There's a thief in my bed what am I going to do
He's been sleeping with my wife
Like the animals at the zoo
He's as hungry as a lion
As sly as a snake
And he's lying in my bed
I think he's on the make
I wish he would make it
Because he never tidies up
And I am forever finding things missing
Like my coffe cup
I think he stole my credit cards
They were on the bedside table
And he's been using them to buy things
For himself whenever he's able
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
I've dined with kings
And diced with death
That Martyrdom brings
I've sliced the breath of the holy spirit
And cut off the wings
Of the one with forked tongue
I've discovered poles and mountains high
I think I've the strength left
To reach the otherside
But before I passover
That lonely stile
Come give me a kiss
For the extra mile
I'd walk it to you
If you ring true
Like a glass that sings
Like a queen bee's hymns
As she cleans her hive
I've only wished to be alive
But with or without you is the issue
It is the great question of our lives
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Teacher: Hi, how are you today?
Student said: I've just got back from a kidnap
Teacher: Oh dear, perhaps we shouldn't have this lesson
Student meant: I have just got up after a nap
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
I'd kill for it
Would you?
I'd kill to live in a country
So dog-darn blue
And true in the sense of arrows flying
Feathered from an Eagle's wing
These are the kinds of things
I'd die for
It's good that's what war brings
Out of the eagle's nest I fly
A Kyrie eyrie Elson
Down from the bat's belfry
I fly
Battersea, Battersea tower
Onto the straits of a rolling sea
A Kyrie, eerie Elson
Out to the gates of eternity
A beery, weary Nelson
I'd die Eddie,
Eddy I'd
I'd ride my motorcycle right off the cliff
If you say jump, I say Miss?
Hit it once,
Hit it twice
Hit it thrice
I'd die for this
And I'd kill for your kiss
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Can you hold her
While the bridges hold
And the golden sunlight
Falls in folds
Can you take her in your
arms and told
Like the story of your
Beginning un
Fold
She is our
Beginning
She is your end
She is all the Winning
And all the peaceful fens
She is the grass in the meadow
And
She is your friend
The last one you will
Ever touch
Or
Hold
Close
To
the
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
I'm not saying it was easy
I'm not saying it was hard
But the time for being cheesy
It is get out of jail barred
It is drawn down in apocalypse
And a calypso of lies
All lining up to do the Rumba
With the troops on the other side
Come on pull the moon in closer
With your piece of string
I need your roller coaster
I need your tide of Spring
I need the tiny ghost of
What you wished to bring
To the table at the supper
Of the last supreme King
The God's of yester year have broken out
Of jail
And Imbolc and of Hester
They've bloomed like a power pale
They've been fracked into existence
And shaken out of earth
And it's to our resistence
To not knowing what our money's worth
You can't count gold in pennies
You can't count deaths by births
You know there are so many
And sometimes love it hurts
But breakdown all your spaceships
And bring it all back home
For I'm tired of all these races
Like a dog chases after a bone
Too many a question faces about
And looks the answer in the eyes
I shouts come on I'm in a boat
And it floats on a sea of lies
You must know me by now
I say, I'm walking in paradise
But we never could see
The forest for the trees
Nor the true colours for the dyes
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Guaranteed chaos
A cocktail of lies
Misinterpretation
On a grand scale
The tale of the dragon flies
wreaking rack and ruin
The combination of trash
and nations, who throw their waste
Into their neighbour's gardens
While our trees were being blown over
By Storm Eunice, Dudley and Franklin
A far bigger storm was brewing over Ukraine
As Russia readied itself for war
Hiding its intention behind
Barely veiled lies
And smoke and mirror tactics
Only the sleeping West and central Europe
Whose population has been prepared for this ally
With Russia
For Hungary will want their country back
To expand their borders is what Orban wants
This is his dream come true
With one hand dealing with the West
While under the table
Shaking hands with Russia
Letting the enemy in at the gates
Nothing is new
And we have seen it all before
Well the pendulum swings from West to East
From left to right
And we find ourselves at war
It was always going to happen
It was the gathering storm
The weakness of a complacent Europe
Too happy and comfortable in their freedoms
Too ready to ignore the signs
