Hey somebody
pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes  on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

Always underachieve
Failing everything I do
Failing them, keep failing you
Can't seem to do
Anything I set my mind too
I'm looking around
For something worth living for
Every time I find something
It escapes my grasp
Always end up back on my ***
Can't seem to get it right
No matter how hard I try
Can't appear to get it right
No matter how hard I fight

Hey somebody, pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

Why does life smack you in the face
When you're circling the drain
The skies have turned to grey
You're miserable every day
Can't seem to catch a break
No matter how many Kit Kats you ate
Is this it, is this my fate
Staying up until late
Just so that I can contemplate
Every **** mistake
I've ever made

Hey somebody, pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

Do you know
What it feels like
To stare at your phone
No messages coming through
Feel like nobody
even cares about you
Yep you wonder what you can do
Is there something wrong with me
Is there are reason people hate me
What is it they need to see
To see I'm worth some time
Every once in a while
Trying to hide this emotion
Behind a smile
All these sarcastic remarks
Covering scars

Hey somebody, pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

Can't seem to make it pay to pay
All this debt is crushing me
And I'm losing my mind every night
To that devil inside
The one that won't let you sleep
He even haunts you in your dreams
There no escaping this reality
And all I can do
Is keep on strolling through
The best that I can
Hope that someone understands
Maybe one day
I'll find happiness again

Hey somebody, pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
Yep **** it
I'm the drama queen
Always get it wrong it seems
Some say I complain too much
But I don't give zero *****
Sometimes you need a whinge
Yeah just have a little *****
Wise words from the drama king

Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need
Focus all eyes on me,
I've got something to say
Listen to what
comes out of my mouth
Maybe I'm talking
a lot of **** right now
Focus all eyes on me,
Attention is what I need

I want to get dramatic
Don't tell me not to get dramatic
Don't say I'm complicated
No, I'm not complicated
I'm talking straight
Hey wait, wait
Sister pass me the eyeliner
Because I want to get Emo
You know I want to get Emo

©2017 Written By Benji James

Let's whinge about homework,
Always a fuss, that's what it's worth,
I am sure in the Year 9000 AD,
Teens shall whinge about it to me,
Or even little chicks and dudes,
Who gives them homework after school?
"Only a challenge!" old chalkies say,
I've heard their moans many a day,
Always a fuss, or non-compliance,
Maybe a non-homework alliance,
Yes, I've heard all the whinges today,
Whinging's fun, I always say,
Moan, moan, homework works both ways,
Let's all whinge about homework today!

Here is my new missive!
Wake up negative!
Don't learn from past mistakes,
Greater mistakes you can  make!
Use any grand failure,
To give up! In Australia,
We'll smoke our vegetables!
Get negative, all you people,
Just give up!
**** it up!
Fill your half full cup of life
with *****, have lots of strife!
Whinge, whinge, snivel, whinge,
Let's all get negative!
Self-sabotage about the ex,
Who does behave like old T-Rex,
Drop out of school,
Break every rule!
Here is my new missive!
Let's wake up negative!

I whinge for the cold
You whinge for the heat
Whether we whinge or not
The wether will be what it will be

When the weather's too fine
we whine
When the weather's bad
we're mad
When is too dry
we cry
When is too wet
we fret
In the hail
we wall
If it changes
we complain
If it doesn't
we go insane
We don't like
a lightning strike
Hearing thunder
make us wonder
what we've done
In the sleet
we crave some heat
and when it cools down
we frown
When it heats up
we've had enough
In the fog
we curl up with the dog
When it's too breezy
we're sneezy
Come the frost
we're lost
When there's ice
it's not nice
and in the snow
we don't go
anywhere

