"takeaway" poems
One cup of tea is not enough...
Two cups of coffee is what usually wakes me up and
two sugars in the morning is,
perfectly sweet.
One day you'll be mine,
if not Today then, some other time
Well that's what I'm hoping,
Please tell me you'll have hope too
and two songs are not enough,
to say "I Love You"
Well just one of me,
can't do much for you but
two hearts beating like ours sounds pretty beautiful
and sometimes one word,
can make a difference
well for me that one word is you...
So come into my life now
and don't you dare leave without me...
'Cause one plus one can make an infinity
One photograph is not enough,
I'd want a couple more of you of me and both of us
two pair of eyes...
occupied with thoughts that can't be sung
Well if you want to play dinosaur mini golf,
in the summer...
You can just call me up any time that you wanna
and we can grab a takeaway coffee
and take the long way back home.. (woah oh)
One cup of infinity please, to go...
One plus one can make an infinity if you want it to,
and that one plus one could be me and you.
Apr 17, 2016
Apr 17, 2016 at 3:30 AM UTC
The miracle weight loss pill ...
does help you lose weight, but keep it off what a joke
it doesn't change whats in your head
it doesn't give you the rush you need
when you're down
The miracle diet ...
does work for a while of course you lose weight
feels good you're eating healthy food
feels good that others notice and compliment you
then you plateau
The exercise machine ...
promises the world you too can be a hot model
you can do it just 3 minutes a day
you will transform into **** in weeks
then you stop
It takes much more than a few dollars
To turn your world inside out
To change the way you think
To change your lifestyle
Food is just food
Think about it like that
Try cutting out added sugar
Replace the bad takeaway with a good one
Do something small everyday
Remove all the effort
Its working on me
Day by day
I'm starting to fade away
Awesome
Jun 27, 2014
Jun 27, 2014 at 3:03 PM UTC
Never grow up, take me away
To a distant Neverland
Where it's carefree, day to day
No need for an education
Or all these institutions
I want to run free amongst
The trees and the shadows
Takeaway structure and maturity
Embrace imagination, absurdity
I'll take my escape
Take it for release
Oh, Peter, Peter Pan
Fly me away to Never Never Land
Oct 31, 2014
Oct 31, 2014 at 12:12 PM UTC
Ever had the feeling of being trapped in a glass box
with the air slowly running out, with every breath?
In sun, rain, snow and storm, the box gets dark or warm
but what you can do always remains the same.
Have you just simply wanted to walk away or break free?
To travel the world taming Lion cubs and petting great white sharks?
To wake up to a sunrise in a Dutch farm and watch it set over the Mediterranean sea?
To teach children in Thailand or India?
To salsa on the streets of Mexico or be blinded by the lights in Dubai?
Have you ever wanted to be border-less?
To not be punished for being born in a country
where the sun is hot and people are poor?
Have you ever just wanted to work, get a place, pay taxes,
and not ignore the growling of your stomach
so your 5 pound takeaway stretches over 3 days
postponing the date to buy the next food stock?
Have you ever wanted to check your bank account
without having your fingers crossed, because
even though you know the exact balance
you hope by some miracle it will be more?
Have you prayed for immigration to back the hell off
leaving you to make a living without risking deportation?
Have you ever got tired of playing by the rules when
the Albanian Mafia and Walmart
makes more money per hour than what you'd make in a lifetime, or two?
With heart aches and emotional games, and
attending Sunday mass becoming more of a cliché,
with rejection and doors closed,
at the cost of owning a brown passport,
with your head spinning and back against the wall,
have you wondered what life wants from you at all?
To all the women being trafficked for ***
and the children slaving away spinning Persian carpets,
tonight it's too cold to snow outside my glass box.
Inside, it's too sad to cry...
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 8:16 PM UTC
There’s an Indian restaurant down the road,
And the owners have a beautiful daughter,
But she’s the apple of her daddy’s eye,
So I really don’t think I oughta.
There was a Chinese takeaway next door,
That did the best fried-rice,
But the authorities came and shut ‘em down,
For infestation of rats and lice.
