"nigel" poems
jamie taught us salt,
nigella, the art of the beef stew
cake boss, the art of chocolate fondant,
the mafia
so rich and chewy
mafia,
the true american dream
richness and trophies and abraham
the mob engulfs the flames of life.
Nigel asleep in his room
sound, it wakes him
Nigel, he says
remember the naked chef
remember him
forever
Nigel goes downstairs
pours a glass of milk
grabs a cupcake
one boxed
he cries a tear of shame
as he remembers
Jamie Oliver
his queen
his Kingsley
his Oakley
his larry
his life
was a box of chocolate
he grabbed the caramel
but was greedy and seized the brie also
it was a sad day
as Nigel fell
off the cliff of life
into a hovel of doom...
the mob,
Nigel,
all attached
no way out
Brie
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
I self-indulged—
For me a rare
Lapse, an unexpected
Slide to materialism.
Repenting already,
My selfishness.
I bought myself
Internet Radio.
How could I resist?
E-Tail has made it so easy.
GOTO Amazon Electronics.
•Amazon.com: Electronicswww.amazon.com/electronics-store/b?ie=UTF8... Amazon.com, Inc. Online shopping from a great selection at Electronics Store. ... Electronics. Shop for TV & Video, ... Featured Offers in Electronics ... Electronics Categories • ($“Ka-Ching! Ka-Ching!$ Ads in the middle of the freaking poem!”)
The omnipresent marketplace:
Shop at home in your pajamas,
Pay for it with keystrokes,
Go back to sleep.
FOR SALE: Hail to thee,
Oh bittersweet Credo of Capitalism!
I finally broke down,
Accepting the fact that
RADIO: once a wireless marvel;
Now, a fading media option,
Its broadcast range
Not only shrunk, but
Signal reception, downright poor.
So, I finally broke down
Bought a radio that actually works.
So what I want to know
Is NPR so full of itself that
They go so far to find some
British-accent guy to read
Sports summaries?
I am listening to some
Pompous Pommy poofter,
At KBOS, Boston, Massachusetts,
Nigel Longshanks, himself,
Recapping “The Run for the Roses,”
Kentucky Derby homestretch,
Missed NBA semi-final foul shot &
The freakish mojo comeback of
Yankee Baseball Bad Boy: A-ROD.
May 11, 2015
May 11, 2015 at 1:19 PM UTC
The Politician Nigel Farage,
Fancied a saucy massage,
He had quite a shock,
As she couldn't see his ****
Which she claimed "Was a mere mirage."
JWS
Apr 16, 2015
Apr 16, 2015 at 2:06 PM UTC
Sometimes, when I'm trying
To pretend everything's alright,
Though, inside, I'm dying,
Someone sees my inner plight;
"Nigel...Are you crying?"
I manage to hold in the tears,
As if I thought their release,
Would spread the subject of my fears,
That will not leave me in peace.
That's why, when I'm sighing,
I will not confide in you-
When I feel like dying,
I'm afraid you'd feel it too.
"Nigel, please stop crying."
If I stop the pain from spreading,
By keeping it all within,
Then there's not a tear worth shedding.
"Are you crying Mr Finn?"
"No. I am not crying."
Dec 21, 2015
Dec 21, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Nigel the soldier
Shoulders big as boulders
Up over the top
Tried not to stop
Tripped on some wire
Dodged all gun fire
Jumped back up again
Then it started to rain
Got to the other side
In one giant stride
Took some enemy out
They began to shout
Nowhere else to go
In a place he didn't know
Nigel the brave
Resting forever in an unmarked grave
Dec 18, 2014
Dec 18, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
Brexit. Exit. There ain’t no turning back
Tear down the flag of Europe and hoist the Union Jack.
Throw out all the migrants, lock the borders down
Fill in the channel tunnel and watch the desperate drown
Brexit. Exit. We don’t need the EU
Krauts & Frogs & Belgians, telling us what to do.
Boris & his cronies are planning out our fate
You know that we can trust them to make our country great
Brexit. Exit what was that you say?
