Bum Biting Poetry
It was Fyodora who introduced that term to the QCC, when she referred to our illustrious poets as people who "wouldn't know what poetry was if it bit them on the bum". As with splother, QCCers promptly embraced the term with gusto.
Fyodora herself has little by little become a splotherer and has produced excellent poetry of the Bum Biting kind.
Here is one from 10 November 2014:
Homage à Ogden Nash
Caught unawares in a howling blizzard,
I spied a freezing Mexican lizard;
He would have died, poor axolotl
Had I not given him my hot-water botl.
No swivel-eyed reptiles were harmed in the perpetration of this versification.
And here are the fine poetic contributions of 17 June 2012, full of little gems and a historic day: the day Fyodora became a Bum Biting poet and wrote a limerick.
Fyodora herself has little by little become a splotherer and has produced excellent poetry of the Bum Biting kind.
Here is one from 10 November 2014:
Homage à Ogden Nash
Caught unawares in a howling blizzard,
I spied a freezing Mexican lizard;
He would have died, poor axolotl
Had I not given him my hot-water botl.
No swivel-eyed reptiles were harmed in the perpetration of this versification.
And here are the fine poetic contributions of 17 June 2012, full of little gems and a historic day: the day Fyodora became a Bum Biting poet and wrote a limerick.
Here is another wonderful example of Bum Biting Poetry and of the creativity of the QCC.
The Poetic Ramifications of Nates
On the 7th November 2013 the Quick Crossword clue for 3 down on the was: Buttocks (5) The answer was Nates and this prompted a number of poetic replies from the regulars:
Some more random bum biting poetry
lidell
27 February 2014 12:46pm
Well talking of pets, in my opinion you can't beat a parrot...
...and talking of parrots...
It was on a dark and stormy night
When poor Polly squawked and died of fright
Around my neck another, dread bird hung
and my noble barque a leak had sprung
The ocean roared, the blizzard wailed
The crew cursed me as they bailed.
Swore I, livid, furious, apoplectic, cross -
'Will no one rid me of the cursed Albatross?'
Up piped the little cabin girl,
as from her brow she brushed a curl:
'I am rather fond of birds' lisped she
'Yon avian burden can bide with me!'
But before these events and Poll's demise
feathers had ruffled with coos and sighs...
It had not been suspected or anticipated
That Albatross and Parrot had mated!
From February to February a year went by
How time, like the Arctic tern from pole to pole doth fly!
Then in a hot press,* cosy and cosseted,
The Albatross her egg deposited.
What will be revealed? For what are we hoping?
When the splendid egg cracks open,
A chick like its Pa with feathers gaudy,
beady eye and conversation bawdy?
Or plumage of a monochromatic hue bedecking
an infant like its fateful, doomed shipwrecking
Ma?
The eggspectation is quite eggciting
my nerves are strung my nails I'm biting
Oh Starrock pray tell me, tell
what emerges from the shell?
* airing cupboard to those abiding south of Watford
27 February 2014 12:46pm
Well talking of pets, in my opinion you can't beat a parrot...
...and talking of parrots...
It was on a dark and stormy night
When poor Polly squawked and died of fright
Around my neck another, dread bird hung
and my noble barque a leak had sprung
The ocean roared, the blizzard wailed
The crew cursed me as they bailed.
Swore I, livid, furious, apoplectic, cross -
'Will no one rid me of the cursed Albatross?'
Up piped the little cabin girl,
as from her brow she brushed a curl:
'I am rather fond of birds' lisped she
'Yon avian burden can bide with me!'
But before these events and Poll's demise
feathers had ruffled with coos and sighs...
It had not been suspected or anticipated
That Albatross and Parrot had mated!
From February to February a year went by
How time, like the Arctic tern from pole to pole doth fly!
Then in a hot press,* cosy and cosseted,
The Albatross her egg deposited.
What will be revealed? For what are we hoping?
When the splendid egg cracks open,
A chick like its Pa with feathers gaudy,
beady eye and conversation bawdy?
Or plumage of a monochromatic hue bedecking
an infant like its fateful, doomed shipwrecking
Ma?
The eggspectation is quite eggciting
my nerves are strung my nails I'm biting
Oh Starrock pray tell me, tell
what emerges from the shell?
* airing cupboard to those abiding south of Watford
Melmoth1816
03 Jul 2012 10:45am
There have been persistent rumours amongst the literati that a series of naughty books is about to be published by Shyster and Rippemoff. Apparently the trilogy is to be titled “49 Shades of Beige” and has been penned by an anonymous author using the nom de plume “PK”.
Sources at the publishers have just revealed that the epic tale concerns a naice gel from Limerick* who is educuted by The Sisters of Little Mercy and develops a taste for le vice anglais. She then goes on a long journey of self discovery ending in Tipperary** where she meets a tall, dark, handsome millionaire (with similar propensities) and they embark on a wild and very whacky adventure together.
One reviewer who was allowed a sneak preview described them as:
“A spanking good read.”
The QCC library has pre-ordered several copies (in plain wrappers) for the delectation of high-brow punters.
