We should just sit back and manufacture Krap
and put a sign on it that tells you that
the ingredients which are within
are detailed on
the ******* bin.

Why not,
we buy Krap everyday
don't listen to what the products say
in advertising.
'look at me I'm appetising'
you know it makes no sense
when twenty sausages cost fifty pence
you've got to wonder how they're made
Krap
laid on the line
Krap we get it all the time.

It's time we tied the food chain up in knots
we've got the brains
but no
we've flushed them down the drains
with imperial measures
remember them weighty treasures?

It's like a game of pick and mix
those advertisers miss no tricks
to lead you down the garden path
but we will have the final laugh
we'll make Krap by the metric tonne
and give it free for everyone
and everyone will see
what kind of Krap is fed to you and me.

My vingers jeuk om iets te skryf
My hart bloei storms
Maar my vingers jeuk
My gemoed eb en vloei
Maar my vingers jeuk om iets te skryf
My siel hammer verwoed teen my ribbekas
En my vingers jeuk om te skryf

My pen hunker om te vloek
Die swart ink wil die wit vel breek en skree
My polse wil huil
My longe wil verteer
En my nek wil omhels word met n tou
Maar my vingers jeuk om te skryf

Ék kan nie díe jeuk krap nie.
Dít klou aan mý wese
En dít krap mý verstand
En ek bloei waansin
En ek wil skree vir die maan
En ek wil vloek tenoor die son.

My vingers jeuk on te skryf
En ek gee in tot die demoon
Wat honger na n stem.

Iewers sal my woorde weer
N lee papier vind...
En dan kan ek sy lastergille tem.

If you're going to bow
kowtow to the ***** in this ocean that is life,
you'd better get a snorkel tube and lubricate your nether parts,
broken promises and the hearts that drown of those that bow down just float away,
if you're going to stay
stay tall
tread lightly
don't fall,
we all break and at times we all take a hit,
just keep shoveling the **** away,
if you're going to stay.

It's greener somewhere and the ocean's air is a soothing balm and the storms subside and it all seems calm,
somewhere
we'll get there
if we keep
paddling.

No one ever asked me
if I wanted to be shackled, instead of being free
no one ever asked, but decided anyway
to turn and bolt the open doors
tie me to the dusty concrete floors and work me to the bone.

No one said,you'll never own a home and if you do
we'll steal it back
and mortgage you instead,
one day we'll all be dead
'so what's the rush?' is what I said.

Brokers in the token towers endowed with powers beyond our 'ken'
and if or when they do decide to let the status quo remain
the status quo will automatically, register it as another of the same old krap
it's something else that they'll steal back.

I've got to tell you, that I'm pig sick
of make it fast and spend it quick and sod the rule of law it never did apply , to the hotshot, potbellied, suited city guy who has his eye on articles one to five and in any case will most definitely survive against the odds by burying away us poor sods in backroom books,stirred slowly into microfilm by corporate crooks who cook away as if each day a different menu was on sale.

Beyond the pale where riders sit and watch the scenes unfold, and it is foretold that judgement day will wash the wicked clean away and save the righteous.
Yes,
well don't I just believe all that
another bunch of total krap.
The pious in their pious world could not foresee that greed alone would be the fall of man..and in the fall,where man has done it all and nothing of it done remains
the register clicks on two more games to play
one tonight
and one the day to come
a bonus ball for everyone except Mario because he's on ******,you know it,I know it
the moguls in the mighty towers blow coke into their nose and they know it too.

Not a thing I want to do
should I do, would I if I could do,do?

I wonder where it's written that
we have to go there to get back
and if we go why don't we stay
one day we'll all be dead.
A thought as going ,when to bed arrived in and another trial that I survived through
one more dish of microfiche that never swam in any sea
and small as anything you see
or smaller for all that
a status bit of ***
for tat
and let the gnats and hounds of titled lords and ladies give the peasants rampant rabies, who cares but the undertakers undertaker,the sombre funeral formulator?
and I don't give a ****.

Rook hom uit met
Silwer linte teer
En nikotien
Smoor hom in
ń bredie van
alkahol en kaffiën
Sny hom uit
Met skêr of lem
Verdoof met dwelms
Die bose gees se stem...