The interest rates are rising and you’ve had a cut in pay?
No-one wants to buy our goods the Pound falls through the floor
Boris has gone missing & Nigel’s locked his door
Brexit. Exit. Is this not what you planned?
Fighting with each other for this green and pleasant land?
Well there’s nothing left to fight for, our country’s turned to *****
As the last one leaves ‘Great Britain’ will you please turn off the light..
May 24, 2020
May 24, 2020 at 5:58 AM UTC
on top of the world
the veritable top
staring down at the others
climbing to the top of the stars
and call on nigel
who didn't believe in you
and call him his best pastry
burnt
a crispy blackened burn
not a heavenly, crackly, toasted burn
a burn that seeps to your core and throughly
blackens all other senses
cutting them off
leaving you with only a sense of deepening despair
as you consciously realize that
you've fallen up the stairs to the top
and are falling down
away from the stars
toward the mud
Feb 25, 2013
Feb 25, 2013 at 12:09 AM UTC
I'm the real Chuck Bass
I am Nigel Barker
****
Noted
Fashion Photographer.
i engulf all men, women and children with my succulent odour
especially when i use the flames of the baldinator.
it makes me bolder... and balder
Baldness is my strength, chutzpah, and truth.
Smize all you like Tyra
I will always come out on top.
I have
the passion,
the power,
the Porsche.
model ******* work for this, for me.
My scalp illuminates the night
leading me up and along the path of the nigh.
Serena van der Woodsen your Pantene waves of glory
will fall victim to my patent shine
now let me beam fiercely
PERFECTION
Jan 22, 2013
Jan 22, 2013 at 8:20 PM UTC
She squirmed and wriggled in absolute anticipation, just loving it, eagerly ready for what would come, love making in the most special and intimate way. Slowly Nigel moved his fingers up and down Stacy’s pussyanthamicatrical, enjoying the tightness of the plastic
though she was moist in her nose. The material of her ******* was soaked by dryness, science reversal. Part of her skirt would be but that didn’t matter. Soon she would be naked, not needing any
second skin to hide her beauty; that was left to her third. They had no secrets or inhibitions. Except skin.
Jul 8, 2020
Jul 8, 2020 at 10:22 PM UTC
So there.
(sonnet #MMMMMMMVI)
Yes, fire. We plunked down on the fur rug thence
Afore her fireplace, and I in betrayl
Neglected to erm, lose me on its hale
And licking flames, e'en that romance' pretense
Was blind to--wherefore? Sandwiched for intents
Twixt two guy friends, I was too dull t'avail
Me even there, yea lost myself in pale
'Scuse in auld lines to Nigel, like's good sense.
Now Sunday watches diesel trucks roar fer
Sweet hours through lonesome country roads 'neath blue
Skies nary cloud is but a ghost in, poor
As saying. I told a friend I'm as a melon you
Cleaned out, sans Mum, and what as twere
Is left? LORD, give me Thy fruit. And kids too?
11Mar18b
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 8:39 PM UTC
Poppy
Fell in love with a clean shaven
Yet scruffy looking
Blonde man
Who went by the name
Charles Nigel
Though she was
Meant for a monk.
She was fascinated with the blonde mountaineer.
Even though he drank and cursed
They fell in love
With eachother
But when her bleeding stopped
Poppy told her parents
About the love affair
She was banished
She found a rundown house and brought her lover to.
As a home
And
As a love nest.
Everything was going well
Until he
Slapped her
Though they loved eachother
Dearly
Poppy was abused and controlled
She thought
He lover become a monster
One night while
He drank
She couldn’t
Take
The loneliness
Anymore
She took some poisonous herbs
And
She died in sadness.
Poppy and her unborn child
Were reborn
Repeatedly.
Seeking justice.
Dec 15, 2018
Dec 15, 2018 at 9:29 AM UTC
Nigel had said a lot that day, he spoke of old love and Jesus and other such fun and ****** things, he swore only once, and the lines from the poem stuck out like bright pink bubble gum on the soul of a black shoe, special lines.