what's with this hobby of keeping friends?
i've got two friends that
only say meow...
          and i'm kinda not rooting for
a Colombian hottie for a wife...
                 i abhor this idea of a "loner",
i haven't heard any monks being called that...
  but then again monks do live in a monastery...
why do people always seek each other's
company? what's wrong with liking your own?
it really bothers me... i mean, by current
standards of denoting this man a loner
would make Spinoza laugh...
                  is it because you need to be the quintessential
hermit living in a clay urn or in a hole
in a desert?
                              each night i drink something,
without fail: i feel better for it...
               i'm hoping it'll **** me...
but so many times people who don't known
how to drink get so ******* melodramatic
that i think about ensuring they are banned from
abusing the amber...
                        i hate melodramatic drinkers,
you either utilise the sedative of the amber to
an overcoming potential... short: Kant's
transcendental methodology... you you won't
drink and whine... or bash people about...
and that, i must say: is a rare art.
     1 litre of amber and i'm as silent as a mouse...
i'll say it again:
    there are too many melodramatic whinge-bags
out there... i don't get them...
    i mean i get them: but i abhor them...
                i could really do with a pupil,
nietzsche would do, about time he stopped dropping
those barbiturates and learned to dance!
         tanz! tanz herz im freuer!
yes, sometimes the trip was long
the N86 from romford to goodmayes and
into the brothel near the train station...
but every time i played a folk song,
usually dikanda's ketrin ketrin i'd sit on the bus
for about 40 minutes... aflame...
                i find that prostitutes are only fed the myth
of a tender touch and a complete lack
of experimental perversity... even a kiss is
the beginning of their myth-making...
   ordinary girls are fed the myth of movies,
and how it all works out...
    each time i went to the brothel i sat for the journey
time like a Sufi meditation with the
              dervish dance in my mind...
                 and that's the truth... mind you,
i have a grandfather that supports my work
and buys me cigarettes... then again he lived in a time
when he could age and get a state-pension,
as he does... he's not ailing in any sense, and he lives
in a post-communist country... and i just spent
3 weeks over there... which means my state-sponsorship
in england has amounted: that i could take out
110 quid and give it for a *******...
                and i could remember myself aflame...
  on a bus with a dervish dance in my mind...
           drunk, as usual: but that's the fun part of it...
i could wave my *** at all those
melodramatic drunks you get at parties and in other
public places who suddenly speak and only moan
how unfair it all is...
                      first time i went? well... i did go to
uni after all, the sacred land of getting a good score
for later life... what a sahara when it comes to ***!
   like with prostitutes it still turns out to be a case
of hard facts and harder choices...
                  money...
                        and­ the white historians and who else
in the etc. cul de sac are wondering why our ethnicity is
in decline... it's quiet a thing to be bemused by the freedom
of women and not addressing the point fairly...
                   the women are so free i had to find my own
freedom with a *******...
                         i got bored of too many darwinian examples
being incorporated into the act... once it's the peacock,
next it's the mantis and the black widow...
of sure... there's so much to gain if endorsing some sort
of chivarly, when next door lives a babe with a sugar daddy...
   ***-starved ******* can go elsewhere,
       wild-eyed logic and no manifesto...
literally: there's no hope for a manifesto here...
             there's no manifesto...
                    this is absolutely not a manifesto...
         i'm actually happy that as an ethnicity we're in decline...
  i found talking to other ethnicities a bit restrictive
and boring... i had to censor vocab fluidity with dams
and other ****** architectural constructs...
    so i looked at the shows on television,
a bunch of child-genuises were on...
   i never thought that spelling was like arithmetic...
   but it is... it is, oh hell it is...
  the judge says the word in that odd jumble that a word
is when you have alphabetical distinctions
   in vowel, consonant and syllable form...
    but the languasge is so different, after all
language is not really an optical language as such,
mathematical language is truly anti-phonetic...
and it comes down to the simple example:
      spell the word: onomatopoeia
  start saying the alphabet and it sounds nothing like
this word put together,
   the syllable ono-                
                       then -ma-
                               -to-        and now the tricky bit...
peya...          but what of the grapheme œ?
                you'd really be able to break your tongue
on that syllable suffix...
                       and when the children started spelling
the word: it look as if they were going cross-eyed
   trying to translate the sound into image...
    mathematical language doesn't have that problem,
do the following airthmetic (e.g.)  
   1 + 2 - 5 + 6 - 4 = ?
                                          0...
but that's different when you are told to spell the word
   renaissance -
                                  doubly more difficult if
you are told to create syllables without diacritical mark
distinctions...
               back to drink, like being asked for
a wine connoisseur's palette, when the wine you've been
given has been diluted...
   or in this case fudge packed so there are no
clear distinctions, too much french influence
      and siamese twin graphemes seperated...
excess vowel that i've heard means: kissing...
i'm sorry how the story goes,
i just can't be forced to **** a kenyan penny-picking
                tragedy with my humour...
        i'm bewildered by the arithematic
and the "arithmetic" of putting words together...
                  the internet has quietly become a war
for a freedom to talk... it's more a freedom to think
than talk...
                  and god forgive me feeling so obscure in
what i wanted to think, but given the social structure of
events happening, i had to do a minority report on
it being said, and me not typing this on
a medium of defeat, that i ended up on a warring stance...
i mean, i can understand obscurity per se,
i can't see how i can attach myself to it on a basis
of a phenomenon...
                          so unearthed we are from a structure
that a rebellion against
                  the szlachta was viable...
what the hell grows on concrete? coconuts?!
      i already said: this is hardly a manifesto...
and i truly demand it to be thoroughly agreed to...
                   then comes the shortcoming
barrage of: i knight you the nigh of not worthy...
                        and then the recycling process
bombards you with: many more squint-eyed *****
to come where you did, come from.
       urbanity has forsaken man attached to an organism,
but is feeling it right now,
                 he's attached to an inorganic farbic of testament...
i haven't walked the soil or toiled in it
to feel it's breath between winter or summer..
           i once had so much one-dimensional inclusion
in this world, then my sight was diverted,
and i came across the numbers, who took to being
***** whales and gulped me in one cascade of
the feeding...
              and i was told to walk it alone.
once actors were abhorred by society,
but then there was no office folk to compete for
utility biases when it came to giving gratitude to
pristine plumbing...
                          back when man was highly
economical... and thus actors had to be abhorred...
  to create a tsunami of sadism to keep them
staged... and true enough:
         if christ was crucified in the colliseum
there would have been fewer than none churches to
establish that event... given the colliseum is
made into a subject-trophy cabinet of holiness -
               and how the colliseum did morph...
it's sad talking about being human as excluding humanity,
as it's sad talking being human by including humanity...
               but thankfully (or not)
there's still that case of the arithmetic of the two tongues...
        say the word colliseum
                             co- -lli- -se'um.
      i mean, that means something...
  take to numbers and of the 26, care to call c = 3
               18 + 33 + 24 13 21
                            +                      2 1 2 = 5
                                                    4 3 1 = 8
                            + 58
                                    = 109
    