Hy krap swaar laserasies
Wat tierstrepe verf
Oor die sagte weefsel
Van my hoof organe
En spring tussen
Sinapse totdat
Impuls ń inhirente
Sindroom word...

Skree. Hy skree. Hy SKREE.
Krap en skree en brand,
Hy brand .... HY BRAND

So Rook hom uit met
Marlboro red
En black mix
Smoor hom in
ń vat van
Russian bear en red bull
Sny hom uit
Met ń dokter se lem
Snuif hom uit in lyntjies
Dis te veel, sy donnerse stem
...

Disappearing
step by step and one by one
soon
we'll all be gone.
The things that we once knew
are like the people few
and far between.
Everything you've ever seen is being vaporised
and rebuilt
in concrete,steel and lies
and there are spies
cameras watching every move you make
can't take a krap no more without some busy-body camera
poking through the toilet door.
What is the world that we once knew
coming too?

Well you
can stick your face where the sun aint never going to shine
we'll all be gone in three months
time.
Fine by me
I'll just put a match to the gas and blow myself one free pass
into the other place.

At number twenty one Leadbetter Street stood Pancho's cafe
where the local lads would meet
to talk and drink a cup of chai
watch the girls go by
but that's gone too.

Who could have guessed that all we've known would be blown away
by the city boys who earn more pay
the more that they destroy.
Oh boy
what a place.
The face of it has changed and I no longer recognise the roads
where under clear blue skies I grew.
Now I chew on candlewax and **** on fishbone stew
Not the world I knew
Oh no.

Time is all I've got
I find a little lonely spot on the dial of Grandfather's wind up clock
tucked under number five
and the big hand comes and wakes me every hour
just to check if I am still alive.

One day I'll wake and find that there is nothing left at all
everything will have disappeared
and I'll fall head first
into the void.
Should I be annoyed at what my fate is going to be?
Should I kick off big time and attack some nameless ministry?
or should I take the big six
lick my wounds
chuck out the sticks and stones and watch my bones disintegrate
or have I left it far too late?

Mister Lee who used to have a Chinese take away
saw it all
before it all was took away
I never listened to what he had to say
one more regret
but that will disappear too
they always do.

Mr's Singh who had the corner shop for as long as I recall
lives in a three bed semi now
somewhere in Southall.
She took the fall as did her shop
the mavericks that betrayed us never stop.
I feel like tooling up and taking on
but even thoughts of violence have been taken
they're all gone.
Disappearing one by one
and tomorrow should it ever come had better learn fast how to run
or they'll take that too.
This is not the world I knew
and every day is more oblique
I should seek some medical advice
which would be nice
but they took the doctors
disappeared them all away
and that was only yesterday
which is also gone.
I can't go on living in this bubble wrap
it's krap
I see that now it's just a case
of disappearing without a trace.
So long
I'm gone.
Feed the cat before you go.

Knuppeldik gaan slaap die stad
na 'n feesmaal van smaak en kleur
vloei die reuke deur die strate
in 'n Brown se beweging van geur.

Alle trommels , trommeldik maar maak 'n lee geraas
en in die donker , agterstrate begin die ander nou te aas

Kom die honger hande uit die sakke
en krap met rook-geel vingernael
soek die skummel in die swartsak
vir 'n laaste dissipelsmaal.

Maar jy is skille , jy is doppe
jy is alles wat laat gril
nie genoeg vir koningstafels maar vir my
net genoeg om die  knaagdiere te stil.

Onerfare soos ek is , vat my hongerbrein ook mis
watter mens kan so dan lewe? watter mens kan so dan eet?
van die lykswa en die straatveers
het hierdie boemelaar vergeet.
Ek is mens en nie 'n vark nie,
(al moet 'n mens ook eet).

En stil vergaan die boemelaar
wat kieskeur ook wou wees,
nog 'n straatkind se ou lykie
nog 'n honger kinder gees...

ek wat was het mos gesien
*** kos op tafels lyk,
en het sodanig hart verloor
op kosse kleur en ruik.