There’s a newsagents further along,
But it doesn’t do much to dazzle,
Unless you want overpriced cigarettes,
And back issues of Razzle.
The Arab café across the road,
Does the best cappuccinos around,
The sound of Algerian pensioners laughing
Is such a beautiful sound.
There’s a Working Men’s around the corner,
Where the Guinness is dirt cheap,
And in it I’ve had drunken nights,
And memories I’d fight to keep.
There’s a chicken shop on the way back home,
Which I must say is pretty useful,
When I’m staggering home, ****** as a ****
The chicken burgers taste ******* beautiful.
There’s also a chippy down the way,
That does an excellent saveloy,
It got burnt down, and I can’t help but suspect,
It was a sneaky insurance ploy.
There’s an Irish pub next door to that,
Full of drunken, singing Micks,
The Dubliners on the jukebox,
It’s where I get my fix.
But I’m always drawn to the Indian restaurant,
Where the owners have a beautiful daughter,
She’s witty, glamourous, the same age as me,
And I really think that I oughta.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 12:27 AM UTC
"God is a place you will wait for the rest of your life."
In all my dreams you're drinking Nick Drake's pink moon out of a red and white straw
Standing all alone in a black coat
Sinking into secret places where no one else dared go
And laughing; I love you when you're laughing
You're always singing my favorite songs
Where we were young, and laid awake through howls
In these spaces, I've returned
Trying to feel how it felt, is supposed to feel
In all my dreams there are greasy hands and frozen feet
Tiny tanks pushing through snow and ice
Painting all the walls blue and gray and black
******* and hands and eyes shut tight
I drive through Nebraska and Wyoming and West Texas
I drive through meadows of dead grass and think
Twenty-one on midnight and hiding in a tall booth in a dark bar in a cold place
Home, because I was with you
In all my dreams I am reaching out and up
Seeking earth takeaway memories
Lifting skinny fists, bare, raising my arms in surrender
Through the mystic on all the lighthouse adventures in the world
Tonight your ghost asks my ghost in earnest:
"How strange is it to be anything at all?"
Oct 21, 2013
Oct 21, 2013 at 12:50 AM UTC
how Eye make love,
this popped into my head
tho questioning this quest,
what purpose served, unknown...
lacking the infatuation to poetry write,
the mind retreats to the basics,
eye write with no destination,
wondering at the wonderment
of this basic actionable accolade...
sometimes,
be the
operative word,
sometimes
cooperative,
is the operative...
sometimes,
is but a
it just depends
who
is the initiate
and who possesses the initiative...
every story has a different
author, ending...
sometimes slow,
sometimes muy rapido
in foreign tongues
in foreign places,
the only commonality be that
wonderment
eye wish this not to be explanation,
eye wish this to be an explication
of the texts of sensual visionaries,
imagining the helping to happening,
the passageway to and from
where the mind begins,
the body completes its origination
oft I close my Eyes,
listening to hers,
her eye voices directing me,
what will be the course of our
course,
miss no Michelin starred landscapes,
through hers, mine Eyes triumphant...
tour guide excellente
cannot explain
why the temp sometimes
solar flares,
why the temp sometimes
is a glacial expedition,
tongue led,
from toes to eyelids...
always buy tickets for a
round trip flight...
how
is a titillation, begging you to read & expose,
there is no how, only sometimes better,
sometimes different...
why
is a question needs no asking...
when
when the shape of her profiled neck,
reflects shadows of further inquiry,
when her décolletage collects me
as she and her designer intended...
when
she laughs uproariously at my piquant,
suave and debonair one liners,
requiring kissing tickling calming
when
tears spill when reading
a new takeaway poem mine,
needy for a tongue to collect that spillway...
just being friendly appreciative and thanking
where
is when
the how and
the why
intersect
the intemperate weather of
being alone
subtle suggests
auto recollections
now know
the how, when, where and the
why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
of memories of past and present...
