The doors they are all closing and
The summer is a wink
The winter is a looter
Of the corridors of pink
I think like a computer
That is always on the blink
But I love you in my zeros and
In my current buns
I love you in electrodes
And cathodes on the brink
Of broadcasting television shows
And celebrities who wink
I love you like the night waves
That come at the midnight hour
I love you now and always
Love has no diminishing power
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
To the one in the middle
the Fashionista
She was so blonde
With her face of alabaster
She was blue and dark at once
Well blue goes with everything
You nonce
It goes with jet black
And cream
It goes like a riverboat dream
She was all about the women in
Between the noughties
And the blue sky
And she read about the Beatles
The History of Shell
She sucked the oil slick up, slick
She was sick as well
Can you believe her
What a statement
Modern fashionista
Modern fascist fashion
With the moustache as well
And Nationalism on the playing cards
Hitler, Mussolini
Dictator top Trumps
Trumped by Trump
And the gene pool is too small
On this crabby island
It is too tight and cruel
And we burn witches too
Who do? You do?
You do, voodoo!
No, you do!
You remind me of the girl
I once knew next door
Down the road
Who was blonde-haired and blue-eyed
And fair
And next door to her was a pig tailed ginger mop
Whose green eyes glowed
Like emeralds against her pale skin
But the fashionista hasn't seen her
Hasn't seen the Irish Vista
Hasn't witnessed Scottish skulk
And Hulk and Sulk over shipwrecked bulks
Of fashion and blue Whales
Washed up on green seaweed shores
No sadly the fashionista never saw
She moved to Brighton and became a mermaid
But when the fishermen saw her, they caught her
And chopped off her tail
And so now she swims with a wooden tail
Which is very difficult because wood floats
But instead of synchronised swimming routines
She began to sell Brighton rock and she left
Her wishes in them
Little messages
“Please help me I'm in Brighton”
“Not all that glistens is gold”
And
“A mermaid's life is never free
For you're caught between a Rock
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
With your sweet words
You were picking bones
In the graveyard of second chances
And I was hearing tones
Of all your rain dances
Believe me when I say
I believed in you
When the skies opened
And we were both soaked through
While I've been eating swords
You've been speaking sweet words
So why does this bitter taste
Ring true?
Should I have cocked my gun
When I saw you charging
Felled the wild beast of your intentions?
Should I have damped the powder
Of the store of your explosions
Before the whole silo blew?
While I've been eating swords
You've been speaking sweet words
I just find them both so difficult
To chew
No I don't need your company
Though I wish for a bumper crop
In the whistle down provisions
That you chose to stop
No I don't hear the thumping
Of the lucky rabbit's foot
I guess in the end the horse shoe
was facing up
While I've been eating swords
You've been speaking sweet words
But in the end when we reach the bottom
The only thing to do is head back to the top
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Who killed off, who killed off?
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
Will you tell me staff?
Who killed off?
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
Oh, were they getting soft?
Had they had enough?
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
Did they have a long skull?
Were they really too droll?
Oh, who killed off the Neanderthals
Who killed off, who killed off?
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
Oh, was it you or was it me?Was it Las Champs or destiny?
Who killed off that Beastie boy?
Was it the man with a new toy?
Who killed off, who killed off?
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
Were they invited in?
for a glass of Champagne
By Cro Magnon Man
Did he sin, did he go insane,
did he poison the well?
or leave him outside
In the frozen hell
With no place to hide
Oh, Cro Magnon man, was it you?
Was it you who drew the last line?
Well, they drew the short straw
And then they were no more
And that was the decline
Of the Neanderthal line
Who killed off, who killed off?
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
Tell me who killed off, who killed off
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
A little too like a chimp
A little hunched over
More like the dog Rover
Did they need to stoop?
when they had to poop
Were they not upright citizens?
Oh, who has the right to criticize them?
Who killed off, who killed off?
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
Tell me who killed off, who killed off
Who killed off the Neanderthals?
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
Light can be Italian,
Crisp and to the touch
Light as light can be
Nothing is too much
Light can be Norwegian, strained and nearly dying
Heroic in its minimalism
Every shard is shying
Then light maybe of England
Heavy through the rain
The world seems intense in knowing
Light through a shrouded window pane
Light and shade are qualities
But they effect the state of mind
To come and go in knowing
What we have lost but wish to find
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
I've fallen for a ghost
She's the one
I loved the most
She comes and goes inside my house
I Think she's a lion
Next thing she's a mouse
I cannot put my finger on her
The fact, the fact but never the cure
Cross your heart and hope to die
Give me life
Take my eye
See myself unqualified
Through the spyglass
There I lie
Take this ruffled neck of dog
Shake the hair
And drink the grog
I am most
When I am least
Give me less like a beast
Make thirst, oh make me cry
Sing me your mean lullaby
I have hurt the ghost
Have I
Extinguished the fire
In your eye
I am a killer of love
I kill love
Like a butterfly
I dash its wings
make sure it can't fly
I have killed my love and I
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
I dreamt we were all sellable
In the future when
sterility and lack of virility may reign
Then each can choose his characteristics
age, gender, sexual idenity
Like chicken in a supermarket
We pick each other out out of vainity
All this in memory to avoid the pain
We each will have a label at the back of our necks
Reading: country of origin,
Constituents of heritage, age, nature other checks
50% human 50% android for example
We can choose our spouses, our children
Even our uncles and aunts
What about our parents?
Well in a time when men and women can't
Or won't be able to make babies anymore
Alternatives can be imagined
Designer babies
We'll go into a human shop and just order one
Perhaps with a Gucci label
And since it was never our choice to get picked
either we must have a clause of free will
To choose not to go with our selector or not
But what if we ourselves are half robot
What then happens to our human free will?
Can we still choose?
Can a bionic human have free will?
Is it only in the mind
If I have a human mind then I am human right?
What if I am a human head on a robot body
Should I have the same rights as a full human?
Who knows, blow it.
Then there was a giant swimming pool
Being filled with three or four different taps
To keep it warm for guests and that hotelier
Is skulking around and around it
I like to write poetry and perform it at poetry nights. I've been writing some form of it since school years.