kabbalah is *******... mysticism was squandered with
gematria... but islam has no alternative either...
sure... if you have to establish a mirror image
of having a care for theological parasites...
   then you turn a into 1, and b into 2 and z in 26...
and then fiddle about until you get a *******'s worth
of bashing about because you couldn't write
a play entitle Macbeth...
               did any of these holy alternatives die
in Auschwitz? most of them living in America didn't
serve in the Israeli army...
                 who wonders whether they died in
Auschwitz?
                 no! they didn't!
       they were bemused by this correlation of
numbers and letters, thankfully we already can read
the opposite of the kabbalistic practices
prostate in the Deutronomy...
           say 10 a thousand times... adds a few more zeros
but leaves the 1 intact...
            please enlighten me as to who wrote the first
koranic recitation if not khadira? please! for the love
of god tell me it wasn't khadira!
         oh wait... given the hispanic um...
it's khadija - the h is silent and the j is actually a hatch...
          a bit like in the west, with y and j trying to
be a grapheme... a load of ******* *******:
and yes: i have to be crude on the matter...
   so we have the first verse written by a woman...
  or was it a bit like saying...
Aisha wrote surah no. 114... i can just picture it...
the young wife said to her ageing husband:
pray with these words, you lecherous *****!
say: say it you ageing carcass!
i seek refuge in the lord of manking,
the sovereign of mankind...
      the god of mankind...
     from the whisper of the retreating whisperer
(gabriel must have left him once the 13th wife arrived,
of god! the symmetry with jesus' disciples!)
     who whispers into the ******* of makind
(evil is in the brackets) -
from among the jinn and mankind.
conscience really can be a ****** to master.
but the geometry of the koran (glutton the q if you want,
makes no impressions on me) -
is that it starts thick... ends up anorexic...
           so much to say at the start,
but then shrinks... it's beautiful in that sense...
given the miracle of muhammad was that he was
illiterate...
  so someone had to write the words for him...
            i'm guessing khadija wrote the best part of it...
i like to think of her writing the first revelations...
    but i also like to muse that aisha wrote the latter
half of the: how do they stress the ******* q k c so much
that it sounds like it's not coming from the mouth
but coming from the nose?! qu-ran... i need
a hanky and snorkel that **** out... qu sneeze! i-ran...
          it's glutton and it's nasal, and it's almost like:
the back of the throat... and then comes the la la la all-hubris
in that song five times a day...
                but seriously... you tell me the man was illiterate
an this book exists... so who wrote it?
   women!
                                         the merchant of mecca in
Finland... left the scandinavian penninsula after one year
and never came back...
                   but how can you have so much
at the beginning and so little at the end?
   a different woman, who was literate (and the man
wasn't) wrote what needed to be said...
    i just look at the surah an-nas as a way to suggest
that the prophet: al suma mal ley *** blah blah
had been asked to repent... repent you paedo!
          that's crude, i know... and i'm drunk,
i'll wake up sober tomorrow and cook a pork curry
and think about leather shoes and shoelaces and belt...
and how camels are dirtier than pigs and how you
can eat almost all of pork offal and when i see a camel
i just think of chewing tobbacco and spitting into
a copper tin... or camel-jockeys...
        or how i think arabs are cursed with oil
and dyslexia and diabetes... how most of them will
end blind or amputee due to their diabetes...
      how a lot of them would like something more
than turkish coffee and baklava, and how
it stops looking cool after a while...
           arab oil, dyslexia and diabetes...
which probably means a palestinian balaclava
at the end of the sequence...
   i'll never know: i'm not planning to have
a stop-over shopping spree in Dubai, any time soon.

The regions’ magic carpets are a-beckoning
The brassware in the back bazaars aglow,
Exotic spice is nice
For a very reasonable price
And the camel market’s just the place to go.


But…


Afghanistan’s dark Muslims are scheming
The women folk are sharpening their knives,
When foreign troops depart
The bloodletting will start
With collaborators screaming for their lives.


The children of the Ottoman are smarting
For their neighbours are showing them disdain
By peppering with bombs
Along with Syria’s pogroms
And I wonder why the local folk complain?


Oh the sun comes up with glory in old Egypt
As another national leader meets demise
And old Nasser’s bile will burn
As from his grave he will return
To try to rectify his children’s Holy lies.


There are whispers of  a strike at the reactor.
There are reactionary reactions from Iran
With annulment of the bomb
The region should resume aplomb
But I have my doubts this mixture really can.