Apr 26, 2015
Apr 26, 2015 at 9:18 AM UTC
He did something in the shipyards, but I was too young to know what. Those times, in any event, had long passed. His hair was white and he had spectacles with thick rims, that is much of his appearance as I recall. It was hard to imagine the time in which he had worked; things around there were beginning to accelerate, melting into air and the past was exactly that; should he come back now he would recognise very little.
I learned much later that he sometimes visited the Chinese takeaway to talk about communism; he believed in an equally high standard of living for all, not death camps and suppression of the individual. If one man has a nice suit, all men must have a nice suit. His presence was not a political one for me, I was a child, he was someone who we visited. He greeted me on me and my brother's visits with a smile and a jig; "Not bad for 85 year old'' he'd say. He made us ice cream floats, slipping the ice cream out of those individual paper packets that ice cream used to sometimes come in. He was a vital man, there was something to him that made him exciting to be around. Although he had been educated to a low level by contemporary norms he was well read and informed, I came to learn in later years. He never had a child, that I learned too. What does that do to a person to be childless? What does that do to a person to have a child? Time passes and things happen regardless. I think he died in the same week as my grandma, but I could be mistaken. The exact details of one's life sometimes become muddled. An enigmatic figure in a bigger picture. Forgotten by many.
May 17, 2019
May 17, 2019 at 4:05 AM UTC
I confessed my adoration declaring my undying affection along with my true intentions
You declined most gracefully (clear and concise)
Narrating you do not share the same sentiments, (it was a forgone conclusion)
Letting me down eventually yet elevating my spirits every time you smile;
If you reciprocated even a decimal point of devotion or a fraction of affinity I hold for you
Metaphorically speaking it would acquire the vast space that now occupy all the stars in the known cosmos
For my affection towards you ran across time through galaxies extending throughout the infinite interstellar, finally resonating to the heavens unsettling angels and almighty god
In space time is redundant; direction hold no relevance and gravity is absent
Similar to the romantic intentions you have for me – literally none existent
You will always occupy that pedestal you once accused me I have erroneously placed you on
I will always hold the candle for you, step off a bridge if you asked me to
I would rather deserve medals and not have them; than to have medals and not deserve them
Very much like you – case and point
Maybe you are like the sunset I only have the privilege of admiring its magnificence from a far
But never to retain it for myself I have to let go once the dusk disappear giving way to the stars
But I like to still envision; let my imagination run rampant; then contemplate in accordance to the “Many Worlds Theory” that somewhere in the unknown multiverse, vibrating in a different frequency, we co-exist ecstatically ; now living & sharing an apartment in New York city; enjoying Chinese takeaway drinking cheap wine while listening to all your favourite songs from the nineties. (Specially the Goo Goo Dolls, The Verve and Matchbox Twenty)
Sep 12, 2018
Sep 12, 2018 at 4:20 PM UTC
slipping away
passages of time
slips away
down through the canyon rock
where the forever makes it yawning gait
and the weight of the fossils
forces down upon the lightless tunnels
where the urchins and sea shells
learned to sing
in their petrified state,
where the smooth stone kiss
where waters were once a rushing estate
and eyeless fish swim
not knowing the difference
of light and dark in the deep lake
echoing fathers, weeping widows
silence endangers the sanity
echoed into a beating soul
forget not the smooth takeaway winds
nor the shoreless wager of nighttime gin
a mammoth cavern performing unspoken
hollowed out by all that is forgotten
Jul 21, 2016
Jul 21, 2016 at 9:48 PM UTC
Having filled my personality on beer, **** art and awkwardness
my lungs hung heavy and my morals were slightly isolated
as I briefly considered the most direct root
to this girl with the ******* and the possibility to access
which I knew would be quite the test, as I was by far the worst dressed
with my ripped up jeans and hair a mess.
So I finally let these thoughts digress, a decision that I know was best.
For you should not test the strength of my testosterone,
It should always be firmly placed right back at home.
But it was at this moment where I noticed the difference between state and private school boys.