Met 'n bord vol knubbels le die lykie
voor hom , onaangeraak.
Al was kos ook wat kos was daar
het hy te lief vir die droom geraak.

Eerder kwyn en dood verslaan
as om die droom te ruineer.
Eerder dood van honger,
as om hierdie kos , as sulks te eer.

So word ons wakker in ons tent en dit reen...aggenee!! Maar dis koel en ons voel gelukkig.
Ek is vuil, so amper dat ek wil huil, maar huil van lekker soos n krekker want dis vakansie tyd!!
My hare is so waar deur mekaar, maar wat maak dit saak want niks gaan my keer om vir n gogga te wys *** deur mekaar ek rerig kan weesie...
Tanne geborsel en room half gesmeer, laat die dag begin want dis ons en ons ford bakkie die keer...alweer...
Kies n rigting en so voeter ons daarin...
Saans kom ons by die kamp moeg geploeg die bosse in om nou rustig te raak met n koeldrank in ons hand.
Dan word n vuurtjie gemaak deur die braafste ou ini land om n vleisie te braai vir die fraaiste meisie, hand aan hand.
Mens voel gou dankbaar vir klein dingetjies soos n stort... n warme een, die oop velde of selfs die digte bosse, die veld blommetjies so geel of die gras so lank en groen, die voels so mooi volle kleurrig en die jakkals so skaam maar nuuskirig.
En wanneer dit donker word le daar baie voor soos die uile se geluide, die sonbesies wat hulle vlerkies saam klap of dalk n hihena wat na oorskied kom krap.
So geniet ons die bos vol avontuur gepos net vir ons en ons se dankie aan ons Skepper vir n skepping net vir ons. 2016/03/14

Nothing beats being beside the sea
With a stick of Blackpool rock
My only company.

This crock is old
Can hardly unfold the deckchair
"Hey you there..
..young chap..give me a hand" "

"Alright grandad..keep your hair on",
..he replied.

The tide is still out but it's on the turn
I want to sit in the sun
And I still want to burn
Never learn.
I know that it's wrong..
but at my age..anything that lasts for long is a treat.

No.
Nothing beats being beside the sea
Just me on my own
Where the sand is becoming my second home..
..and the seagulls all know me by name.
But still krap on me all the same.
I think it is part of the game that we play.
Sitting and wasting what's left of my life away.

I stay for a while..looking up..looking down the old golden mile
Can't see any gold
Another tale I was told that just wasn't true.
But the sky is real blue and that's worth its weight..
..in diamonds..but I'll stick to my stick of Blackpool rock.
Should have got a sun block..my head's burnt red
Never..never learn
Time for bed.

Here's the story told to me about our glorious infantry.

Louts,rapscallions,friends battalions
arm in arm and full of glee
marching off to join the infantry.

In the rear lines drinking fine wines,hock,moselle,some burgundy
and some drinking ginseng flavoured tea from some far flung idea of Empire
while only half a mile along the road the whole world was on fire,
were the fat arsed generals with their horses, waiting on their second courses,
crepes and franzipans and to a man they didn't care that the war was waiting there,
'let the ******* wait',they'd say,
after all that was the gentlemanly way.

The bullets striped us left to right and falling into our own falling ***** we'd call for mum and dad
aye lads
aye lads
war is bad
but for the buggers at the rear who never so much as once came near the sound of a gun,
war was fun a chance to socialise,
society is full of lies and leaders they were not.
But death's got their number on his shell,they'll soon be joining us in hell,
so ****** them and sod the lot
were in a spot,we'll not get home,splintered bone and mangled limb and corporal thinks it's still a sin to swear
well ****** him as well,we no longer care.
As we share a final smoke,Johnny tells his favourite joke about three generals and some place called,but I forget the punch line as the time has come for one more bullet,one more gun and silence.

In Croydon,Roydon and North of Watford Gap,families are spoon fed some wholesome krap from drip fed Sergeants,battle,shield and argent,honour King and all the other little things that the senselessness of death brings home.
Let them keep their fields filled full with glory,we know the ***** **** filled story,
war is bad
war is bad
I'm glad that I cant fight no more.