Sunday was a long day, I didn't think anything would come of it but he still made me nervous.
We went to the skate park and he sat across from me and we were together and talking about the terrible person who had broken his heart, and how he never really loved her, he loved the idea of her.
I thought of how dumb it was to think you were in love with someone and then only like them for who they seem to be.
The windswept us under a skate jump and we just sat away from it all tucked away, then it started, he was annoying,
His hands found my extremely ticklish sides and he wouldn't let them go. At one point I tried to get out and he pulled me
Onto his lap, I was sitting on him and every inch of my body was screaming about something, about how much I loved this man and
How on Monday nothing would change and we would just go back to being friends, then he grabbed me and we found ourselves cuddling
Out of the wind and my lips were too close to his I opened them as if to prelude to a kiss, that day he had been licking his bottom lip
Lip which was a sign that he wanted to kiss someone, My lips parted and I spoke the line that reminded me of everything I wanted,
"I wanna kiss you like a traffic jam."
He smiled and laughed without moving his head back, "I wanna kiss you so badly, I am willing to chop of my own head and throw it at your lips"
I taunted him, my nerves tingling. This was wrong, or was it... it felt to good to be wrong,
And yet...I challenged him.
"Bring it."
And then we were kissing.
Dec 28, 2013
Dec 28, 2013 at 6:17 PM UTC
And then I saw her
And she was beautiful
Stunning
Smiling
Graceful
And all I kept telling myself was ‘Nigel, do be cool…’
But it was too much and left me a little bit awkward
Like the new kid in school
She spoke with such ease… like she had no idea how amazing she was
I highly suspect that this was because
She knew
And was just basking in the moment
And there I was, calm and collected… on the outside
Mushy and melted… on the inside
I find myself still thinking about her a day later
How can someone be so enchanting?
If she has a man… I hate him
And I hate her
The previous line is not possible though
Her whole aura catches you off guard like a sucker punch
An unexpected blow
I saw her…
And she was beautiful
And as I type this a day later
There is no doubt in my mind about the fact that I want to date her
And I will.
Jan 5, 2013
Jan 5, 2013 at 2:18 AM UTC
Perhaps I am an evil man,
Perhaps I am; I cannot tell;
I try to do the best I can,
But know I do not do it well.
Perhaps there is a space for me
In some unknown corner of hell,
Where hope reigns for eternity,
And nothing ever breaks its spell.
For hope is, when all's said and done,
The worst of things a man can suffer;
It keeps us traipsing, one by one,
From one disaster to another.
Perhaps it's best to just give up;
Immerse myself in a life of sin,
Drink good wine, and raise a cup
To my worst enemy- Nigel Finn.
Nov 16, 2018
Nov 16, 2018 at 4:54 PM UTC
I had died
my friends had me buried
nine feet underground
in Australia
and they drank to my memory under the Sun.
Nigel was a hired hand
he dug my grave carefully
he talks with an accent and a cigarette
he toils under the Sun for three long days
silver tools chinking away at the hard desert rock.
I took a long ride on the Flying Spoon
up and around the lover's moon
and finally I've come to rest
in this spot under the Sun
nine feet underground
in Australia.
Nov 15, 2011
Nov 15, 2011 at 7:13 AM UTC
the hombre he stares
out into the dessert
before this,
he saw an ocean
filled with the unknown, the undiscovered, the possibilities
now as he stares out
do the grains off dry hibiscus plant inspire him
nay
the bleak never ending dunes of powder
time
went by
so quickly now he feel trapped
like Nigel
within his own window,
passing the time as his ear grows smaller
and fonder
of his toad
garamy
he no longer works his biceps as he pours his chai tea
into the mug of destiny
of
fate
of life
of
lust
the barren wasteland of the city
bleak and passing without him
without Nigel
goes by with the plumage
the crest of the soul
drift further and further from consciousness
living on the edge no life, no warts, no brownies
nought but Nigel
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:24 PM UTC
You can’t stop me
You can’t
You picked me, shook me up all over the place and attempted to drop me
You couldn't… and still can’t
I’m a genius… **** it!