I was outside smoking the smallest, smuttiest rolled up cigarette
When a boy with a name like ‘Monty’ walked past holding a cigar the size of a jumbo jet,
The feelings I felt, both hate and detest,
As he waltzed right up to the girl with the ******* and muttered a charm under his breath.
So with a drunken heart, I went to order a ***** straight and smart.
But the bar was closed, and my song was sung, so with my head well hung and ego stung,
I left the kings and queens of that party, to fulfil their dreams.
As I fulfilled mine with a river gardens Chinese, the finest cuisine.
Feb 7, 2010
Feb 7, 2010 at 7:15 AM UTC
2:00am Saturday Morning and his restlessness reclined on his mind
The room was immensely silent but held a forceful amount of chaos
His large feet plummeted to the cold floor; he roamed out of his beguiling room
*
His body was almost bare and every movement echoed through him
The empty foil tins from a takeaway he had eaten at 8:00pm casted a noticeable stare across the kitchen like a coin to a magpie
The fridge was only a couple strides away now; he prematurely stretched his arm ready to grasp the frigid handle
The fridges seal parted and a saintly yellow light radiated in front of him
He stared nonplussed into the fridge for about 3.5 seconds
Celery
Sitting there in the centre of the fridge appearing as tasteless as it would taste
Unappetising.
The light diminished as the door closed.
Dec 20, 2014
Dec 20, 2014 at 5:06 PM UTC
I’ll go to this restaurant
cos today I’m eating low-fat
and healthy;
I want to glow and eat safe
and be on a diet
and take some weight off my body
and so trim some fat off the burden on
the National Health Plan;
so I’ll go to a healthy restaurant today
they serve fresh and they spell out
fat contents
for each item
so I can choose carefully
and conscientiously;
and the menu board tells me which sandwiches
have low fat
and which burgers offer health
and which meat burgers are approved
by the Heart Foundation;
and so I’ll eat healthy today
and so here I am
so can
I have one of your low-fat burgers, please…?
Yum, that’s going to be really healthy…
Yes……with double cheese…yes, make it double meat…
And can I have plenty of sauce
and add that creamy sauce special too, please….?
more of that sauce please….more….more…
…more…continue till I tell you to stop…
….thanks….and
is it too late to add bacon and sausage?
Yes…thanks….yum…that’s really healthy
And yeah, why not? – three cookies
and a large cup of the post-mix syrup…
Yum…that’s healthy and good…Thanks.
That’s yummy…I feel good…
Also could you pack a takeaway
of the same stuff
for me dinner, please?
Oct 5, 2010
Oct 5, 2010 at 11:36 PM UTC
Let the babble stop
Let the brain farts cease
Let pleasure be your guide
And the poet slip into their persona,
Like a performance uniform,
A slip dress
An existential throw up of thoughts like
Bad Chinese food.
The kind that climbs out of Tupperware,
slippers ready
Of Tupperware and ready slippers
***** out takeaway rice.
Performance uniforms sit up in bed,
Babbling about existential poets.
The bad Chinese food
Waltzes with its guide,
Brain dribbles out of nostrils.
Dear night-shoes,
This babble has ceased,
Pleasurely.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 12:31 PM UTC
The air here is refreshingly sweet
a real tonic
pollution is far away across the sea
two ferry journeys
going onward the nearest city many more road miles away.
We are lucky, in this regard,
Oh! but what I would do sometimes for a takeaway curry.
Aug 27, 2016
Aug 27, 2016 at 10:53 AM UTC
From the window she sees
A sponged together sky
And chalky clouds
And a trail of wisteria buds
Which dribble into the street
From the window she sees
The men who watch cricket
Scoffing at the TV
Above their takeaway opposite
And she sees the polystyrene cartons
That people leave in their gutter
From the window she sees
A drabble of changing children
A laugh, a scrabble, a sliver of a tear
A road that’s been scrubbed down grey
And little dust particles
That creep upon it and sing
And break and smile, relentless
From the window she sees
Hope
And prays she’s not outgrown it
Apr 13, 2015
Apr 13, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
Have you ever tided upon tsunamis?