And the strengthening of Russia
The Soviet Block
Will be putting back up its iron wall
Rock by bloody rock
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
in twenty twenty
I wish'd seen what twenty twenty two would have been
But if I saw or if I'd seen
I'd have had to have had a time machine
For nothing's lost and nothing's gained
But what we remember in our brains
And vision of a future scene
Is not worth as much as having been
And lived the life that could have been or should have been
Somethings are given and some forgiven
Some are taken and some forsaken
And if you make or try to shake them
In the kaleidoscope of dreams
Well shadows awaken in shallow streams
And darkness creeps into forgettable seams
You thought you'd papered over
And glued shut the cracks
But being human means there are things man lacks
And woman too is not perfect
Only she needs to be reminded
While showing sufficient respect
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
íI can't stop staring at Nazis
I can't stop staring at Nazis
It's not fair,
They're right there
I'm in a central European bar
In a town name Miskolcz
And my girlfriend
Is ordering a slovakian snaps
I'm sitting at the table
And looking around at the scene
And there is a skin head nazi young man
Staring back at me
I can't stop staring at Nazis, I can't stop staring at Nazis
And it's unfair
It's so unfair
The Disadvantaged youth
Separated fromtheir father's love
It's the truth
They look for a system that gives them back their pride
Scapegoating the Jews
Making asylum seekers run and hide
Yet I can't help staring at Nazis
There is something so vulnerable there
Like they want to be looked after like babies
Which is why they shave their hair
They all look the same like in an army
They can fit in without an identity
And that is perfect for they don't know who they are
Oh I can't help staring at a Nazi in a bar
And he comes over to my table and sits down at my side, his girlfriend is waiting for him
But does he want me for his bride?
Is he going to punch me or tell me step outside?
Oh I can't help staring at Nazis whether I live or die
He talks some crazy language and I don't understand
Then my girlfriend comes back
And he shrinks a bit
And we just keep on drinking through the night
Perhaps he wasn't a Nazi, he just had that kind of look
As a lot of them do around this town
It is their kind of hook
I don't suppose I'll return,
Though there was a nice old castle
If I see any more Nazis I'm going to explode
And they'll have to post me home in a parcel
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
The Queen is nine to five
No she is 95
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Out of the bag, the cat and the hag
The rat of remembrance is gnawing the flag
And Bat of apology hangs from his nook
In the cave of calligraphy where everyone took
Photographs of humans
On Instagram and Twitter
And Cave art that lasted no longer than litter
That was blown away in the breeze of archaeological storm
That blew out the internet and left us forlorn
The young wandered round bereft and torn
Because nothing was left them since when they were born
Like new lambs they wandered out into the wild
And really were as vulnerable as a little child
Without their TikToks and their instant messaging
The did not know how to communicate and it
was all second guessing
As times hand turned slowly
They learnt to survive
In the graveyard of the internet
Without hollow lives
And things so superficial
Their relations to each other
Became strong once again
Like their love for their mother
And the dumb still got eaten
The sick and the lame
They lay down and were beaten again and again
But they never gave up
They kept trying in vain
Though not vain for beauty sweetens
Even the direst of pain
And The sun still shines out behind the rain
So don't lose heart my friend
For a new light will come again
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
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Storms are named for historical reasons to avoid confusion when communicating with the public, as more than one storm can exist at a time. Names are drawn in order from predetermined lists. For tropical cyclones, names are assigned when a system has one-, three-, or ten-minute winds of more than 65 km/h (40 mph). Standards, however, vary from basin to basin. For example, some tropical depressions are named in the Western Pacific, while within the Australian and Southern Pacific regions, the naming of tropical cyclones are delayed until they have gale-force winds occurring more than halfway around the storm center.
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
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