Tiny Poem

Pickled Cabbage
Set Aside
For Burn-Victims

They Swallow
With Difficulty

We Are Not Ready For Jet-packs

The amount of people who dream about flight
Is staggering, yet who can deny importance of the
Scientists out there doing their utmost to secure a future
For those of us who wish to be birds.

We must consider the safety of those who find
themselves at a great height aided by a fuel-powered friend.
In such a setting there is nothing to stop a person
From entering a dream state where thrust is self-sufficient,
and the mounted apparatus behind them
is simply an elaborate backpack weighing them down.

There is nothing to stop people from liberating themselves
from this excess material and to mistake the helpless plummet
for an Eagle-like ability to swoop upon prey. The impact,
The mess, the undesirable compound of machinery and
Human-mush. It. is. all. too. much.

We are not ready for jet-packs.

A Few Words

He lost his dick in the meadow
He was sad, but it was with nature now.
However, Some say he was lying
Because whenever someone asked him
How it was possible to lose a dick
His eyes would drop and nobody would see him
For weeks.

Absence

They say absence makes the heart grow Fonda,
But they never specify which one.

I mean, what kind of person just says Fonda
and expects us to know which one they mean?

At least when people say that someone's let the cat
Out of the Baggs, everyone knows they're talking
about Stuart "The Brand" Baggs from The Apprentice.

Playdays

The other day I got the bus headed for the city centre,
but the driver turned onto the M8 motorway and drove
us all the way to Legoland Windsor Resort.
It was only after a closer inspection that it emerged
That we'd been driven by all the way by small child
wearing one of those fake moustaches you get in joke shops.
Turns out the lad has done it a number of times,
And is part of a growing trend of busjacking kids
Angry with their parents for deeming a trip
to their Gran's house to be a perfectly adequate holiday.

If you can displace the fact that you're being driven
 Around illegally by an infant who's probably
Never driven before, it's almost worth taking
a gamble on a £2 return, because you might end up
Someplace real good for a super cheap fare.

You've got to be careful though, because there was
Once this young chap called Sid Wilson who wanted to
Go to Disneyland Paris, but he'd yet to figure out
the capabilities of his bus, so he just drove it
Straight into the Channel and everyone got really wet.

The Beach

I was having a great time at the beach.
I made these huge sand battleforts,
With moats and cannons and all of that,
But it was all ruined when an angry man
Came waving a long metal stick,
Charging at me in his beach wagon,
All hysterical, shouting at me to
'Get out of the Goddamn bunker'.

Yeah, I don't know what he was on about either.

Isn't It Heartbreaking

Isn't it heartbreaking to think about
the comedian Frankie Boyle, and the way
He teaches school children to be naughty
By going up to the gates and whispering words
Like 'Poo' and 'Bum' at them.
How he then follows their progress through school
And gets all excited when they reach university,
Because he thinks they will have mastered
His crude art of telling jokes.
But when he approaches them and laughs
About sticking his penis into animals
Or says something mean about the disabled,
And they just shake their heads and walk away,
He's just left there, alone,
To think about what an awful person he is.

Isn't It Sad

Isn't It sad to think about the future,
And how quite probably there will be
The comedian Russell Howard
Sat in a retirement home somewhere
Telling all of the people he thinks are his friends
About some youtube videos or whatever,
Expecting them to laugh along. 
But nobody laughs.

And then a nurse wheels him away.

Isn't It Funny

Isn't it funny how people always think
At a tube station, waiting for the tube,
That they know where the doors will open,
And when they go to that place,
 If they were to look a little to the right,
They would always see the comedian Michael Mcintyre
A few metres away
Taking a bite from his sandwich,
Content with what he'd just seen.


No, It's fucking scary.

Only In Dreams

I had a terrible dream last night:

They’d taken some apples and fixed them up real good,

But they threw you away.

You reminded them of something they once knew.

Sometimes I think about groceries

Lining the sides of a thousand household waste bins

Waiting for a home.

But when things get so low,

I try to think I know

That somewhere someone

Bought some really shitty bags,

And as everything would pour out,

And the horrors of bin juice

Would steer the senses away from the crime,

Some neglected fruit would scurry away

And form a pact with the earth.

There, in the comforting soil,

Something true would grow and grow and grow,

And under my breath I'd say

'Three cheers for Poundland'.

Strangers

The forests rustled knowing that they would have to endure another year

Stealing from one another under the surface of the Earth.

Nobody spoke about it, but they knew.

They all knew.

And as the season took a turn for the worse,

Their eyes could only watch as their lower-limbs ensured the certain death

Of a certain friend who had been down on his luck.

Some would mourn and insist on prolonging its life through the medium of storytelling.

Others would comment on how uneasy it made them feel to co-exist with the dead.

Soon, however, all the memories of this unfortunate tree were forgotten.
Its lifeless being would act merely as a cause of annoyance,

As one would have to repeat itself a little louder

When a sentence was spoken to a distant neighbour,
And key words were lost in the framework of their former friend.

This was the case for a long time, until one fateful day

When word spread of a woodcutter and his crew tearing through the group,

And amidst their screams of terror and the merciless activity

Several would latch their roots onto this indifferent stranger,
And hope against hope that they too would share its dull disposition:

Calm;
Composed;
Resolute.