Indeed, these giant brooms clean everything in its wake.
This is the only time you are glad to have resisted
transforming someone into poetry,
as the waves sweep ink and paper off your desk.
They kissed the shores too passionately this time around.
Have you ever fuelled a fire in the woods?
Eyes burning brighter than old flames.
Exchanging breaths of smoke and dust,
and feeding what has already been strangled dry
To red and orange and blue tongues.
Have you ever triggered an avalanche?
It's a ride that gets faster and faster and faster.
The world spins around you,
And you still hear your echoes
Albeit in the end,
it still is all white and
nothing else.
Have you ever clapped alongside thunderstorms?
Fight poison with poison, they say.
So I shouted your name,
and the storms are singing along.
Up till now,
I still wonder if you could build homes
out of ruins.
Have you ever stood in the eye of the hurricane?
There's a weird kind of serenity in that.
As though you could halt the whirlwind and the cold and its monstrous roar in their tracks
With your bare hands,
and place them where they ought to be.
Have you ever buried yourself in the epicentre of earthquakes?
The earth spins on its axis;
your consciousness hinges on your emotions.
Hold on to the loose gravel around you-
it's the closest you can get to
the warmth of someone safe.
The debris destroys both you and the haven.
Have you ever counted flames, cinders and lava that leaves a crater?
An eruption of falling stars;
home is where they return.
There is always a takeaway
from tragedy it seems.
Nov 29, 2015
Nov 29, 2015 at 8:07 AM UTC
a pony ride turns hollow when unshod hooves slip and tear
lots of room for prey and avarice on the prowl
I'm hiding sad shadows in the gods' kind shade
the position you've cosseted was never yours
and a bouquet in full bloom lies face down in a trash can
and a dead plant stands in the corner of a takeaway outlet
your shadow came to talk to me when you fell into deepest asleep
a frosted windowpane is sandwiched in snow
a slick oil spill in a cat's hungry paw
incredibly, convo is created in terse debate over a teaspoon
similarly, two ladies sit and sip in evening caps
amarna letters get torn or burnt to maintain the unknown
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 2:31 PM UTC
The insurance company billboard sign
That lords above my head
As I walk past the flats
Proudly sings of
"NO FEAR
NO SHOCK TACTICS
NO SCARY ADS"
Yet last night the pretty lady
On Yesterday's six O'Clock news
Told me how Putin is plotting World War Three
Under the Dartline
The supermarket corporation
Urges Dublin to
"LOOK OUT FOR SOME LOCAL GOODNESS"
While across the road
A man was car-rammed and then shot
Outside Luigi's takeaway
While we slept nearby
The world is an unpredictable
And ever more lonely place
No one pays to disperse that knowledge
Thus earned is rarely desired
I'm done with lullabies
I'm finished of singing you to sleep
Because your dreams
Won't provide you with the same solace
Sep 1, 2014
Sep 1, 2014 at 9:06 AM UTC
walking moveable feast
talking nonsense;
to bugs too small to see-
under a microscope revealed
captured lab specimens;
just crawling around, all day
eating the tasty skin of Humans
hosts to a constant stream
of nibbling takeaway addicts
a walking moveable feast
talking nonsense.
Feb 27, 2015
Feb 27, 2015 at 9:25 AM UTC
some where in my house sits a cute little monster
in dragon like pose
on top of his purlioned
and just found lying around,
trove of treasure.
fifty seven odd socks
(i counted the others)
and three pair to boot shoelaces and metres of string
an inch of fragrant ginger root
a tie patterned cleverly with clowns
a beĺl that swallowed it's ding
used tissues galore
fifteen duplo men,
in various stages
three circus lions sans,
their cages
a sherrifs badge
about ten dollars roughly,
in loose change
a tiny baby dulldozer,
to shift it all about silverware, cottonbuds, lipsticks,
hundreds of chinese takeaway chops sticks
mr potato head's nose,
a squad of g.i joes
a ping pong ball that
has lost it's zing
a ring of keys for,
no longer locks
pencils, crayons, texta pens
all in a woodwork,
pencil box.
now this monster is cute
and he is twee
he loves all his treasures with cheery equanimity fussing and fixing
his stash he wanders about just out of sight
looking to add to his *****
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 6:39 PM UTC
i sometimes sit and ponder
what my life would be like
with out the both of you
i suspect,
i would be some
small (uni) town
catlady, about sevencatcrazy
exsisting on takeaway chinese and rom coms
soglad you came along, happenstance as it was...