Nothing suggests a protest more,
than the smashing down of one more door
and the picking up off one more floor of another fallen crown.
Smash things down
let them be rebuilt
(one more tilt at a windmill)
still
it's nice to dream.

I seem to dream an awful lot these days
cast my life away into a gaze,another one thousand yard stare
but no soldiers there just prison guards that walk around with us in our prison yard
and don't we take it hard ,when the door is smashed and we realise that what we see is just the same as it will always be,
the dumping ground
make no sound or you'll be targeted and found another place and in your place someone else will step into your prison cell.

It's nice to dream?
like hell,excuse me I don't feel so feckin well
we've all been *******,used and abused by selfish men
who promise freedom but only when and if they ever decide to decide and in the meantime hide away on south sea islands
where they play the altruist,
well it ****** me off no end and no end to this I see
no confiture for you and me
we'll have to eat the crusts of bread,dipped slowly in the bowls of gruel and how could fools like us be taken in
and fools we are for learning krap in krappy schools where education is dumbed down and more fool than that
we then went cap in hand to ask employment of the man
who lapped it up
slapped us down and paid us half a crown to make believe that we were Gods, able to buy those odds and sods and settle in for one more Winter night beside a fire that barely lit, and an outside privy where we would sit and shiver.

The only joy I ever had was poaching on Lord Sefton's private river
and who gave that fat swine the right to steal a river as if a river might be ever owned.

I moan a lot and groan a lot but never seem to have a lot
the cooking *** lays empty on the range
not strange
just the poor of days we're in.

One more grin
wipe behind my ears
pretend that I have shed no tears and go out to the tally man, to tally up and he can tell me what is due
I am the few
the many of many who haven't any
won't get much
a touch upon my shoulder,
'Excuse me sir, there seems to be a fishtail poking from your bag,come with me to jail,become one more old lag'
more than enough of them and more to come
start smashing doors let's have some fun
God knows we don't get enough.

Die studies van vraagtekens
wat ons koppe krap
en klont lont laat brand
opsoek na ellipse en vonke spat.

Die wetenskap wat vrae vra
soos die jonges van dae
wat nie einlik wil weet nie
- wat nie die honger vir wonder wil heet nie
-wat uitroep tekens wil uitroep in n vraag
en hoop dat die tronke sal voller word
, want hulle weet n lee kerk is n gebou
en geloof is net te vinde binne jou!

Ek blyk n kenner te wees,
want *** maklik verdwaal ek nie
in n woud van waaroms nie?

As die donker van n liefdelose dag om jou toevou
en jy versekering soek vir jou troesou
van blindstaar en wangdraai,
begin jy jouself toesnou
met vrae soos spieelkrake en lemsnye
ontdek jy die pseuodo metafisika van die siel.
Ek, verkul n wetenskap op my eie.

All I need's an App
to get rid of the Krap
and one more App to get back
to the start.

Dorothy,
what are you doing there, behind the curtain where a Wizard waits,conjuring fates and certain only of the uncertainty as much as any Wizard can certainly be.

I see Dorothy in red slacks with sling backs and yellow hair,she doesn't know that I'm there,watching her,watching him,
I begin to sing the song,you know the one,and all hell breaks loose,she screams,'it's a dream,I'm home on the farm'
The Wizard says,'keep calm' and pushes the intruder alert,which I have to admit hurt,'the Wizard's a twerp' I cry out angrily,and Dorothy sees me,knees me in the green emerald halls,
Oh *****,
I think and slink away.
What was I thinking of going and drinking with Wizards and Witches, and that little krap toto is chewing my britches and where were the stitches in time that I needed?

I fell through the pavement when I went a courting,sorting the girls from the boys that they went with and Poppins went with me to see if she could be my beau,but Mary's quite scary and I quite like Dorothy,and a spoonful of sugar does not do it for me.

The Scarecrow that I know is really quite bright,ask him for a light and he'll tell you,'don't smoke'
The tin man's a joker and never been a smoker,so him and the scarecrow are friends,
it ends with the lion as is usually the case when he growls like a ***** and I laugh in his face.
and I laugh at the Wizard, who turns me into a toad and off I go hopping down my yellow brick road.

