"trainspotting" poems
Trolling Amazon I found my inner Kurtz
Harrison foreswore my bear totem: darkness
Lady gal pal taught me soul-mating hurts
Martha Muffins vinyl v. Kirby’s Agatha Harkness
Saved my twins made them productive
Mutating FF X to Avengers indie 80s on me take
Man-starring all the boogie children say code this grandpa
Gaiman Miller Moore Morrison invade Waid
Wrightson Kaluta Jones Smith put bronze to paint
McKean Sienkiewicz Mack Maleev mimic The Studio
Now let’s gallery our portals strung from kid dimensions
Makers engaging history NOW NEW 52 intervals starstruck
Spread indie throughout known multiverse in craft crooks
While nursing nannies coddle light corners scuttling roaches
Bell & Schrödinger's cat transport trainspotting to a fine art
Oct 5, 2014
Oct 5, 2014 at 12:03 AM UTC
Let’s go trainspotting
or did I mean train hopping?
we’ll pick apples from the trees
out back under dark night skies
when nobody is watching
and we’ll drink water from gas station bathrooms
and coca cola from the glass bottle
Do you think
that before the cell phone towers were erected
people ever sent drunk letters?
Natives on Ayahuasca sending smoke signals
which say heyy!
I was thinking about you
and in the morning do you think they check the embers
and go oh ****
what did I do last night?
the chief is going to give me so much ****
the thing is
the things I say to you
with something in my system
are truer than all of the well calculated
across the room stares and smiles
and at night
while I stand lookout
while you pick apples
maybe I’ll drink some apple cider
and send you a drunk conversation
but when I’m with you
It’s like I’m drunk on puppy love
so you can believe
every text I send you
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 11:39 AM UTC
After morning matinee
and after dinner
of sausages and mash
and baked beans
you met Helen
by the post office
at the end
of Rockingham Street
she had on
the red flowered dress
you liked
and held Battered Betty
her doll
by an arm
her hair was held
in plaits
by elastic bands
and her thick lens spectacles
were smeary where
she'd touched them
but not cleaned them
where are we going?
she asked
how about London Bridge
train station?
you said
we can watch the trains
come and go
and watch the porters
rush about with luggage
and things
she gazed at you
through her thick lens
shall I tell my mum
where we're going?
sure if you think
she'll worry
you said
be best if she knows
Helen said
don't want her to worry
where I've gone
ok
you said
and so you both
walked back
to her mother's house
and she told her mother
and her mother came out
and looked at you
and said
ok so long
as you're with Benedict
and so you walked back
along Rockingham Street
and got a bus
to London Bridge
railway station
and sat on the seats
downstairs
by the conductor
and this guy with glasses
and a thin moustache
gazed at Helen
from the seat opposite
his eyes moving over her
his gaze focusing
on her knees
where her dress ended
he licked his lips
his hands on his thighs
Helen looked away
pretending she didn't
see him looking
you stared at the man
watching his eyes
dark and deep
they say it's rude to stare
you said
the man looked at you
kids should be seen
not heard
he replied
and you're seeing a lot
you said
he muttered something
and got off
at the next stop
giving you
a hard stare
Helen said nothing
but seemed relieved
after a while you got off
the bus at the railway station
and went inside
there were crowds
of people
and the smell of steam
and bodies washed
and unwashed
and the sound of trains
getting ready to leave
and voices and shouts
of porters and rushing
and going and coming
of people
and you sat
with Helen
on a seat
on the platform
she with Battered Betty
and you with your
six-shooter in your
inside pocket ready
to get any bad cowboys
who came your way
and Helen said
why was that man
staring at me
on the bus?
just a creep
wanting a peep
you said
peep at what?
she asked
I'm not beautiful
yes you are
you said
anyway it wasn't
your beauty
he was looking at
you said
what then?
she asked
oh something
he oughtn't
you said
and a loud blast of steam
echoed around
the station
and a voice called
and a whistle blew
and you all
sat watching
Helen
and Battered Betty
and six-shooter
carrying cowboy
you.