Even I have tried to explain how I do this creativity thing
…I couldn't
And still can’t
You’re probably thinking “Nigel! Modesty… keep it modest!”
My reply “modesty’s overrated, I will take it there!”
“You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, but I want…”
You see, I’ve always had controversy embedded in me
Actually scratch that… one could say controversy has been me
That friend by my side, always willing to ride
Flipping off these childish fears
Reaching into my big book of bad ideas
And they had to give me this poetic skill
A blade that cuts deep… a blade that I’ve been sharpening for years
And didn't even know it
The ‘bomb’ like those Al Shabastards
Boom! Blow it
You can’t walk away from this, if you lose a limb
Yes I took it there
Like a back hand to the universe asking “who’s your ****
Call me daddy
Dress like a gentleman, but underneath all this
I’m simply just bad…. Buddy.
Nov 30, 2012
Nov 30, 2012 at 2:00 AM UTC
Every one of the people I consider friends has taught me something worthwhile, and I want to take a minute to thank them.
To Josh, who taught me that anyone can fight for what they believe in.
To Brandon, who taught me that a smile can be the sunshine to someone's day.
To Nigel, who taught me that anyone can improve, no matter what.
To Noah, who taught me that now matter how big you are in the world, you can be kind to anyone.
To dear Holly, who taught me that every voice deserves to be heard, no matter how small.
And to Thomas. For being my best friend for so many long, happy years.
To the entire class of Lapel, 2015: Thank you.
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 10:33 PM UTC
"...nothing really matters [anymore]--"
(sonnet #MMMMMMMDCCCIII)
Where blue heavns softly yield to orange' detail
And robins 'gain renew dear Mavis' sense
Of April gloaming with that song fr'intents,
E'en breaking off to scold as wont, the frail
Warmth sifted out while lo, a plane t'avail
'Non passes over, sparrows gaily fence
This calm with chatter, traffic likeas thence
Wont: I would sleep; yes, laugh, in sheer betrayl.
Don't let me cull to mind what tis as twere.
Who gives a hoot tis Friday night? I do
Not care so much if I could just, in poor
Excuse, forget, and breathe. Pink 'gins tae woo,
Now gathring on the East, and Nigel's tour
Of music oddly plays, the Scriptures too.
22Mar19c
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 9:51 PM UTC
*He explained to me he was a ghost,
for, as a composer, he had died years before.
He then described something of the trauma of his death.*
It was good to discover I was not alone,
that it could happen and one might really die
to this creative life.
Shall I describe something of the trauma of my dying?
I don’t think you’ll want to hear this, but I’ll tell you.
It’s been six months this dying;
I’m not quite dead.
I am still affected by music,
though it’s no longer my own.
If I think about this dying too much
I become distressed.
I can’t believe it’s happened.
The point is - if I try to compose
I am overcome with fatigue.
I can’t keep focused
on the problem of a piece
before fatigue sets in,
interrupts.
I should
place a line under what I’ve done.
It’s no little achievement this body of work.
Some days I like to imagine a monograph:
Nigel Morgan
*Metanoia to Sounding the Deep
(1988 – 2013).*
And what is there to say?
What aspect of musical invention
will the writer investigate and critically present?
I was once told I had
an experimental edge.
Well, what does it mean?
I’ve mined that seam;
I’ve been convinced; I’ve held the faith,
believed in what I did, the way I did it.
But faith has run its course
and every day that passes
the future retreats.
There is no music waiting in the wings.
I am tired, tired of it, tired with it all.