I shot it dead but it won't die
I am effin sick of apple pies and Kentucky fries
and MacDonalds tries to **** me in to happy meals,give me some gin,let me get ******,wake me up if I have missed a thing.
Burger King is on the phone,please put me down or in a home,I'm effin sick of fast food quick Krap,slap me please,don't give me burgers with cheap cheese or onion rings or anything,give me some gin,something quick,Nando's getting closer and I am feeling sick again.

Why does it rain on my parade?
I played the eat well,get well game but it's all the effin same to quick fix.sticks and stones and chicken ****** bones that fill the effin air,fast food effin restaurants appearing effin everywhere,I'm effin sick of it,filling me with effin effluent,I'm effin getting effin fluent in talking effin ****,
give me a gin
let the effin gin work its effin way right in
and let me go to sleep.

We're being faked out,taken out,shaken down, by skulduggery so rife in London town,and we wait for it,salivate for it,cant get enough of it, we even pray for it.

Lubricated,down the pan and flushed away by 'the man',ending up or bending down,it's all the same to London town.

Don't try to tell me,that this is right,or we should bite the bullet and accept our lot,it's a dot on the card when life is so hard that we have to stand and fight.

The 'establishment' might not like us
but those ******* in their close knit groups,storm troop us every day and take away our pride,chide us,ride us,grind us down,remould us,reminding us how cold it is when we can't afford to pay for heat
don't let them beat you,defeat you,cheat you 'cause we'll get through
and do them down.
Life is like that,
London town,it's krap
It's going to snap
to fall apart
the streets will rise,the building's fall and down at Mansion house they'll call us ****,
well, that don't hurt a bit
Let them **** on caviar and sip sauvignon at the trough, while poor men cough their lungs up,
brung up,wrung out,strung up and finally thrown down,
why would anyone want to live and try,have children who die in
London town?

Sy's honger en sy krap in
die yskaste en kombuiskaste
vir haar daaglikse brood.
Soekend deur die rakke
terwyl haar siel kreun
van pandemiese hongersnood.

Sy smag na Valentines-tjoklits
en 'n P.S. wat se: "yes"
en rooiwyn met strawberries dipped in cream
, haar moed begeef haar
-sy verwerp haar teenage dreams.

Love aint all moonlight and roses...
- aint as fun as it seems

Haar mond water nou vir lippies
en jelly-hartjies en vampire tande.
So sy staan op hoeke en bedel
vir suiker...
haar oe so honger, dit brand ,
,maar kyk na haar lee hande
wat leeg sal bly
in ons liefdelose land.

-inamabilis

Sy's honger en sy krap in
die yskaste en kombuiskaste
vir haar daaglikse brood.
Soekend deur die rakke
terwyl haar siel kreun
van pandemiese hongersnood.

Sy smag na Valentines-tjoklits
en 'n P.S. wat se: "yes"
en rooiwyn met strawberries dipped in cream
, haar moed begeef haar
-sy verwerp haar teenage dreams.

Love aint all moonlight and roses...
- aint as fun as it seems

Haar mond water nou vir lippies
en jelly-hartjies en vampire tande.
So sy staan op hoeke en bedel
vir suiker...
haar oe so honger, dit brand ,
,maar kyk na haar lee hande
wat leeg sal bly
in ons liefdelose land.

-inamabilis

The streets will belong to the beggars and buskers
who'll paint the ivory towers red and
take out the old tuskers who sit and scribe laws in
dusty old books..
..here I shall pause,because I'm not sure of what laws.

But these fossils who will us away,
the same who turn night into a much longer day
and don't pay us no wage
are quite sage about this,
they knew that the 'kiss off' would kiss them away and
have made laws to outlaw the coming of that day.

The buskers and beggars can sit playing chequers and
make Kings on the boards
and on the boards of multinationals where they can
rationalise it all,
they'll make more ivory towers to refill more empty spaces
and more laws to put beggars and buskers
in their places.

But we are used to this krap and so
we sing or we busk for a penny
in our flat cap
and the streets remain the same,
it's just the name that
changes.