May 23, 2013
May 23, 2013 at 8:09 AM UTC
for some reason,
I was friends with
this character from
the movie Trainspotting..
everyone in the movie
just calls him Rude Boy.
He's super white with
bleached blonde hair.
Anyways, he was at my
house and placing this
weird substance that
came in little capsules
with a skull and cross
-bones on it, right on
top of my closed laptop.
It started bubbling and
burning like some weird
industrial acidy substance,
and when I asked Rude
Boy what it was, he told
me it was a substance
called 'Ghost' that was
a mix of *** and ******
He snorted that bubbling
acid into his nose with a
straw and then said, "oh
Ghost, how cool you can
make me!" and my mom
walked in rather skeptically
to watch, it was a strange
dream.
Jun 12, 2013
Jun 12, 2013 at 12:35 PM UTC
Cracks in the foundation -
They don't make 'em like they used to. Chipped concrete, rusted rebar
Fading facade
I make facile arguments
Excuse myself
Blame mental illness
Blame the drugs, the molly years
Blame ****** (I don't choose life)
**** you,
Ian McGregor
Blame the ****** February weather
Blame the itchy sweater
That is life
If that truly is life then,
Become I conscientious objector?
Already live in Canada
Blame the city
Blame the *****
Blame yourself
They say we have agency
I grasp, I reach
But the fruits
Are bitter sweet
**** the bed honey
Like Spud lovely
Which lines do I keep?
And who to throw away?
Feb 24, 2016
Feb 24, 2016 at 8:22 PM UTC
i just want to stay up to midnight and watch the footie...
see, already, it's there, he wannabe blind man
turning phonetics upside down
using optical symbols to sing with his eyes closed
and acting out a sloth piece of a stage's curtain call for encore,
footie can be american slang for football: or ensure a bag of
flour explodes while i get scalped;
otherwise footie means football:
you know it's round enough to be kicked
rather than thrown for a touchdown...
never got the hang of it... n.f.l. means
as much to me as does excess of hair
on a cranium crop of expected hair with no beard,
and vice versa, loss of hair and a donned
beard for the plucked sucker of the 2nd ball drop...
baldy over here met elvis and in levis took
to a cattle stampede with aria: la la la lee lo lo he he
(mike jackson slam dunks a quack for the moon pond,
like it was n.b.a. anyway: walking on ice
the musical... now the encore... signature the
sound of applause);
so this married man is rebelling...watches football
till midnight, rebel...
watches the footie...
a. foot, i.e.
b. foot, e
c. foot eeh
d. footy
e. foo' tea
f. foo' tee
now you guess the accent...
cumbrian? glaswegian?
north london or brick lane? which?
a, b, c d or e or f?^
see what happens being judgemental and sober?
you get drunks doing picassos! and that's not good
not good one bit for the worth of investment in plagiarisms.
the stressor marks / diacritical marks missing in english
obviously gave us scot spelling and a welsh 1 + 1 of
a middle finger longbow stylistic for the v long
before churchill... i wanted gaelic i got trainspotting spelling...
about as relevant as catcher in the rye relevant by now...
so... don't teach accent rubrics... and you'll get a heartfelt
superiority in the former colonies, while the pigeons coo:
or simply curl the famished tongues
that were silenced for man to speak in spasms
of an electrician checking the sockets for an electric depth
of the pigeons' coo into an aqualine echo of a sneeze,
if not snorkel or a gesundheit.
^*i hate how syllable splitting into compounds
show diacritical marks all too relevant, missing.*
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 6:06 PM UTC
I’d like to be young Ewan MacGreg
or an NYC ***** circa 1977, spitting
over balcony railings and pushing
thumbtacks into white-washed
walls. All I’ve got for my
Ocean Voyage is a bed - and
so it becomes a boat and
the sheets are washed every day. And
from these clean travels I promise
I’ll mail you words on a regular basis
as long as you
promise to be waiting on the other
end, ready to pick up the envelope that
the greasy green teenager dropped you.