Nov 28, 2012
Nov 28, 2012 at 1:16 AM UTC
Front page news
Sad times ahead for happy people
Get in line
Politicians losing the whip
Seen gratifying in phone boxes
A liberal conference
Army cuts have seen the Swiss win the neutral war
Big aeroplane playing hide and seek
Same *** marriage plunged into disarray
Heterosexuals revoke clause 69
Mary's got a headache
Migration watch in london spot new species
A rare Nigel
The stay together campaign have run out of money
Independents rolling in the black stuff
Later changed to multi coloured stuff
Guiness drinkers in Swiss tanks demand apology
Women say bedroom tax is affecting performance
Men agree whilst channel hopping
Bald people in North Korea wigging it
Same *** mannequins in Moss bros
Church moving to M and S
S and M on Saturday nights
Hp poets uploading
Beware
Bound to offend some dummies.
Aug 25, 2015
Aug 25, 2015 at 1:30 PM UTC
UKFT has launched Made It, a collaboration between the trade body, Graduate Fashion Week and Marks & Spencer designed to bring together graduate designers and UK manufacturers.
As part of the initiative, which was launched at a reception at the Houses of Parliament last night, Marks & Spencer and the UKFT will sponsor a number of Graduate Fashion Week winners to have their collections made in the UK.
In addition, to promote a better understanding of UK manufacturers and to encourage designers to use them as their preferred source of manufacturing, the UKFT, Marks & Spencer and Graduate Fashion Week will host a series of Masterclasses at five select universities across the country.
Hosted by Damian Collins MP, UKFT and Graduate Fashion Week, the reception included a catwalk show and was attended by key policy makers, industry influencers, major retailers, leading brands and UK manufacturers, with special guests including Graduate Fashion Week ambassadors Alesha Dixon, Mandi Lennard and Caryn Franklin as well as designer Zandra Rhodes and fashion critic Suzy Menkes.
“The UK has some of the best designer graduates in the world and some of the most talented manufacturers – Made It brings them together. Not only will we see the creation of some stunning collections, the project will also help to ensure the success of the next generation in understanding the business of fashion, which is a fundamental part of UKFT’s purpose and key whether you are developing a new brand, working with manufacturers or growing business overseas,” said UKFT chairman Nigel Lugg.
Graduate Fashion Week managing director Martyn Roberts said the initiative was “a wonderful opportunity” for GFW students to get first hand knowledge and experience of working with British manufacturers. “These are vital skills for fashion design graduates and essential for keeping Britain at the forefront of design,” he said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/red-carpet-celebrity-dresses
Nov 10, 2016
Nov 10, 2016 at 1:31 AM UTC
Thank you all for the continued
Love and support over the last 9 months
Thank you for the sweet comments
The heartwarming support
And to Nigel Finn who made my Christmas with a sun.
Big thank you for 40,000 views and almost 1,000 likes.
That's phenomenal.
Hope my pieces still bring you joy, inspiration or relation
A little late but here's to a new year!
Jan 6, 2016
Jan 6, 2016 at 5:34 PM UTC
You're in the girls' playground
walking with another girl.
I'm in the boy's playground
with Nigel.
I can see you
from where I am,
your red hair
redder looking
in the sunshine.
I point you out to Nigel.
O a red-head,
he said,
steer clear of her,
she's a ***** teaser.
Is she?
I said,
pretending I understood
what he was saying.
Yes, word is she offers it
but it's all game with her,
Nigel said.
I see,
I said,
looking at you
walking by the fence
in deep conversation
with this other girl.
I wonder if her pussy's
the same colour
as her head of hair?
He said,
smiling,
giving me the nudge
with his elbow.
I smiled, too,
but a bit lost,
but wanting to be
on to what he was saying,
I said,
*****
He said,
her ***** hair.
O right,
I said,
looking at you
walking off further
from the fence.
I think her name's
Lizbeth something-or-other,
Nigel said,
do you know her?
No,
I said,
just seen her
and that red hair of hers.
Best not to,
he said.
I mused on you
walking away,
your school dress
swaying as you walked.
I knew it was red
as your hair,
I'd seen it that time
you tried to ****** me
in your room,
but I hadn't let you,
and you stood there
with your red thatch of hair.
Aug 24, 2015
Aug 24, 2015 at 2:15 AM UTC