P Diddy, ha
I remember him as Puff Daddy good or bad he
was the bom, but
P or not to Puff a point and be the Diddy play a joint or two down in Brixton town or up in Crewe,
do you give a krap for rap by any other name but puff the last out blast your brains out, sing and shout, his name, is Puff, no magic dragon drags him down, he burns the stage,  he wears the crown and I am still in London with a clown beside me on the number eight, a bus because I finished late and the underground was shut, but the clown tells me it's all a joke and then I wonder was it him that spoke or was it me, I blame it all on Mister P and puff my chest out anyway.

We're five from the bomb
I guess this is adios
so long.

and yet,
all you seem to care is
should you wear your hair loose.

When your head's in the noose
I think you will find
that whatever you've done with your hair
I won't mind.

We're five from the final.
Played live on blue-ray
'cause DVD's are old hat
and vinyl's
passe.

I suppose the bomb is the krap in the fan
that hits us full on
but we still have a chance
we can quit
we're ahead.
Never fancied being deadweight
or 'what a state'
don't want to wait
for the final kaboom.
I just need some more living room
don't plan on dying soon.
Just one more shot at the moon
while you do your hair.

You don't have to put up with it,
no one is stuck on Facebook.

I look but can't see
the
delete me the **** outa this app that's free and always will be
krap.

Zap,
Zuckerberg just shot me down, run me out of Facebook town.
Pow,
I was going anyhow, they're just a bunch of nothing new,
a new look on a pirate crew,
*******
facebook.

Then they suspend me, them
wicked ******* on Facebook send me
to that godforsaken place called Coventry where the end of me is processed and repackaged endlessly,
Coventry?
I think it's twinned with monotony and
******* facebook
I'll go-commando,
hide away in Twitterville
and go it solo with 139 other characters who know as
much as I know.

Which is next to nothing

Am I bad or what?

The long and the short of it is,
at the moment
I don't give a krap if the
World's in a tiz
I'm in my cocoon
I'm growing and soon
I'll be able to fly far away.

In the hit of a personal edit where I bled a bit
put two slices of bread with it
and ate a cold memory
with a hot steaming cup full of misery
I sat down to tea.

Edits are necessary a suitable accessory
to the future we want to see
and if with ourselves we are cruel
and use the right kind of tool
we can dig out those bits
that would hide in the corners and throw fits at this unwanted intrusion
used as part of a twice weekly programme
to ram home the message that I am
a flawed human being
and this is just what I need to start freeing those things that are trapped on the inside where Krap seems to accumulate.

Mondays and Fridays are my days to clear out and scout out internals to rinse out the kernels and wash myself clean.
Like a scene from some film noir, one can only go so far 'til you hit a ground zero
become an edited hero.
Cheer oh,
I cheer when the cleansing is done and I'm clear again
able to peer again into what I would like and desire to hear again
in a page full of pain where the words hurt the same and the chapters make laughter at me
I am free to decide if the tide is against me or the winds blowing freely which very nearly would seal me into an epilogue
quite clearly the editors pen would be needed so I could be fed and reseeded with hope
and with the cogs of cognition would once again turn on the ignition
and fire up the engine
to begin.

In the restroom,the best room where the bridegroom bites his fingernails and his top hat and tails have turned tail and have run
the song is sung of the forlorn those that wish they'd been never born and the rest is pro forma
a bit Norma Jean another film noir scene
and it's time for my tea.

Don't wanna see cats that krap
dogs that yip and yap
babies howling
lions growling
how to use up unused dowling.

Give me something I can chew
something I can sit and view,
without having suicidal thoughts.

You're like noughts without the crosses
the caber no one tosses
a lump of no good tree
it's no wonder
that you're free.

I'm going for a tea.

(fed up near Felixstowe)

Done,
but the day happened along and all sorts of krap got in the way,
over for now and I'm out of it, can't bother me now and how I detest it.

A means to an end means it must surely end or so I believe.

When they ****** all the fun from the sun that was,
they took out the lightbulb too,
no longer alight my day is the night and by they
I'm referring to you.

A star will rise and also drop
I close my eyes and this will stop or not
if I think real hard and harder still is to still the quill that begs me persistently to write.

Write to ease
Write to please.