Aug 12, 2014
Aug 12, 2014 at 4:58 PM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
The boy with the goggles looked a little bit like Biggles.
On a ride away into a brighter day and I'll head for the hills to where my favourite hideaway waits.
So this boy who looked like Biggles with his goggles on googles me,
I don't mind
though I'm
not sure what he'll find once inside the web.
Haha giggling Biggles takes off his goggles and googles me more and it doesn't even tickle which is a bit of a bore.
In my hideaway, I see all sorts of strange things as if strange things had a part to play in this film of my life.
Today is the day for the breakaway,
the day I become the takeaway and the hideaway will just have to hide away until I visit again probably Wednesday or whenever the weather permits.
And what then of Biggles with goggles he wears like they're Rayban's?
I was one of biggest fans and then he went away, I think that he found my hideaway,
I'll find out the truth on Wednesday
weather permitting
of course.
Jan 20, 2016
Jan 20, 2016 at 8:11 PM UTC
#11 | Heartbreak in Hatfield
We made passionate love during that one autumn night in Pretoria.
Our relationship had its flaws but we always got high off the euphoria.
Somehow the best part of me was always you, but you’re gone now and I’m always feeling blue.
It was a Friday night on April 1st, I guess I was a fool for falling for you and believing all you said was true.
You may have forgotten me ever since I’ve been away but I waited on you for too many days since February.
Why did you settle for a takeaway when you knew you would’ve had the world on a silver platter?
Now that you’ve left, I realised how you were right when you said that I deserve someone better.
But where is this “better” that you constantly spoke about days before you broke up with me?
I cannot seem to find it; I even went back to Hatfield several months ago to see if I had missed something.
I have been MIA on love ever since you’ve been away; I waited on you for too many days since February.
Or maybe it was May, but you don’t care and I don’t remember because maybe it doesn’t matter anyway.
Or anymore and lately I’ve been zoning out to Paramore and getting high off paper planes than ever before.
Somehow the best part of me was always you, but you’re gone now and I’m always feeling blue.
I guess I was a fool for falling for you and believing all you said was true.
Jun 25, 2018
Jun 25, 2018 at 3:08 PM UTC
Sensory awareness;
fold of translucent light through thin blue sheets.
Faint scent of tobacco smoke -
morning reveals the desolation of yesterday.
Coping mechanisms galore!
Scene of poetry without a purpose,
scene of black holes in red carpet,
scene of high moons by the windowsill
and always feeling low, half-stoned on Zopiclone,
how I once slept full, breathed from the diaphragm,
dreamed with ease - but that was so long ago.
Slept-in sheets, weeks of cold sweats
and takeaway pizza eaten in bed.
12 hour days on minimum wage,
I feel like a gardener on his last legs-
a garden to be tended to,
a garden that grows all around me.
The incense tray is full, synthetic Jasmine,
putrid Lemon-grass bought from the Pound Saver
solely to talk to the attractive Hungarian woman
behind the counter.
It's a working day and my mind is in disarray;
the sheets are too heavy, I'm a little hungover
and I've been going insane.
Half-an-hour to be showered, bowels emptied;
eyeballs removed - or whatever it is people do
to get themselves ready for the day.
It's a scene of kicking out in dead-water,
it's a scene of black holes and being human,
it's a scene of fear for the present day,
so much so you cannot build for a future.
Half-an-hour to be showered and out of the door,
half-an-hour to be someone I'm not-
well... I've had to fake it all before.
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC