Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Glasgow Girl G1 May 2016
I knew he was a player
So, I didn’t get involved
I stayed there on the side-line
But never touched his *****!

I watched him with his other halves
Advantaged by position
He played the field and tackled
This dude was on a mission!

He's scored his final goal
Set up his final long ball
The flag is up, time has been called
He’s found his final fixture!

No more wins, just ties!
TheExpat Jun 2014
Yesterday I played football
Nine young men and one old fool
I gave it my best, my all
Good job there's no offside rule.

My task just the goal to guard
For the ball I duck and dive
This Astroturf is quite hard
Till full time let me survive

Forget the goal, guard my beer
Sipping between shots on goal
Finally the kids appear
This short game, it took its toll
I'm 50+ they are 30'ish Thank goodness the kids took over :-)
Toby Lucas May 2016
A dot outside the circle,
Isolated.
Feeling as if I'm
A puddle on the beach.

So close, almost the ocean.
So close to the sea it needs to join,
Otherwise it will evaporate
Unfinished.

I am the one who waits for the time to speak,
But opens his mouth once the moment passes. Too late.
The tide of conversation has gone out,
Leaving just a puddle on the beach.

When the rain comes to drench the soil,
It's the crop that grows offside,
Not a ****, but un-harvested nonetheless,
That's yearning for a transplant into the greener side.

And if this flower was to be picked,
Would the field realise?
Eventually.
You don't realise something's there until it's gone.
September 2015
CK Baker May 2017
Five for fighting
hands to the face
personal foul
player disgrace

Illegal contact
leap in the fray
willful head shot
leg astray

Encroachment defense
mouth guard out
roughing the passer
back field bout

Grounding the pigskin
mis-aligned
horse collar tackle
clip from behind

Knee on knee
offside end
unnecessary roughness
too many men

Gross misconduct
poke in the eye
hooking the shooter
sticks up high

Match ejection
over the top
face off folly
penalty shot

Unsportsmanlike conduct
chopping the block
slew foot infraction
hammer lock

Stick to the head
kick in the crotch
**** end jab
adhering the watch

Slashing the d-man
spearing the wing
running the keeper
back checking

Intentional grounding
stoppage in play
punching and hacking
delay of the game

Striking the ref
aggressor in fight
obstructing the line out
ear in a bite

Loss of downs
hands in the ruck
pinching and boarding
illegal upchuck

Rules of the battle
by the bye
pushing the limits
with a wink of an eye
Nothing like the playoffs!
They asked me
What do you see?

I answered

poverty,

shut in the backrooms
sold to the groomers,
I see
Poverty
chalked like a signature
walked over
talked over
ok'd and
then laughed over
lunch,
left over
leftovers,
I
See
do gooders who can't see the wood for the trees,
charities
screaming, another please
I see
disease
Men
on their knees
Girls
selling their souls to
fill in the gaps,
making new roles to play.

Ask me again what I see.

Psychiatry, rude on the streets, why is it me?

Look to the future and what will you be?

You'll be the question unanswered
the thing we don't see,
the orphan we look to
and expect clarity.

****** me Baldrick
don't ya think this a bit sick?

Maybe, says he, but he's not the brightest of buttons on the cutting room floor,
Bollix I can't take
it no more,
I see **** all in the grand scheme except poverty and a *******
now and again.
Mateuš Conrad Jun 2016
rub it in... rub it in why don't you? isn't that the point of capitalism, this competitive mentality? why're you looking at me as if i killed your mother with a ******* harmonica?

i love how people regress their national frustrations
into sports - England is perfect with football...
oh? did i poke a beehive just now?
is Brexit for real now? it is now...
apparently one of the Icelandic managers is a
dentist, he just does the coaching in the summer
part time - i was walking for my daily metabolic
dosage of alcohol a little suspicious, acting out
all doom and gloom - well, it's more fun than
paying your taxes or seeking out career promotion
to be honest, after all, abolishing asylums turned
the entire social cohesion stratification into an
asylum, everywhere you go you have the phantoms
of "men in white coats", everywhere, can't ****
in an alley, can't drink a beer in public,
forget adrenaline *** - the entire human potential
of civilisation the Englishman stashed in his semi-detached,
by the way... don't you think that a Londoner will
find himself in lost-territory outside of London?
i love how the S.N.P. are in parliament 'aving a go
at voicing their compulsion for Brussels' choc &
guillotine chop policy - they want in... oh! does this
mean goodbye Jack ol' Boy? really? well, if you need
a ***** might as well be Wales - they're hanging, they're
hanging, and finally the bubble will burst,
why not Union John (like a toilet) or a Union Jeremy?
Union Jeffrey - Jaffas? Jizzum - Jazz?
but they're out for certain, if a bunch of
barbers, carpenters and sheep herders can beat them
living the Leicester City dream, i'm thinking of them being
the second Denmark from 1992 -
i've had so much emotion in my heart that now
i have a ******* headache - go on! a third goal! get in!
bam wam thank you Black Betty, bam ba'h lam.
it's not the football that interests me as much...
you seen the fans? ha ha! *a'woo!
              a'woo!                                    a­'woo!
a'woo!          a'woo!            a'woo! a'woo! a'woo!