If pain is the concert
I've heard it before
gone head to head with it
and come out bleeding
and raw.

I close the door on this moment in time,
It wires me
and
tires me to do it this way.

Tomorrow is but a hashtag away and I blame
social media for
everything.

We are living in tumultuous days, being ******* so royally in so many ways
and E bay wants to sell us krap
what do I think of that?
I think it's ****
I think we ought to take a bit of time,climb out of the mire,wire the terminal,germinate and take the plunge.terminate or take the lunge into whatever comes.

Plums and trees and nature sees the end's in sight,take your partners hold them tight,the last waltz starts tomorrow night.

It's all a load of 'howsya father' I'd rather take a ferry boat than wait around here just to gloat,
in fact I'll take the underground where sad old men like me abound
and so I'll see you
somewhere around the time
the clock strikes nine or now and then and men just walk away.

incidentally any relevancy is set to irrelevant the moment I begin to write with eyes shut tight and wired only to my brain,
a moment for pleasure and the pen and many more for pain,
again it's
almost me as if that bore any relevancy.

you krap it all out on soshul meediyah
take a leak in Wikipedia
sit on
back seats in the cinema
and all to impress the
girl that's meeting you
which means nothing to the dog
that is snapping at your heels.

it feels like all the other before's
before the closure of the doors
and after when after came before
it
was too late to get in the game
it still felt the same.

she said
he said
they said
I said, shut the **** up
to the voices hiding in my head,

the cat yawned slowly
it must be tired too.

It wasn't me
In carriage eight 0 nine three,
but
do you care
that I wasn't there?

Sardine time on
the underground line.

Cross town rail
Fail!

It's all in the view
and what you
can see,
if I can see you
does that mean you
can see me?

A struggle to huddle in corners and hide on this jumpy track journey.

I wish carriages were made a bit wider.

And it's krap on a Saturday or any day to travel anyway on this torturous route.

It will pass, things do
and I'll muddle on through to
get there in the end.

In the meanwhile and padding the passing of time with
outlandish quality
wondering
always, if I can see you
does that mean
you can see me?

Feeling that feel good
it felt good to give a new pound coin
to an old beggar,
but then I didn't feel so good,
what if
he bought drugs with it?
or
what if
it was spent on drink?

then I felt better
how many drugs could a pound buy?
and how much alcohol?
unless it was that lightning cider krap
and even then a quid wouldn't get rid
of the thirst in a gnat
so I felt the feel good until,
what if,
he choked on his cheap rotgut
overdosed on a shot
put
that in perspective

would the feel good factor
factor in my defence?

I don't feel so good now.

(20 minute poetry)

The elves are convening a meeting
to decide
on the wording of this year's
Christmas greeting

Merry's so passé
and not very classy
Happy is no longer apt

humbug's a slam dunk
and matches the krap junk
they'll sell in the shops.

The voting stops when Claus comes in
and ain't he looking very thin?
but everyone has to tighten their belts
even the reindeer have got cheaper pelts

so
Humbug it is then
no merry gentlemen
just lords a leaping
keeping
the aristocracy
fit.

Meanwhile
the Pound shop's sold out of pounds
dogs roaming wild
as Mary's boy child sleeps rough in a doorway on
Christmas Day in the yawning
chasm.

(20 minute poetry)

They're either sleeping or they're dead
no heads stuck in iPhones today
no make up being made up on the Central line, take up a collection, let's hear it for the deadpan men.

Even at Mile End they'll come to a bad end but the East End was always like that,

stopping at Bethnal which sounds just like Bedlam especially if you've got a cold, well
it's green and I've seen it so time to roll on.

Liverpool Street
hot dogs
old meat
dont buy one
don't try one
I don't want to die
none of that krap for me,

the Bank
be Frank
it's a cesspit
a tank full of sharks,

hark
to St. Paul's
what big bells
what big halls
(Did I write halls?)
never mind
the ***** fall down in
chancery lane,
who plays tennis anyway in
the royal courts
where only justice is
served?

Holborn is
old and smells of Catholics and
tobacco,
the next stop wil be my stop if I stop off and step off this train
but I could go round again if this was the circle line
but it's the Central Line

Wednesday disappoints so many.

