the desert of sad Sumac. Yes, you need the Iraqi sad smiles to find the Kebab’s sublime glory.
Dec 25, 2018
Dec 25, 2018 at 6:21 AM UTC
My Life was back to normal,
I had friends, laughs and happiness,
Yet there was always that little part of my brain-
that i ignored.
Because that little part of my brain-
**contained you**.
Our laughs,
Our fights,
Our text's late at night,
My hopeless dreaming,
and Your normal realism.
But I was fine with that,
You had gone,
And I had eventually realised-
nothing could happen.
No laughs,
No fights,
No texts late at night,
No dreaming of maybe's
No you and me.
So I walked around a bit,
Found myself again.
The giggly, hyper, slightly big-headed,
NerdyTeenager.
Not the depressed,
Overly mature,
(because I had to be like that)
Overly Sensible
Confined.
Just...me
And then it went terribly wrong.
Then i saw you.
Standing by the bus stop next to the kebab shop.
And all of a sudden, my heart beat rises,
My chest rises and falls-
I can't breathe.
It's like **you've ****** the life out of me**.
But you don't see me.
To busy on your phone.
So I go into the kebab shop,
I watch you from afar,
Still you don't see me.
Then the bus pulls up,
and instead of getting on-
someone gets off.
She gets off.
I don't know her name and I already hate her.
So you walk away with her- she looks so.....happy.
Unlike me.
So when people say am I over you,
I just say "yes"-
I lie
Still remembering goodbye.
Because when I'm away from you- I move on.
But the moment I see you-
My whole world crashes down infront of me.
May 7, 2010
May 7, 2010 at 11:11 AM UTC
There's KFC in the cupboards and kebab in my hair and them ******* Macdonalds are just everywhere,
please take me away from this fat food today or I'll pop,let me shop in the shops where healthy food is the tops,I need not the props of reconstitutes,resolutely defying the deep fat pan frying,I'm trying to detox but it's hard.
Sweet Jesus please hear me,don't send me more chips soaked in soft lard and cooked in some oven, please send me the fare for a wheelchair to healthcare,I just cannot bear this no more.
But being skinny's a bore and when I see pizza I want more and more,I want Indian food every day and Chinese to take away,Chicken satay a la Malay and oodles of noodles all dripping with oil.
It's Sunday,the one day I can say what I like,the one day God gets bored and goes off on his bike for a ride,it's said he can't bide that contriteness,politeness,because he knows that we're sinners and there's never no winners and no one gets the pot,so just stuff your faces and eat up the lot,you've got **** all to lose and only weight you can gain,get to the counter reorder again,another burger and fries and hope nobody dies of boredom
Mar 16, 2014
Mar 16, 2014 at 2:58 AM UTC
i love
that i can
walk with
a glass
of whiskey
like a broken chandelier
and scream: pickled
green chilies from
turkey!
yum... the whole
sour & spice...
of a kebab
ate without having
written about teen love
lied about to just sell toilet paper.
Oct 11, 2015
Oct 11, 2015 at 12:31 AM UTC
Mid way through my kebab last night
You would not have guessed what had caught my sight
A diamond coin that stood out like my thumb
After hitting it with a hammer while DIY for my Mum
It was not the ordinary type
A side portrait of a reptilian *****
It was circular
But it wasn't shiny
It looked *****
But it wasn't grimy
It gave me the feeling of fools
Gold
But with the reassurances of a diamond that hadn't been
Sold
I took it home
I took it home
I swear I took it home!
"Must be with the fairies dear,They'l know"
"You can knock on there little door the next time you go
*** the quicker you shut up the less time you'l be out in the Snow"
Fine
Condemn me
But when I find it
You'l love me
If you don't believe me
You can't trust me
Don't see it now
You don't know me
Adiós I'm
Gone
Into the snow I'l
Run
To the kebab house I'l
Go
By the tall pavements under mounds of snow
where the fairies live and the diamonds do grow
Apr 3, 2015
Apr 3, 2015 at 8:35 PM UTC
Skirt up ******* down, in the car park, behind the Grand
Seven drinks and she wants her fill, I hope she's on the mini pill!
Harder harder now she cries! His kness are bent she's 5 feet 5
He always thought she was a looker, he never expected he would f@@k her.
Less than five minutes its all over, he's once again deflowered a daughter.
She pulls him in for a kiss, he doesn't want to touch her lips.
******* up she walks away, he goes to tell his mates.
A few pints more he wants a kebab, who won the footy? I'll ave sauce on that!
Tomorrow morning will he remember? The night she chose you for surrender
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
Again the fist unfolds.
Fingers unfurl red
Petal blossom of a rose.
Scent of a broken nose,
Stain shed on shaven heads.
Kings with no crown nor throne
Lay prone in whitewashed beds.
Thorns in their own sides,
****** in their own right.
These manicured monsters
Cry a challenge unto the night.
Marching on through kebab dreams,
Weeks 'for we speak of Halloween.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 7:41 PM UTC
kupujesz kebab'ah, przyjmuszej arab'ah.
do people realise it's
bound to be beyond
jesus?
i listen to the cantos
of the templars
and hear the adhan;
it's just problematic
when you revise
these verses into a coherent
movement that can
be monetised / militarised...
*in the grotto of nationhood; thus was said
to provide a signature, footprint or
the trouser's zipper; as the least demanding
reply... thus said by a man with no
crusader past... what is this anyway?
i'm going to call on the templar cantos
to be aired on classic.fm, but i know they
won't, they'd sooner air orff...
and that's the sad bit...
the violent bit comes later,
when you prescribe people medicine,
with them thinking it's poison.*
Mar 16, 2017
Mar 16, 2017 at 11:12 PM UTC