And it never rains on dear old dusty Cairo,
Here, you never feel the chill of falling snow,
You may stalk the back bazaars
For the rare blue water jars
But you should really buy protection when you go.



And they whinge that all the tourists here are dwindling
That the middle Eastern charm is all but spent,
When the red blood flows like wine
In the good old Bhyzantine
As the peace of night, with gunfire, is wrent.


But…


The dates are really sweet
And the carpetry so neat
And the music is exotic in the night,
And with the flash of Asian eyes
I can guarantee surprise
As you flee for very life…with ****** fright!


Marshalg
From the dark Bazaar
23 October 2012

© 2012 Marshal Gebbie

Retirement and the remote control,
This sounds like a whinge in an ode,
Retired men and remote controls,
Includes, "Who gave old men phones?"
Is this what 'golden years' meant?
Defensible violence to retired men?
You'll be getting good manners for tea,
And not much more from me!
Don't you go T-Rex on me!
I want a  turn on that remote control, please,
You've turned into  a sook and a toad,
My 'golden years' whinge in an ode.

party zone with johnny brown


johnny’ hi dudes and welcome to party zone and tonight the sydney swans were

beaten by the west sydney giants and we have the GWS canberra cheer squad

to sing that great theme song

GWS Cheer squad’  we have a sound you here as we are enjoying our beer

that is the sound of the mighty giants

they beat the swans after pushing and pushing

i ask the barman for a pint

you see as cheered they kept in front, faster than the rest

we are the greater western sydney giants best in all the land

we beat the swans tonight, though, and we gave us all a hand

GO GWS YOU ARE THE GREATEST

johnny’  thank you, that was a great song and now here is olly with a party jingle

olly’   the party is beginning

and the cool dudes are drinking

yeah it sounds so cool

oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah

you see i ride my motorbike

to every party in this town

saying let’s party let’s party

right till the end

nobody dares to tease me, cause i like to party

i prefer to party than be square my friend, because squareheads die lonely

you see i can understand

that everyone in party town is cool

i am trying to improve the world

through the eyes of reincarnation, party on to improve existence

and people who don’t party, can kiss my hairy ***

you see i had a nice kalua and milk, ever so tasty

and then got on the dance floor and danced the chicken

and now i can party all night

johnny, thanks olly, when you say, the chicken dance or do you just cluck like a chicken

olly’  i just cluck like a chicken

johnny’  jolly good, now here is kenneth

kenneth’   the party train is on the track

ready for anyone that has got the knack

you see being on this train is so much fun

by drinking beer and tequila

and don’t forget to have a wine

and say, i don’t want to whinge

you see mate, i prefer to drink beer

on the party train yes i do yes i do

because when you drink a nice cold beer on the party train

you feel the ice cold reaction on your face

you see the party train has a drunks area

for them to sober up

and this will be a very long time

but the party train is cool

you see there is a carriage where you can party to

jimmy barnes twisted sister and kiss

the party train has a kids carriage with hannah montana and justin bieber and one direction

and they have a queen carriage, party to queen all night long

c;mon dudes, let’s party on the party train tonight

we have top class security guards so nobody gets into a fight

the party train is on for young and old

c’mon dudes let’s party

johnny’   thanks kenneth, and we hop aboard the party train and now here is freddo frog with a short number

i am freddo frog and i drink a lot of cans of beer

i know i do drink so much beer

i personally know it is better than the kids drink coke

you see after a beer i drink a cup of coffee and add sugar and milk

and i will do more next week

let’s party dudes from freddo frog

johnny’  and now our last song by harry

harry’  i am a big strong guy

but i don’t wanna fight

i am strong in my mind

i say yes to loving life

i say no to beer cause it’s fowl

i say yes to coke and orange soda,

cause it makes me party

just as long as i don’t drink too much

ya see i have fucken will power, man, enough to say no

i am very strong in the mind means

i will fight my body, if there is something i wanna eat

but i never get tired, i am a party dude

i will party to keep me alive in this world

and when i do die, i will party in my next life too

LET’S PARTY DUDES

johnny’  great poem harry and now that is it, there ain’t no more

unless you come to this club and party till 5 am

catch ya later dudes

I see new growth emerging from an old tree's heart.
A new sapling sapping strength from what would enrich generic soil,
contributes something unknown to an unassigned

Future

Instead this exacting branch emerges to claim the universe for itself.
No longer can this unnoticed, rotting stump contribute to the greater good
but feed instead, a unique life so it may one day
die and have the chance to fill the old soul’s soles.

The unlabeled, non enumerated vagaries of our world
cowardly whinge in the background
while the assertive actions of the flowers
and falcons shout out loud for their own preservation.

Food chains serve as feeding trays for those cells
who have bound together with that joie de vivre
necessary to drive the generic engine of nature
in their direction. This predilection
to protect the potent and powerful
among us is not simple chance

but a predetermined proclamation
from our divine protectorate pushing
the proper paupers forward until they find
themselves ensconced in the holy foliage of nature's glory.

The towns around me are boring
I don’t want to go out my door
I sit inside here snoring
There’s nowhere I want to explore

The people I see are not pretty
Something is wrong with each face
Exceptions are few, just me and you
I dislike the whole human race

When I plan a great escape
and fly from north to south
the sun is so hot I’m begging for shade
but don’t want to be in or out

The menus never change
The choices are always the same
I’m finding my food very strange
and looking for someone to blame

I’ve been living here way too long
I’m beginning to squinch and flinch
It is said that just like this song
The English love to whinge

I’m sick and tired of people rabbiting on a load of ****
About their ******* duty and fighting for freedom
For the fat ugly patriotic selfish folks "back home"
And pathetic ****** neo-fascist ******* like that
And gabbling on a load of sentimental horsedung
About giving their all for their ******* useless country
When honestly they’d rather be at home in some ugly provincial hick town
Patting their nasty mongrel dogs and groping their neighbours’ wives' arses
And eating mumsy-wumsy’s over-cooked meat and stodgy apple pie
Whilst ensconced on the sofa watching sodding Celebrity Big Brother.

How can a soldier nowadays say he didn't want to be there?
Are people so ******* thick or blind or moronic not to realise
A person volunteers to be in the armed forces in most countries nowadays?
There’s no ****** press gangs or ****** conscription any more;
People become soldiers because they choose to do so
(exceptions include filthy neo-**** ****-holes like Israel
where the young men queue up to **** Palestinian babies for fun) .

Therefore soldiers DO want to fight, they DO want the chance to ****
And they willingly risk their own ugly unwashed redneck necks.
So they have no right to whine and bellyache when they get asked
To earn their daily state-paid bread and do a spot of killing
Instead of sitting on their overweight arses at MY expense.
Or course, they could show some real guts and resign instead,
But what the ****, why pass up on a chance to do some
Legalised ****** and get paid handsomely at the same time.

Just in case you think I forgot, I am totally and fully aware
That 'he' includes 'she' in this context now that women
Have an equal chance to have their military buns blown off pointlessly.
So don't whinge or expect sympathy when your body parts come home in a bag.
Personally, I am of the belief that the only good soldier is a dead soldier,
And the more the merrier. RIP military thugs and up yours.

Mum, I have dreams
that I wish would come true.
That doesn't mean I neglect
the ones dreamt by you.

Dad, I have wishes
that I dream at night.
That doesn't mean I feel
that yours aren't worth a fight.

Mum, I know I am difficult
and that I nag and whinge.
But your words are sometimes painful
and often make me cringe.

Dad, I know I am different
and that I prefer being on my own.
But, you always misunderstand, thinking
that I like being alone.

Mum, I am sad
and I always hide my tears
because I am unable to fathom
what is it that I fear.

Dad, I am frightened
of something I don't know.
It mortifies me so much
that I find it hard to show.

I do love you both
and I know I rarely say it
because I feel I'm born in a world
where I shall never fit.

I am such a Poetry Philistine,
It is no good unless I make it rhyme.
But that can take quite a lot of time,
When I get it wrong I will whinge and whine.

Now this one has made me very unhappy.
In my head it was good, written down it is ******.

Tell me your fears
what brings u to tears
Tell me your dreams
what draws the screams
Show me the stains
and the heart of the pain
Show me the scars
that others find a farce

I shall look not flinch
I shall listen not cringe
U can cry u can whine
I'll stand firm whilst u whinge
Tell me, I am here for you.

I agreed in my youth
to spend
my time
in a monastery
speaking only once
each ten years

Ten years, and my Master
summoned me
and I said: "My bed is hard"


I had spoken
and I was back on my next ten
at the end of which I intoned:
"The food here is horrid"


I was on my next cycle
of ten years
and at the end of the third decade
I declared: "I quit!"


And my revered Master proclaimed:
*"Go, you loser.
All you have done is to whinge."

My mind stopped talking to me
about 6 weeks ago
So out of sheer loneliness
(and a little curiosity)
I started talking to my big toe

“Hey me old mate, how ya been?”

“Don’t old mate me
I haven’t seen you since
I don’t know when.
Oh, that’s right!
it was about the time
your big fat gut moved in!”

“Sorry I haven’t been around…”

“You’ve been ‘round alright
it’s actually a shape you wear well
but what do I know?
I’m kept in the dark most of the time
by the way, your shoes really smell!”

“But…”

“Oh No you didn’t
just bring **** into it
I know for a fact
they are just as mad at you,
and feeling the rejection
So is calf and knee and
elbow and poor little Pinkie toe too!
You no longer bother to have me rubbed
The only attention I get
is when you have me stubbed”

That was about when I stopped
talking to my big toe
It when on and on and on
Whinge, *****, whine!
Now I’m just lonely again
sigh
I really miss my mind

Ate so much it has to come out
belly ache makes me whinge and shout
try to be quiet, bite my tongue
like I closed my *** up with a ****.
I've Got to get rid of this pain
so I can eat some more again
strain as fiercly as I can
spladoosh! I bust the ****** pan!
A tidal wave is swirling round
knocking buildings to the ground
gossips whisper"have you heard?"
Jeremy did that with his ****!