(20 minute poetry)

Nowhere to stand and nowhere to sit
rush hour on the underground
I wouldn't recommend it

and no one questions the 'rush' or the 'hour' as if the powers of deduction had deserted them.

When and in who's universe did six until nine become an hour?


zone blasted two and trying to get to zone friggin' one

too far gone to care
going to work and
I've got to get there

I really wouldn't mind it
if it was bright and cheery
but
It's krap.

They're not wired up right
that's why we get uptight
one day I'll see the light and
pack this **** in.

We grow up and
grow tall
then we shrink

I think aging is krap.

You can't just be old,
old age ain't enough
you have to be able
to do other stuff,

they call it multi-tasking.

I have often wondered why
If aliens truly do exist
Why don't they just
Drop by.

But then I look around me
At the scrabbling,babblings of those on the boundary
And I see
Why.

The reason that aliens don't drop from the sky
Is not because they're so very shy
It's because we're all full of it
In the pit of our own making
Taking what we can
What kind of man or alien would stop by and see
We,
Who are callous,indifferent and greedy
I do not think that anyone wants to see
Anything that needy.

So we'll stay alone
Yet the universe is burning with
Species that are learning
It all.

And even I fall into the trap
Calling Aliens,species
Is just krap.
That might be why
Aliens do not call in
And instead
Wave
Goodbye.

They're only there for pigeons to **** on them,
the blue plaques for great men
and women too.
Blue?
so they should be,
I wouldn't wish that fate on my worst enemy,
but it's not up to me,
it's up to the heritage folk.
I hope they choke on it,
I mean pigeon ****.

I'd want my name in some great hall of fame, not outside
for the elements to scratch out my achievements or
for pigeons to krap on,
(and me with no cap on)

I bet what I'll get are some words said in haste, as if
giving my story would be such a
waste.
of time.
On reflection pigeons and plaques will do for me
fine.

..and you know because you've done it too

looked in the mirror and thought who
wouldn't want this chunk
this fabulous looking hunk of man

then

wonder if my *** looks big in this
look at the pecs
get yer specs on for these
don't
don't
don't look at those knobbly knees

krap

so you spend some quality time
putting your clothes on
composing a rhyme

no one will see those knees.

It's all a camera trap
krap

slap me sideways and call me Bill,
I've had enough, more than my fill.

I wait to see what tomorrow brings
Easter eggs?
good things,

feeling sorry for myself
and
this'll not do
after all
it's only the 'flu

caught in the act
when all that I need
is an interval.

We can all go swimming in the plastic sea
with lego man and his family.

Grammarly says lego should be with a capital L
I told Grammarly to go to hell
see
I can spell and my words are my words
except for grammarly and lego but there you go
we can't all be perfect
or
maybe Peter can be
and of course
Lady Penelope
but beware
Parker's a shark in the shallows.

That's it
another load of krap,
oh ****
I shouldn't have said that
now I feel like whatsisname?
you know
that guy in the jewellery game
yeah that's it, Mr
Ratner.

Never found any luck in a lucky bag
I only ever found plastic krap
and sherbert.

I wonder if this is all a waste and we're just treading water
to keep our heads above it.

still stumbling along the avenue
the way that old people do
why do I do it?
what's in it for me?
where am I heading?
treading water
minding the gap,
I wish that announcer would
shut her trap and let me think.

This is more under the underground
this is the cavern below
and is this the place?
do I seem out of sync?
I wish that announcer would
get off my case
and give me some space
to think.

I can look at the dream quite clearly
if my glasses are on when I sleep.

Chancery lane again
and
Paris only twenty nine pounds
each way
start the day by feeling inadequate
and it can only get better
they say.

I find that I find I can't find what I'm looking for,
it happened before when I've looked high and low,
and now
I find that I find even less than I found when nothing was lost.

I am lost
I admit it,
up **** creek
without a map,
krap,
(pun intended)

I'll find a way to find the way to find my way out.

If you believe it's a luxury
the krap that they're churning
out in a factory
you need your head testing.

Situation normal and *******
'Snafu'
or something similar,
but that's Yankee,
don't thank me
it's true.