mind you the sober wisdom of Alan Shearer
but that ******* chant man! coupling the missing
trill in the English R (how many gym sessions was that
to get the R to not trill? 2000 years and counting?
trickier than a French phlegm hark mind you)
and extending the E, well, the A isn't really necessary,
it's still reel...
*but who the hell decided what vowel goes where
and what vowel goes in anywhere given a change from
i - aye - and í - as in a punctured punctuation of
e    - prolonged -            and c            -
            a variant of        is              i.e.           ís
and not the German                   iß                    -
called a Kama Sutra of tonguing - slightly zeddy -
you really start to get polishing that mahogany table
for starters - no one gave me the rule books,
what's an offside, what's an penalty, etc. etc.,
i'm working at the scrapheap of language -
there was no congregation akin to the Diet of Worms
(ˈʁaɪçstaːk tsuː ˈvɔɐms) - try deciphering this
educated alphabet - upside-down Cyrillic for starters,
a bit of French, Greek iota, then circus without
a sheering process to add the -ta:k, and there too
a gamma is missing due to the softening into a kappa,
tsu;?                     huh?      why not              ßu?
to mind the Chiral (kye-rawl) nature of S and Z?
ich haben, ih blaben blabshen? *****-slap this to Jupiter,
i will... Tao no mayo in this ninja chow mein -
then it just, gets nuts! ɔɐ is what i've been discussing
about the umlaut - could have just written Wörms -
it's not straight arithmetic - it's that ɔɐ... thing...
like woad but more like woo'ed - you sort of have to
speak sideways - wo'o'erms - werms - or
so i thought.
Ardent Bowel Nov 2012
As a child I cried
When denied
Your creamy-white inside
So fresh and benign
You gave me addictive, bloodshot eyes
Like a sugary sweet joyride
I long for you by my side
Comforting lone nights, amply supplied
I could eat you poolside
Or outside
Inside or in a landslide,
Hearthside or in a hayride,
Formerly provided storewide
Now you sit on the offside
Nowhere I can find,
Saddened am I,
To see that Chauncey crocodile has finally dried,
Along with hostess, and died.
http://ardentbowel.wordpress.com
© ardent bowel
TERRY REEVES May 2016
You have a wife and four daughters
and a colleague amongst your supporters
mindset engineered: you answer a question
with a question and indulge in light sensationalism

My wife befriends many people - a natural star
suddenly they're saying the same things that you are
ideas are pinched, put to use, there's no excuse
for queering my pitch - you stupid *****

No offence meant: I hold myself to account
who am I to hold court, judgemental nonsense
don't say anything, go sit yourself on the fence
come back to me when you have pounds, shillings and pence

Some commontators seem less than cool
it's doubtful if they could explain the offside rule
SJPugsley Apr 2020
In the land of Coleridge and his Ancient Mariner,
    In a time of coal fires, wooden boats and horsepower,
There is a story of the Lynmouth Lifeboat Louisa
    And the night horse and man over 13 miles pulled her.

Two of the afternoon clock struck a chime,
    On January 12th, 1899.
The wind howled and the sea it roared,
    Flooding ports and railways, taking off windows and doors.
The ship, Forest Hall, with masts a three
    Was being towed up Bristol Channel with a crew of 15.
Bound for Liverpool, at St. David’s Head she cast off,
    But the wind, it blew stronger and the waters grew rough.
Suddenly the cable grew taught and then snapped,
    The tugboat immediately came about to get back.
For over an hour they tried to re-fix the line
    But the storm was upon them, they had run out of time.
Captain Uliss made haste to anchor at bay
    But another obstacle was thrown in their way.
The rudder of the Forest Hall was broken by a squall,
    To the mercy of Poseidon and ****** they were all.
The ships’ anchor dragged, no purchase it found
    The ship was headed for Exmoor’s rough ground
At 6:33pm a telegraph was sent
    From Porlock to Lynmouth the Postmaster went
“Large vessel. Distress. Offshore Porlock”
    Five minutes later the first signal rocket went off
Out into the pounding rain they ran
    Those lifeboatmen and locals to lend them a hand
The waves loomed over the watch tower on the pier,
    Then crashed down in fury which deafened the ear
“Tis hopeless” the Coxswain, Jack Crocombe, said he
    “ain’t a crew in the service who could launch safely”
“From a more sheltered station we’ll call a new boat”
    And to the post-office they went, to send a telegraph out
Tap, tap, tap on the Morse key he pressed
    But nothing was happening, there was no line left
Blown down by the storm, and all hope with it,
    “The duty is ours, but we cannot fulfil it”.