Recital 2

Hello, I'm Matt. I thought I'd read some poems and stuff then get off the stage.

Short poems about ordinary things 1

There was a scrunched up bit of paper
It sat in the corner of a room
It was Tuesday

Don't expect them to get better. My next is about my first recital which was a few weeks ago and didn't entirely go to plan.

A poem about social discomfort in my first poetry recital

I... Um
I am...
Ahem,
(Mumbles) -Uncomfortable
Matt... I am Matt

So, I'm stood in front of you
And you're looking at me
And I'm talking to you
And you're listening to me
And your eyes are on me
And your minds are on me
Looking at me and listening to me and eyes on me and minds on me
And I'm thinking about what you think about me
And now I feel awkward
So I'm not coming forward
My movements seem backward
So, now you feel awkward
About drawing toward
Because I'm afraid I won't get the reward
Of your praise

So you're going to be polite!!!
Don't be polite!
I hate when you're polite, because I won't believe it!
It's not real praise so it doesn't MEAN ****
It's not much better than telling me I'm ****
But don't tell me I'm ****!
Please!! I can't take it!

So, now you're just getting bored and frustrated
Listening to me talking about feelings I've debated

I want to get off
I want to get out
I also want you to clap
And I want you to shout

So I'm tense and I'm nervous and we're all feeling scared
About if this rhymes good enough to convince me you cared

And then I fell over

I genuinely did, off this tiny stupid pallet stage into a banner. I looked proper cool.

Short poems about ordinary things 2

With a start, he woke
His vision still blurred from his nights sleep
The dawn had broke
At the end of his bed was a figure
As black as coke
Murmuring the words he dreaded
"Wake up, it's time for work!"

I'm an artist/teacher really and I randomly wrote the title of this poem in a sketchbook about 7 years ago. I wrote the poem last week. Typical creative procrastination

Flowers on a lamppost
Dying in the sun

A seed
A son
He grows
He flowers
He blossoms
He bears his fruit

"See ya mum, dad! I'm off out for a drive!"
"No drinking flower!"
"Nah, just fruit juice!"

The fruit has fallen
It has ripened
It has over ripened
It has brewed and stewed as it matured
His fruit is strong
It's confidence intoxicating

"Last one mate!"
"Sneaky 3 and drive"
"Get em in then!"

More fruit

The tree, beautiful, flowers everywhere
Bountiful fruit
But the fruit is un ripened not ready to fall
Don't shake the tree

Crash
The tree shakes
The fruit falls
The petals fall from the flower

No more fruit now, it is rotting
Just flowers on a lamp post dying in the sun
Bearing a note saying
"We will always love you flower,
Sleep well,
Mum and Dad"

Yeah, I haven't really got a funny joke about that one. This links going to be a bit of a car crash really.

Short poems about ordinary things 3

He enters the house
She watches as he walks past without speaking
Just like every day
He does not offer her a cup of tea
He does not offer to cook for her
He doesn't even look her in the eye
She looks down at her food
A meal for one
Again
She is alone
So she tucks the food into her pouch and goes for a spin in the hamster wheel... Wheeeeee!!!

This next one was essentially me having a little whinge to myself about getting dumped.

All the damaged people

All the damaged people,
Vultures of the past still swooping high above
They look out over the future
But with a mind on the past
As they cross the landscape they notice shapes in the clouds and in the dunes
Many of them are beautiful
But a cloud is a cloud
And a dune is a dune
And there are always memories in those shapes of the ones in their past
So they stop
Unable to go back through the long trudge that got them here
Unable to move forward in case these dunes and clouds are the same
They test a few steps
Where the land seems different
But it's too different and they don't feel comfortable
They test ones that are familiar, a few steps
But even though this is comfortable, they are reminded of their past trials
"I can't do that again"
They stop
"I'll wait here, until the landscape changes"
The vultures continue swooping above

This next poem is ace. It's easily the best poem ever written.

Short poem about ordinary things 3

The sense of loss
Remorse
He's dead
The end of a long cold winter
His batteries are finally flat
I'll have to call the RAC

I'm a teacher and I started a new job this week after a few weeks of holidays and there were no kids in and I got bored of waiting for Dave, so I wrote this.

Back to work

I'm here
But I'm not here
I'm half lost in limbo
Somewhere between now and the past and the future
But off to the left a bit
And slightly south
Behind that bush
Wearing a banana-man costume

Why am I there?
Well, why be anywhere in particular?
Especially now
With no kids in
Boredom
And time
To dream
But nothing to do
Except tap tap tap on my phone

Trying to get back into it
Motivated
Energised
With no stimulus
So my mind flit flit flits
Here and there
Hither and thither
A failed date.
Jumping in a bush at college,
Drunk
How long will I work here?
Tony dressed as a zombie cow
Did that kid trace that or paint it free hand?
What will I teach them?
When's Dave getting here? It's been more than 10 mins
The hum of the computer
Girls, girls, girls... ***
Cuddles and company
Love?

How long?

I hope that tomorrow I can concentrate better than this.

Short poem about ordinary things 4

Hiding in a corner of a darkened room
Eyes covered hoping he can't see me
I hear the footsteps growing closer
A shudder down my spine
Is this excitement or fear?
Then I hear my fathers voice outside
"Coming, ready or not!"

A poem about killing time

This is a poem about killing time
I'm thinking of ways of making it...
...
...
...
...
...
Rhyme

More often than not it is the
rain, garnished with emigration
the wrong way, imports I mean.

We can go there but they
can't come here, especially
The Blacks and The A-Rabs.

Then is is the government
or the banks or the shoddy
builders who ruined the place.

Don't they realize that once in
four for a minute or so we are
permitted our birthright freedom.

That same liberty which will
ensure your ******* to a system
you may well have opposed!

But did it matter, is it any worse
than what was your choice, the
one you inflicted on your brothers?

Democracy is the Devils fork on
converging roads that come and
go to the same destination.

It is a riddle, a cryptic question
with a metaphorical answer that
will be prone to misconception.

Ps.

Lets not elect a government, it
is our prerogative to demand and
I am in favour of employing one.
By doing so, we will have the right
to sack whoever is not doing the
job properly. If you are not ok
with this and you continue to
Whinge, then get off your knees,
stand up, like Bob Marley and
James Larkin told us to do.

This is a little everyday tale,
A warning for women, without fail,
Yes, it's Easter time again,
Your old man's got camping on his brain,
So, you load up the caravan and car,
This camping site is miles too far,
You set off in a golden glow,
Seven hours of traffic jams on the road,
You are having fun! you grin,
You are listening to your family whinge,
Your old man has a bad back,
You unload the stuff, the kids do clap,
But, the primus stove does not work,
Then the fridge throws a spanner in the works,
Now the milk is off,
Your old man tells you to "*******!"
You are having fun!
Shame you haven't got a gun!
You all collapse into bed,
By 5 am, it's raining, enough said,
The dog has left you a doggy surprise,
And for breakfast, only frozen pies,
You are having fun!
His moans have just begun.
You wish you'd brought a gun!
Yes, girls, camping is a defence,
God gave you a home, not tents!
Happy Holidays!!!!!!!!**######

Stomping from above
stealing the opportunity
to guess where she is.
Door slam.
Quick
Stomp, stomp, stomp.
Clunk, clunk,
There goes her shoes discarded across the room.
Slide, pause, slam
Slide, pause, ....
Slam- the dresser draws.
Thump! What was that?
Thump.
A jump?
Stomp, stomp, stomp, stomp
Furniture
Dr-----a-------g and stop.
The creaking tiny top door of the wardrobe,
The one she can't reach without a chair!
Creak
Shunt- the top door never closes properly.
Return
Dr-----a------g.
Stamp and whump
Bed springs whinge
....then the call
"FOUND IT"
and mercifully
silence

Boris Johnson, London Mayor,
Crazy mop of unkempt hair,
Eccentric character, as we know,
Yet never afraid to have a go,
Along the Zip Line, like a Boss,
He really couldn't give a toss,
Carries high, Olympic Torches,
Waves the flag and almost drops it,
His sporting challenge, developed a hitch,
Tackled rugby style on a football pitch,
Dances like nobody's watching,
Which I find, is very touching,
He speaks his mind, and makes us cringe,
But never do you hear him whinge,
Distant Royal Ancestry, he has got,
His words, 'a one man melting ***',
He thinks his chances of being P M, are,
'As likely as finding Elvis on Mars',
Take out all the others, yes, let's have a cull,
If he were in charge, life would never be dull,
His zest for life, his fun and frolics,
As he falls from his bike, onto his *******,
For all of his blunders, and honesty mindful,
There's something about Boris, we all find delightful,
He's childlike, refreshing, yet clever and daft,
You just have to love someone, who's game for a laugh.

And the zephyr teases,
Tossing to-and-fro saplings fresh'
Which tantalise the Currawong, cowering its call,
And glistening crystalline on dewy morn's.
---------
You *****,
You moan'
You complain,
And you whinge.
---------
Hello,
Can I help you?
Or, better still, can you help me?!?
I've lost my mind,
Though I'm never sure I possessed it;
And if I did - I regret its escape.
---------
The pretentious poverty of money -
They think they look good, but what's really funny
Is the narcissistic approach that they tackle life -
Like everything is owed and nothing earnt;
Lucky to live amid so few excursions into reality.
---------
240 volt vac, attached to one's ball-sack
Jaw slack until the power is racked -
Up goes your nuts and voice pitches
To new dimensions, shrill and pre-pubescent.
Tears that masculinity denies appear in the corner
Of eyes steeled, and vacantly appreciative.
---------
You, my friend, can kiss my ****,
The **** you speak is but a farce -
Unrelated to the life we realise, experience;
Alien to any who maintain their conscience.

From a silence to a simple buzz,
A gentle hum slowly grows.
Never a whinge or a moan,
Just a quiet conversation.
Not lonely today, a few friends join.
Moving swiftly,
Weaving around the room.
In and out, bouncing off each other,
Opportunities as open as the door.
Not worrying what others think, brave Fly.
Surrounded by predators,
Poised and ready to pounce.
Fly, you don't care?
At least you've fulfilled life.
Not fearing death, courageous Fly.
Friends always by your side,
The promises they make and never break.
Loyal company, nonidentical,
Individual and unique.
Not trying to follow suit, but be content.

Dear Fly, you remind me of me,
Happy alone, but worth more as three.

Back and forth, back and forth the public's vote awry
Just can’t make their minds up munching gubernatorial pie,
There's an avalanche Obama’s way then hard 180 switch
Tends to stymie up good progress, making governing a *****.
Tends to make you wonder who the hell is now to make the choice
When the population vaccilates with such loud and definite voice,
When the wheels fall off the programme and the public servants cringe
And stagnation kills decision… making every ******* whinge.
Guess I’ll watch it all on TV where the cards have all been flipped
But my bet is on a quagmire... now Obama’s wings are clipped.

M.
6 November 2014
Pukehana Paradise

Twas the day before classes
and all through the school
Not a student was stirring
but few hardcores with parasols

In strolled the boss with something to say
Who seemed happy enough hi to say
My coworker professor strolled in with a TA
I did not know about ‘til introduced to her today

Looks like this semester will be good
Unless kids come in to whinge like they often do
Be nice to me and we’ll be nice to you.
Follow that rule an do your work to

A sucessful term means you learn about what I say
Grades are degrading remember I tell you each day
Learn what I want and use it right and
I’ll give you an A… OK?

A succesful Spring 2014 to all and to all a good time!

my left foot,
is the one,
that now drags
yet my right breast
is the one
that has begun to sag
it's just a matter of balance
you see.

i have what i want...
and
sometimes more
yet
still i whinge
and whine, like a bore.

i am loved and blest
with husband, child,
a cat and, the rest.

but still somedays
i know...
i have failed life's little
tests

and somedays
i am way, way,
short on zest.

they tell me
i am,
peri menopausal
and that may well explain ....some of the above.

my hair is graying
and my waist ....
best not mention,
my waist(overound).

and to be honest
there are days,
i feel like i am fraying
around the edges.

but not,
going to complain
at least,
not loudly
for that may give
the impression
i'm vain....
and really i'm not...

i am just a....
middle aged mother
slowly....losing the plot.

I ought to diet, I'm a little fat,
I haven't got much time for that,
Most diets are just not to my taste,
However much I miss my waist,
The powdered ones , you blend to make,
But I like food, along with my shake,
The gimmick ones, the new 'must haves'
Soon disappear for the next new fad,
I love my food, I live to eat,
Quite healthy too, I ought not bleat,
Home cooked supper,every night,
Organic stuff, it tastes just right,
Butter though, not margarine,
That foul stuff, it tastes obscene,
I work hard by day, so starve or binge,
So I mustn't really start to whinge,
It's quantity I think the cause,
Each meal I eat it could feed four,
They say eat less and work out more,
What a ****** awful bore,
Never been one for the gym,
All that straining, looking grim,
Joggers running, along the road,
So red, I think they will explode,
The answers clear, if all that, I cannot hack,
Bring the renaissance shape in women, back!

Realism not materialism, want and not just selfish need
Enough for us all and not a necessity to embarrassingly plead,
Not a fan of truth distortion, being made to feel like my life is someone else's abortion
Why we elect a small minority to deviously rule with the upper hand, then have the audacity to whinge and whine about their ways, I'll never understand.                                                    
Materialism,corporate fascism, fuelled by a media hell bent on sabotage and the distribution of vile and endemic culture crushing connotations, the full force of the greatest human division spreads as a disease blanketing all nations
As money truly does go to money then those who facilitate and always bear the brunt of the inevitable collapse shall always be poorer,                               Without the correct paperwork, or should I say currency, then you have no way of crossing this border
Forget racial discrimination and ******* disfiguration, you can be as homosexual as you choose, even walk around with no shoes, eat beans and green leaves or any type of meat, whichever you please, you carry on and form your self help group , continue to pursue your equality with another expensive campaign, and the likes of me can just sit and supposedly constantly complain, it matters not, the master plan, the global bigger picture, how it will be painted, we have perhaps not enough intellect to say, but we sure as hell all have the humane integrity, values and worth in the role we play
08/02/2016

Anthracite
might burn well
but most will never know,
the fires in grates have all burnt low.
We're farming wind and waves,harnessing the nuclear reaction,sadly I find not one ounce of satisfaction in this,
I miss the welcoming glow of red hot flames and the toasting of marshmallows and everybody knows you can toast them on turbines.
I whinge and whine but I'll be fine as soon as I step into line with modern inconveniences.

I am informed by those who know,that the fish with two heads and the greenish glow has nothing to do with you know what and all we're really lacking is a ******* good dose of cracking fracking.

Why the anxiety over Brexit,
Guardian readers express their
concern, ******* I say to that.

Brexit comes, you go, no big
deal, it is the way of the world,
nature, migration, emigration.

Why whinge, no benefits, just
annoying people with the poor
mees, get on with it, or accept.