Sunday, 23 May 2010


The scarecrow
Watches the crops grow
With wheat as high
As an elephant's eye.
While the encircling hoards
Of seagulls soar
Over the fields of corn.
The fear on his face
As the growth gathers pace
And the struggle for power begins.
With stop-motion eyes
He watches it rise
And envelope him like the tide.
When October rolls round
And the crops all come down
With one swipe of the harvester's blade
The scarecrow stands tall
Surveyor of all
With a slightly smug look in his eye.

Saturday, 22 May 2010

'Better Than' Sally

'Better than' Sally has done everything
Been everywhere
She's got an opinion on every topic
A total nightmare
'Better than' Sally makes conversation
Into competition
And relaxation
Into agitation
With every blatant exaggeration
'You've been to the moon?
'Oh, I've been there twice.'
She once joined the circus, and has swallowed live mice
And in her garage she's got a doomsday device
She claims to have worked through every vice
She's smoked crack in Brixton
And dealt blackjack in Spain
She's never been through child birth
But she can understand the pain
She's a strange mix of egoism and just being vain
Introduce her to your friends, and you'll never see them again
She's allergic to equations
Once saw an alien invasion
Lost her virginity on THREE SEPARATE OCCASIONS!
'Better than' Sally has been there, done that
And even her T-shirt is better than yours.

Friday, 21 May 2010

The Redundant Tongue

This world is no longer built for lickers
Now that stamps come as pre-glued stickers
And envelopes are already lined with gum
So you'll never again taste that weird taste on your tongue
Administration's not the same
Now that my mouth lies dormant and tamed
With nothing to lick, life's such a chore
Standing, jaws gaping, with a dribbling maw
Soon they'll ban ice creams, there'll be nothing to scoff
And I'll have to get kinky to get my rocks off
The way things are going, at this alarming rate
I'm sure even men will learn to self-fellate
This world is not built for the enthusiastic lickers
Now that stamps come as pre-glued stickers.

Monday, 17 May 2010

Thinking about Politics

Frowning muscles, skin pulled taut
Scanning BBC News, lost deep in thought
Ruminating over issues that you've never been taught
Ask the pundits simple questions, and they'll derisively snort
Like what is a QUANGO? Have the voters been screwed?
How deep does the debt go? What's Sam Cam's favourite food?
Will there be Anti-Cameron riots? Or pro-labour mobs?
Will all civil servants lose their cushy, pointless jobs?
Are we heading for a certain creek with no paddle in sight?
Was it really worth staying up on election night?
And of all those who watched them announce the coalition
How many were waiting for some hot Lib on Con action?
(Let's face it, you can tell there's some level of attraction
It's like the political equivalent of Brokeback Mountain.)
They say Western Democracy is fair and diverse
But to be ruled by two losing parties, is kind of perverse
And if all this politics talk fails to make you swoon
Then worry yee not, Big Brother's back in June.

Tuesday, 11 May 2010

Short poems

Cycling on a Hot Day:
Why do flies
Always fly in my eyes?
Seriously, does eye-gunk taste of jam?

Radio 4:
I listen to women swallowing swords on the radio
And, for the first time in my life,
I understand the word pointless.
And the concept of irony.

Sunday, 9 May 2010

Writer's block

Every writer seems to have a poem about writer's block in their arsenal, and this is my effort.

The insecurity of the chronically untalented:

I speak in convoluted metaphors
Write my rhymes in semaphore
A inconsistent yawning pause
Impregnated with creative spores.
My words - still grounded - long to soar
But I am naught but a Muse's whore
Writing just to settle scores
Hyperbole my only claws
But simile won't help my cause
And help me win such lonely wars.
My heart, inside, shows such remorse
Meagre talent ran it's course
And left me beached on barren shores
When once poems dripped from every pore
Now the words no longer soar
And I will be a poet no more.