Part 2:
“The duty is ours, it’s us or nobody” he shouts
    “it can’t never be nobody, go we must”
The protests did start, and questions did fall,
    But the Coxswain had an answer to silence them all
“Now, I know that we can’t launch her from ‘ere”
    “but it’s thirteen miles to Porlock Weir”
The voices were shouting, no one knew what to do
    But the Second Coxswain’s voice carried on through
“Jack, we’ll need ‘osses, every ‘oss can be spared”
    “if we got enough power, we’ll get her there”
The choice had been made, the die had been cast,
    The crew had a plan, a solution at last
Around came the Lifeboat Louisa, so grand
    Standing 34ft long and 7ft wide on land
3.5 tonnes was her unladen mass
    The add thirteen crew, oars, rigging and two masts
The shafts had been fitted to the carriage with ease,
    Rarely used but kept in the boathouse for needs
The horses were hitched, the carriage coupled on.
    In total, the train was one hundred and thirty foot long
“Right then” said the Coxswain “let’s be off”
    “up Countisbury Hill!” but as soon as they started, they stopped.
The horses did not pull together as a team,
    The wheels were stuck in the parapet, of the bridge over the stream
In minutes it was fixed, and it started again
    This time all horses were pulling the same.
Up Countisbury hill, they walked on and on,
    Until they reached open ground, then the protection was gone
The rain thundered down; the wind raged again
    Still the team kept on going, the pace slow and same.
All of a sudden, the carriage plunged to the right,
    A four-foot wheel came off, then rolled out of sight
“There’s a wheel off!” the cry rang “get them scotches under!”
    It was the front offside wheel that was causing this blunder
Nearly forty minutes it took to replace the wheel
    Still the great storm refused to heel
But then they were off, nearly conquered the hill
    But many more challenges faced them still.
The Blue Ball Inn marks Countisbury Hill peak
    And hot cocoa and brandy helped restore the weak.
Now they pressed on, ten miles to go.
    They were making good progress but painfully slow.


Part 3:
The rain had stopped, the lamps shone bright,
    This brave crew continued through the night.
The party had by now reached Ashton Lane
    Where their troubles soon were to begin again
On this narrow road, the walls were strong and thick
    Impassable for the carriage, but Coxswain Jack had a trick
“We’ll pull the boat through the lane on the skids”
    “The carriage can go o’er the moors with the kids”
So once again horse and train were detached
    A new plan at work, only recently hatched
Eight horses pulled the carriage away,
    Leaving ten to continue to Porlock Bay.
The boat was pulled down Ashton Lane
    Later, all men agreed this was the worst part of the way.
Mud underneath, and walls closing in
    Barely inches to move and soaked to the skin
Boast, horses and carriage finally together again
    Made their way onwards, leaving the lane
Half past one, on that stormy black morn
    County Gate was passed, conversation was born
The crew started talking, spirits, they grew
    But a challenge was coming and this they all knew
Porlock Hill was coming their way,
    Navigating this death path was tricky even in the day.


Part 4:
Porlock Hill, as the locals say
    Is the devil incarnate come night or day
But the brave men from Lynmouth at the top they stopped
    Safety chains, drag ropes and skid pans were fitted against the clock
Four horses at the front to control the bends
    Ten at the back plus men to see this through to the end
Down the twists and turns the crawled
    On the drag ropes and harnesses, man and horse hauled
Round the last corner “We’ve done it!” “We’re down!”
    Sighs let out, smiles put on, it was an inspiring sound
Then all at once, morale took a plunge down,
    As they stared at the entrance to Porlock Town.
Old Widow Washford had a cottage this end,
    It would be impossible for the carriage to round the bend
The wall of the garden would have to come down
    So, the crew started trying to widen the ground
“What are ye thinking at this time o’ night?”
    “How dare ye start bangin! Gave me a fright”
Old Widow Washford’s head poked through the door
    Was there no end to the troubles faced on this moor?
Once again, the Coxswain had the answer and said
    “Don’t worry, we’re just widening the road dear. Go back to bed”
The old woman was dressed and out in a flash
    Shouting encouragement, soon the wall was hashed.
Six inches more, they needed to pass
    The corner of the cottage came off at last.
Five of the clock struck the morning chime,
    For most people here, that was rising time.
Out of the town, and past the Ship Inn
    The last part of their journey was soon to begin.