Ready to dig with bathrobe and trowel and
write me back about what you found
buried in the ink! As long as you
don’t disturb the soil. And remember, all
this excess comes from me, the
kid with the killer grin.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 4:04 AM UTC
I've got an eclectic taste; everyone who knows me better than they can throw me will say it
(Those that can throw me better than they know me are giants
And they aren't allowed to exist too near me;
I'm a Halfling.)
But my tastes are eclectic, and my album choices range from "Ten$ion" to "Merry Christmas"
My palate asks for potato salad, then daiquiri ice
I love the way Trainspotting wraps up nicely and how T2 comes along and undoes the work of the previous film-- ruins it
And then I love The Grand Budapest Hotel for being well-kept and neat
I have a range of tastes that don't align, that don't make sense.
But with you, my eccentricity ends and my choice is flavorful.
I choose you and you are not an eclectic choice.
You are the sense in my senseless choosing, the centre of the fractal whose patterns are too convoluted
You tie me all together in a nice, neat bow and here I am
Standing on a mound 5/2 of a year thick.
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 5:16 AM UTC
We'll go grab some coffee
from the place down the street,
where the old wooden floors
creak just beneath our feet.
Then we'll take our drinks out
for a walk through the park
where the moon shines enough light
to see each other in the dark.
We'll start mixin' things up
with the flask inside my coat.
The breezy wind ain't bad
once the heat hits our throats.
We'll share drinks at a bench,
joke about people passing by
and we'll hide behind trees
passing a bowl, getting high.
We'd explore a bit more
then watch an indie dramedy.
We'd forget about Trainspotting
and focus just on you and me.
We'll lie side by side,
as we will the rest of the night,
thinking of things to add
to the list of things we like
like all the chemicals
that make our bodies hum
and the facts that we are free
and that our nights are always fun.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 4:03 AM UTC
My hands are always cold
with no one left to hold them.
My scars, a little too visible.
My memory, a little too lonesome.
Sitting under a bridge thinking,
about the trainspotting
pipe smokers.
Letting my mind carry me off
tryin' to catch some of that smolder
ed green
that burns in my bronchioles.
That grows to trees in my mind.
Can anyone save us, who can see
in a world that's gone blind?
Jan 13, 2015
Jan 13, 2015 at 2:57 AM UTC
trainspotting in st mary magdalene church 02.09.18
welcome to poetry that's dark
many will have a trip down memory lane
shooting up goes on in every park
even near church st mary magdalene.
look at the spoil
wide spread makes it mega
has everyone got hooked on danny boyle
or maybe the stud ewan mcgregor.
the park has a tremor
infarct its making society ill er
is that going in ewen bremner
with side kick johny lee miller.
having a fix and leaving a skid
really is vile
5 mins and leaving kevin mckidd
not touching any syringe is wise robert carlyle.
no longer looking for a tester
urban poverty and squalor comes naturally
edinbough needs no investor
they are filthy rich culturally.
best film in 2004 ever
is the resemblance knotting
****** trade is very clever
ahead of its time was trainspotting.
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 2:08 AM UTC
(20 minute poetry)
Chaos,
there is no Central line
the drivers are
on strike again.
Each strike
more pain
but we endure,
one things for sure
the tracks remain.
As London struggles in the
absence of no travelling
I couldn't give a toss
if I don't get to work
no loss.
But I left home early
just in case I
had a change of heart,
ha, no chance there
my heart don't race
except when I see
her.
On a roundabout route
all points are moot
Don't know in the dark
if I'll be in the West End
or at Wembley Park
not sure I care
they certainly don't.
If you hear from me
then presently
you'll know that I survived
and I've arrived.
if not then you've got
this to read.
Feb 22, 2017
Feb 22, 2017 at 1:52 AM UTC