Part 5:
Half past five when they reached Porlock Weir
    They were soon stopped by people when drew near.
“You can’t go no further” the Anchor Hotel Landlord said
    “the road’s gone, Jack, to the beach, nothing’s left”
Only half a mile stood ‘tween the crew and their goal
    They would not let this stop them, oh no.
The top road they took, almost as narrow as Ashton Lane
    An exercise none of them wanted to repeat again.
The train drew on, till they reached a tree
    An old Laburnum standing between them and the sea.
Down it came and then back on their way
    The light was beginning to turn night to day.
The boat reached the beach, the flares had been lit,
    The ****** poised with their oars, ready to hit.
Holding the stop, Second Coxswain yelled “HAUL”
    And down shot the Louisa, into the squall
The oars struck together, through the roaring sea
    Sails hoisted, oars beating, wind blowing hatefully.

It was on the morning Friday 13th January,
    That Lifeboat Louisa of Lynmouth launched at Porlock from Countisbury.
Ten and a half hours, over thirteen miles
    This crew and their boat had endured many trails
The Forest Hall was reach, her crew all safe
    Back to the mainland they made at pace.


Jack Crocombe, George Richards, Charles Crick, Richard Burgess,
    Richard Ridler, David Crocombe, Bertram Pennicott, William Jarvis.
George Rawle, William Richards and John Ward
    John Riddler, E.J. Peddar and Richard Moore.

All of them crew members on that historic day
    And for this they are remembered in every way.


But I give my thanks to the crew mate who gave this story to me,
    My Great Great Grandfather, Lynmouth Lifeboatman
        William Sellick Pugsley.


Sophie J Pugsley
Great Great Granddaughter of crewmate William Pugsley of the Lynmouth Lifeboat Service.
Paul Hardwick Oct 2015
Today while out on duty
the most surreal thing happened to me
and all this is true
ask the taxi driver
while senking of to have a drag
on vapor ***
noticed a taxi drive sitting on the car park
i was securing for the day
Knowing it would not be used
went of to tell him this carpark will not be use
and as I did leaning in his offside window
felt something rub against me leg
looked down
only a whiled rabit ******* on my foot
said to him look at this there is a rabit sitting on foot
if he had not seen it to I would have thought I was going mad
Buit there it was just sitting there
man weerded things happen to me
no wonder I so surreal.
This story is totally true   P@ul.
have you had strange things happen to you?
Always a time lapse
somewhere behind,
elastic bands of the
troubled mind.

Young Turks lurk
no money
no work
offside of the law.

There is I am sure
a serenity to find
in the time lapse of
a troubled mind,

Zen,
what then?

and it's not about snap back
chit chat
pictures that
tell me
serenity is there

I need to know where.

Sad a day Saturday
and an easy mistake to make
I take these strings in my stride.

I shall play catch up
to match up the shapes
that shift thoughts that shape me

twisting my tongue around
the troubles that run
away.
A steady beat followed us
For some time
Soon after what was once us
Only became the silent echo

Your offside comments spaced you
You truly are a master of short stories
You once were there with me
In a hollow bubble of joyous days resenting the future-

Onward till better moments preach your conscious

Keep your signs close
But keep your chin up once more.
Finding a little space
a private place
no need for the public face
when I am alone.

Then into the thoroughfare
where nobody seems to care
but
they all want to take a share
from my piece of pie
Emily Kaminski Oct 2014
As I thought I was doing just fine. Carrying on my life. Finally been able to forget and move on from you.
NO.
I tripped and have fallen backwards into the memories of YOU, as soon as my beloved friend asked me when we were on Mount Royal together for the first time; "Did HE ever brought you here?"
"No. I don't think we ever been here together." I replied.
At that moment, I had flashbacks of the other places we've been together. Which was a handful. But surprisingly, not on that mountain. As I fallen into the banks of memory lane, I poured out how much I missed YOU to my beloved friend. (In tears)
YOUR caresses, kisses, cares, jokes, kindness....
but most of all YOUR  embrasses that made me fall in LOVE with YOU and made me adore hugs and hugging people! Also brought life to my heart! Now I can barely do proper hugs and get **** for not doing it right; and my heart is dead-cold.
And lastly YOUR smiles! OH GAWD HOW I'D **** TO SEE YOUR AMAZING SMILES THAT MELTS MY HEART! I ADORE IT!
Looking back on it brings me happy tears.
And yet, heartaches.
________________­___
Just recently, the other morning(out of the blue). I have fallen backwards again.
With a little sweet, lovely, warm, comfortable dream of you.
After playing games with friends while sitting on the mattress on the floor; I turned around and saw YOU.
YOU were lying down-let's say on the couch- and YOU were smiling at me. It was the smile and look that you still loved me. The welcoming smile that I adored. It was the old  YOU. The one before the stupid, ugly tattoos and you hair was abit long. It felt like as if we picked-up were we left of from our lovely part of the relationship.
So crawled up to YOU, had my face close to yours, that our noses were touching.  I grabbed you hand, kissed it and placed it on my right cheek. I missed YOUR  touch. Then we shared kisses like we use too.
Then that dream took off a little bit to the offside.
We left to meet up with someone to buy a new apartment place. Turns out it was my group who were finding themselves and I a place to stay in. Before I carried on with the search of the building, YOU slowly walked away and gave me a look "Are you going to join me or stay here?"
I looked away and gave off a "Staying". I haven't seen you since then. In that dream, it felt like I just had to stay....Sorry dream you
In the end turns out my group and I were runaways from a crime. Then the following few days, them and I had plane tickets to leave the country.

But I wondered if THAT crime was to be with YOU again?
If so, it'd still be worth it.

In the end, I still manage to get up and move forward. Here and there. I  still think of YOU.
In reality, YOU'RE the one who's FALLEN HARD! Deep into the rivers of false pleasures and desires.
.................................YOU Idiot. -.-'
I teared when I typed this up~ -T^T-
Mateuš Conrad Feb 2016
as they say: greater the *****, bigger the morion;
yep, i'll napoleon that,
half a hoof in the cobblestone trot
with the horses crab walking in the sidelines;
oi ref! oi! yellow card! offside! ah no bother,
he's the general of the insolent crowd anyway:
in song: southampton - oh went the saints,
oh when the saints go marching in...
be in that number, be in that first eleven i'll be
leather globe kicking i'll be.
I was down there on Cheapside
and believe me, nothing's cheap,
Oxford street does not lead
to Oxford and quite frankly
Blackfriars is grey,

and
through the cracks which Cohen assured us were there
is an air of mal de mer.

I'm busy getting on with it,
She pops in now and again
to see
if I am getting on with it,

I've got getting on with it
down to a fine art.
Zywa Jan 2023
Because I don't have time
I just like to waste the day
unwashed in a bathrobe

Being myself, at home
in my city bunker -
in front of the window
that mirrors on the outside

If you fly past it
you will see sparrows
being chased off the seed
by ducks who then flee

from the gull army
which has hardened its beaks
four times in the gastric acid
of the Duck family

I am safely offside
and what I don't like
I erase from the screen
Hard swords were made from iron filings, which had been mixed into the feed of ostriches, ducks, or chickens to harden in their stomach acid, and were subsequently recovered from the manure

Collection "Foghorn"
EddyDYung Nov 2018
Welcome to the Off-show where reality never happens,
An interim getaway from life's twists and thorns.
A world of unfulfilled wishes and fable champions
Here we are spoilt in opulence and  celebrations.

Mind wandering away to magical pleasures,
Our form metamorphosed to toothsome figures.
Heartbreakers resenting the day they broke up
Relatives are now loudspeakers of our miraculous outcome.

Soon reality returns and once again we are offstage
To default conditions of dissatisfied offsprings.
The squandered time and effort catches us off guard
As false celebrations and goals are ruled out as offside.

Our Off-show is but a self tragedy casting who we are not.
An unattainable future if we don't embrace who are.
Till we heal and dress the scars we might never shine as stars.
When you embrace and empower yourself only then can you show off.
Breeze-Mist Sep 2018
You say that your friends
Can find a welcoming ear
In their time of need

But I know
Of hundreds of shouting matches
Half as many protested more-than-hugs
Days in and out of manipulation and deceit on both sides
Years of saying "you have no right to feel that way"
Many doged questions
Minutes shouting down every expression that you disproved of
Several iterations of "you'll die alone"
Days and nights hidden in offside rooms for fear
A few good slaps
And a laptop against the wall at age eight
That all demand to differ
Don't you hate it when someone says "you can always come to me for help!" To all of their online friends when you know **** well that they've been a partial cause of your distress for years on end, not listening when you try to talk to them about it and making you feel crazy trying to talk to other people about it?
*This* is why I stay TF off of Facebook.
On the offside, outside the factory where
the klaxon sounded every day at three
she would wait for me,
I would meet her and we'd walk back home
along the streets we knew paved with cobbled stones
and we'd imagine it was the road to Rome and
I was a centurion sent to save her,
we never
gave a thought to what may come, we
just enjoyed our moments marching
in the sun and then the lights
went out.
Claire Torrance Dec 2019
When he tackled again, I was left feeling weak!
Then to lose the last game, and stay top of the league
It's a perfect conclusion, opinions won't sink
Just a simple illusion, of how others think

They dive on the surface, then smile with pride
Did he do it on purpose? Was he trying to hide? 
Gazed through his soul, as he tried to act proud
But he followed his goal, just to blend with the crowd

I would play a pass through, if he tried making space!
He might find, being true, would reward him first place!
With his fans in their seating, he took centre stage
When I knew he was cheating, he turned a new page!

He stood, then declared, he was wearing a mask
Left feeling so scared to go through with the task!
Kicked the ball out the way, then I tried to be friends
But he threw it in play, then ran back in defence

When the ref had revealed there was one vital minute
He barged through my midfield, determined to win it!

Open goal!!, last man!! With no place to hide!
I stood like the linesman, to flag him offside

Now, it wasn't my mission to draw the red card
For this crucial decision came down on him hard

Let the truth take its toll, but i wasn't forgetting!!
Your previous "goal?", had came off the side netting **
PIRO Sep 2018
I've never had a crush but she got me.

Spruntly created, she is; what a gleam!

She didn't complicate things, gave me hope.

Imagination had gone far; 3 kids, wasn't that what we got?

I'm achieving one of my goals in life soon; offside, I was caught.

After 5 calls, a beep still not certain. Jeez, God!

Dreams getting crushed by a crush.

Haven't even wooed, allusive rejection.

The one who gave hope has taken back.

This time, supernumerary.

Same giver; same taker.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2020
one of my cats - bonsai tigers is such a recluse -
for the 24h in a day she could spend 28h sleeping,
and not be seen apart from taking
a princess dump and eating like a gargoyle...

my room always fascinated her -
i guess she like the smell of books -
and the chair - for the past few days:
her "modus operandi" for whatever else
happens in the day...

i turn on the computer... start typing...
there she is, geared up, agitated -
doing her little pagan prayer: standing on
the hind legs - outstretching her front legs
and paws - and then moving them in an amen
clasp up and down -

i once overheard "someone" instructing her...
the voice wasn't human -
the words weren't human...
i'm under the impression that she was told:
get him away from typing...
as if now she wants all the attention...

one of the last stumps of the old dwarfs is almost
out of the ground...
but this one is a beast -
           it grew into a heap of concrete where
the old fence posts were...
you can't dig this sort of roots' head up
with a tiny shovel - a tiny one handed gardening
fork... a hand-saw... a blunt axe...
a hammer: when needing to hammer the axe
in...
              one of the roots took forever...
tomorrow i'll take out the guns of navarone...
a hammer drill and an electric saw...
i'll turn these concrete blob into dust
and chew into the roots with electric eels...

then the waiting process -
i will have to burn the soil...
        either with vineger or salt or i don't know...
i'll get some proper gardening chemical
that will treat old roots like weeds...
until the wood becomes brittle and...
a future source of nourishment for new
growth...
   and the dwarf apple trees grew...
while bonsai tigers cackled-esque at the birds...
eyes growing tired into a murmur of
itchy blinking...

took a coffee break and... thought apps...
and technology...
   not much thinking in all honesty...
at 34 i should be somewhere in this field...
working on some minor detail...

they can have ****** recognition technology...
but they don't have an app
that allows you take a photograph of a flower
to subsequently let you know the name of it...
they have an app that listens to a song
on the radio... and hey presto!
you have the name of the song...
          but there's no app that has a honing
microphone... after all: a camera has a zoom...
why isn't there a honing microphone?
there's no app to record a bird song...
to subsequently: hey google: listen to this...
what bird is that?

well... good to know that i still have
some interest in that... give him 3 minutes
and you're listening to spy cables
from a mr. starling...

            it's not even beautiful as vivaldi
would make it appear in the imitation game...
it's a binge on mathematics... or the thought
that comes with it...

       how the old tongue came about,
as revised to latin standards by methodius
and cyril... i too met a greek once...
from Thessalonica... in Warsaw...
       astounded as to why my english was
so good...
                then again, one has to wonder
why the czechs did not succumb...
"succumb"... nor we their neighbours...
to...

how Ⰰ became A... was it to become T?
well... not if Ⱅ (T) was to be... W?
none of these letters could be "simplified"...
with the exceptions of 'b': Ⰱ that became Б...
'm': Ⰿ that became M
           'p': Ⱂ that became "p": π
       but even the glagolitic entry i'm reading...
Ⱋ: is supposedly symplified by щ...
   i'm not buying that...
                  i could be wrong that...
    Ⱎ was and that ш is... a letter intact...
                 or that Ⱇ was and that ф is...
and that it wasn't the greek φ...
well... ш + ц = щ - šarość + č = ščerość
                   (greyness + ch-                       +
                                             -atter ≠ honesty)
yet how many words can begin with щ / šč-?
quiet a few... ščekać! to bark!
                                    look... i too have my:
tail: bąk - bumblebee...
          or perhaps how Ⰶ became ж...
or }I{ / >I<                                   Ż / RZ / Ž    
if you have a caron...
                        and know why horseradish
goes well with beetroots for a salt "puree" side
dish...
              a problem from the start of day
rubric!

     infinity                           |           nothingness
noun                                                    noun
infinite                                              nothing
adjective                                           pronoun
          ∞                                                    0?
                                                         or   √-1       i
     ~                                                 last time i heard
         ÷                                               0 = negation
                                                        so much for Kant
                                                   and subsequently
                                                         so much for ¬
                                                               likewise...  
        ∃                                                         ∄                                                    

and this toiling with the grammar...
             last time i heard these terms:
cis-                          trans-
         the conversation was central to
chirality of chemical compounds...
well... cis-trans isomers: would i have dreamed
of chemistry being so popular among
grammatical anarchists?
                                          no... it's not about
chirality...

once upon a time a language so simple:
so brittle - so accessible -
            i would strain myself on the definition:
it better rhyme...
then came the drastic oops...
           even if it rhymes...
so what it rhymes... if it does not hold ground
for lyricism to take root!

      who is to keep hold of this brute this
language gott: gut: this alles gute?
               tweak that with a sly umlaut over
a yo-yew-you? yarl!
                 who else sings?
                    the three witches: thane...
of glamis - cawdor...
                                    borrowed time from the graeae...
or at least the tongue...
the eye-shared went missing when
nine cyclopses jumped into the couldron...
the tenth: offside or the racous...
                             perhaps even: nobody...        

since why would i come with all these gifts?
what if i took your two heads away...
what ιf: ȷust lιke that! eh?
                              where are your: "dιacrιtιcal"
markers... ιn a language wιth no orthography!
there's only... the straιtȷacket of metaphysιcs
beιng exhausted: yet agaιn!

at least between a ȷ and a j there's a raa'
and a zaayn involved... please don't mention laam...
( ر ) and (ز ) respectively...
                            ( ل )...
                                          must we always learn
about the romans?
                         mr. starling sang came noon...
while i was drinking my coffee...
no app for the recognition of flowers...
plenty of ****** recognition technology in place...
no app for the recognition of bird songs...
plenty of songs archived and a honing
microphone for the telephone to pick up on
and recognise...

my song would have been much simpler...

/
meie, din liehter schin
und diu kleinen vogelin
bringent vrouden vollen schrin
daz si willekommen sin!
ich bin an den vrouden min
mit der werlde kranc
alle tage ist min klage
von der ich daz beste sage
und ir holdez herze trage
daz ich der niht wohl behaage
von den schulden ich verzage
daz mir nie gelanc
also noch genuogen an ir
dienest ist gelungen
die nach guoter wibe lone
höveschlichen rungen
nü han ich beidiu umbe
sust gedienetunde gesungen

                                                    /

as i recall... i am supposed to have a date
with a medieval germany...
a romantic germany...
     perhaps even a romance of europe
in general...
           solely on a lingua primo basis...
                history... after the mass graves
at ypres...
                           even a *** would agree
with... there's a romance
and all that was shumann and was...
              how or why the prussian became
in charge of the german people...
the same prussians...
the same baltic prussians...
the same baltic prussians that
the teutonic knights of bavaria etc.
waged a crusade against!

                      even in england certain histories
of this continent are off limits...
so much for having learned
of edward the confessor's existence...
or the medieval genius that was
philip II augustus... the capetian...
                           so much: and thus mr. starling
sang for me...
midnight came and i started looking for
my shadow to take to bed -
steal him i will / had to from
            the harem of the candlelight.
A cowboy set is what we get
when we vote for the wrong
side which is
offside but no penalty was given,
we give those to the living
not to the dead.

I wanna be a Commanche,
She says,
it's time to grow up,
but I don't want to,

that has
no bearing on my decision which
she takes for me,
secretly
I still wanna be a Commanche.
Laura Jul 2019
i wish i made you up in my mind,
instead of all the ink i spilled over tropes and trophies.
you’re much better than their tireless scripts -
only to be caught offside like the running red herring.
you’re not my cup of tea really either,
more like my morning blonde roast with too many substitutions -
but new things excite me and make me grow still.
and i have been stretching these pages longer,
taking up every inch of you that i can muster
hoping that i see an ending,
and not another oxford comma.
Ryan O'Leary Oct 2018
You must go now,
take your accents,
pomp and history.

There is no umpire,
your flag is at half
mast, you're offside.

Brexit and give us
all a break, WASPs
not wanted here.
Ryan O'Leary Dec 2018
Today is the 11th hour
for May and Macron.

The umpire states,
both historically offside.

Ah sure tis grand to see
the greedy ones troubled.

But think about it: one's
Capitalist the other Socialist.

Both equal in their historical
imperialist colonising.

Perhaps today is not the 11th,
it's the score, " ONE ALL ".
Who's to say,
we're not drowning in an ocean of apathy
or
can you be bothered even if they are strangling me?

they just dangle a carrot and turn up the heat
and we sit there like lap dogs waiting for a treat.

lockdown, shmucktown, don't give a *** town
because we are doing alright Jack.

some follow the rules and are still ruled offside
and some try to be fair to that shitshower out there
but they don't give a monkey's nuts about the
what-if and the..why should we care anyway,

if it's here to stay
and
to take some of us away
it must be
God's will,
right?
oddly everything
ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO?

A bunch of angels
having fallen

kick a tin can around
in lieu of a football.

They are new to earth
and have nothing better to do.

They look a bit
the worse for wear.

The center forward
with an injured left wing

goes around an old shabby
angel who should know better

leaving him on his ***
after nut-meging him

before  sidefooting
the Heinz baked beans tin.

"Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!"
he hollers so Heaven can hear him.

The goalie the angel with
the ***** face blushes

having gone
the other way.

Immediately all hell breaks loose
and the angels don't hold back.

Kicks to shins kicks to knees
and other more sensitive areas.

Shouts of "No never...that
was clearly off side!"

Gabriel is using his trumpet
for a hearing aid and a deadly weapon.

A wino turns his bottle upside down
for the very last precious drop.

"That was defo offside!"
he burps.

The fallen angels
pay him no attention.

What would a mere
mortal know.

The wino staggers away.
"It was( hic! HIC!)never a goal!"
Ryan O'Leary May 2020
Besides world cup, Virus
is our only universal plural.

Anonymous players in face
masks televised live, nightly.

International leaders invited
to comment on team strategy.

WHO is the referee, UK, USA
and Brazil were caught offside.

Yellow cards are out there as a
reminder: ((no close tackling)).

Jacinda Ardern's been coaching
team Aotearoa, Hakademically!

In fact, some are expecting her
side to be eliminated, initially.

Leo Varadkar resorted to poetry
and climate hoping for a change,

"If we winter this out, we
can summer anywhere".

Michael O'Leary may have a
ting or two to say about dat!
Today I answered the call
For more commitment, more passion
And everything I did came off.

Today the wing belonged to me
I had it all, I really flew.
I was the danger man, the hot shot
Whose courage and vision
Rallied a late victory.

Trouble though when I arrived home
Full of it and still trying to score
As all of my best moves were ruled offside.
When I appealed I was warned, no more
And answering back resulted in a sending off
To the spare room
Where I was eventually given what for.
Donall Dempsey Jan 2020
ALL THIS AND HEAVEN TOO?

A bunch of angels
having fallen

kick a tin can around
in lieu of a football.

They are new to earth
and have nothing better to do.

They look a bit
the worse for wear.

The center forward
with an injured left wing

goes around an old shabby
angel who should know better

leaving him on his ***
after nut-meging him

before  sidefooting
the Heinz baked beans tin.

"Goaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaal!"
he hollers so Heaven can hear him.

The goalie the angel with
the ***** face blushes

having gone
the other way.

Immediately all hell breaks loose
and the angels don't hold back.

Kicks to shins kicks to knees
and other more sensitive areas.

Shouts of "No never...that
was clearly off side!"

Gabriel is using his trumpet
for a hearing aid and a deadly weapon.

A wino turns his bottle upside down
for the very last precious drop.

"That was defo offside!"
he burps.

The fallen angels
pay him no attention.

What would a mere
mortal know.

The wino staggers away.
"It was( hic! HIC!)never a goal!"
Donall Dempsey Jun 2020
A GAME OF TWO HALVES

Ahhh the smell of the crowd
the roar of the vid screen.

Live players
with zoomed up fans.

trying to replicate the sights
and sounds of normalacy.

The unreal
real.

One can be present
so to speak

upon a giant screen
40 metres long

and feeling
9ft tall.

A vast improvement
on the German game

which filled the stadium
with smiling cardboard fans.

But alas with their side
beaten 3-1

the cardboard fans
were still smiling.

A not very realistic
ending.

The Koreans placed
*** dolls in the stands

but they were not interested
and could't understand

the offside rule.

— The End —