* The opening sentence is:
“There was a young lady from Limerick.”
** Q. Is it ever a long way from Tipperary?
In fashion, to be all the rage,
Take heed of our Limerick sage,
For kinky high jinks,
Forget about pink,
The trendiest colour is beige.
16 Jul 2012 2:07pm
PK, the great Limerick sage,
Has writted a book about beige,
It's a bit of a bore,
There should have been more,
(He forgot to put in the last page)
08 Jul 2012 11:28pm
Philosophers
(with thanks to Monty Python)
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant,
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar,
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya'
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away;
Half a crate of whiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am" Yes,
Socrates, himself, is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker but a bugger when he's pissed!
03 Jul 2012 10:45am
There have been persistent rumours amongst the literati that a series of naughty books is about to be published by Shyster and Rippemoff. Apparently the trilogy is to be titled “49 Shades of Beige” and has been penned by an anonymous author using the nom de plume “PK”.
Sources at the publishers have just revealed that the epic tale concerns a naice gel from Limerick* who is educuted by The Sisters of Little Mercy and develops a taste for le vice anglais. She then goes on a long journey of self discovery ending in Tipperary** where she meets a tall, dark, handsome millionaire (with similar propensities) and they embark on a wild and very whacky adventure together.
One reviewer who was allowed a sneak preview described them as:
“A spanking good read.”
The QCC library has pre-ordered several copies (in plain wrappers) for the delectation of high-brow punters.
* The opening sentence is:
“There was a young lady from Limerick.”
** Q. Is it ever a long way from Tipperary?
In fashion, to be all the rage,
Take heed of our Limerick sage,
For kinky high jinks,
Forget about pink,
The trendiest colour is beige.
16 Jul 2012 2:07pm
PK, the great Limerick sage,
Has writted a book about beige,
It's a bit of a bore,
There should have been more,
(He forgot to put in the last page)
08 Jul 2012 11:28pm
Philosophers
(with thanks to Monty Python)
Immanuel Kant was a real pissant,
Who was very rarely stable.
Heidegger, Heidegger was a boozy beggar,
Who could think you under the table.
David Hume could out-consume Wilhelm Freidrich Hegel,
And Wittgenstein was a beery swine
Who was just as schloshed as Schlegel.
There's nothing Nietzsche couldn't teach ya'
'Bout the raising of the wrist.
Socrates, himself, was permanently pissed.
John Stuart Mill, of his own free will,
On half a pint of shandy was particularly ill.
Plato, they say, could stick it away;
Half a crate of whiskey every day.
Aristotle, Aristotle was a bugger for the bottle,
Hobbes was fond of his dram,
And Rene Descartes was a drunken fart:
"I drink, therefore I am" Yes,
Socrates, himself, is particularly missed;
A lovely little thinker but a bugger when he's pissed!
Johnny Solstice
01 December 2014 11:59am
Reaching out my hand
between the bars
into the night
…….slowly closing my fingers
round a handful of moonlight
bringing it into my cell
with the utmost of care
I gently place it among the snail shells
the feathers of owls
and remains of the daylight
secreted when time was of less importance
01 December 2014 11:59am
Reaching out my hand
between the bars
into the night
…….slowly closing my fingers
round a handful of moonlight
bringing it into my cell
with the utmost of care
I gently place it among the snail shells
the feathers of owls
and remains of the daylight
secreted when time was of less importance
FerenjiNan Johnny Solstice
01 December 2014 1:28pm
The importance of time
has waned,
as the Caff habitues
can only fondly remember
hooting practice:
twas a global surge of
bonhomie
solidarity
Silliness
and enlightenment on
long gone
moonlit nights
waiting for dawn and the
bloop
of a fabled coffeemaker....
01 December 2014 1:28pm
The importance of time
has waned,
as the Caff habitues
can only fondly remember
hooting practice:
twas a global surge of
bonhomie
solidarity
Silliness
and enlightenment on
long gone
moonlit nights
waiting for dawn and the
bloop
of a fabled coffeemaker....
fyodora
10 January 2015 7:05pm
Relativity 1
To the embarrassed constable
Who, because his watch had stopped,
Had asked me for the time,
I could but reply:
Tempus fugit.
Officer,
Tempus fugit.
Relativity 2
My wristwatch
Has stopped.
It keeps doing that
These days;
But I'm not
Going
To Let
It
Wind
Me
Up
Relativity 3
Oh temos,
Oh mores!
Relativity 5
Time to go!
10 January 2015 7:05pm
Relativity 1
To the embarrassed constable
Who, because his watch had stopped,
Had asked me for the time,
I could but reply:
Tempus fugit.
Officer,
Tempus fugit.
Relativity 2
My wristwatch
Has stopped.
It keeps doing that
These days;
But I'm not
Going
To Let
It
Wind
Me
Up
Relativity 3
Oh temos,
Oh mores!
Relativity 5
Time to go!
fyodora
28 January 2015 10:36pm
Poetry Cornered
Giacomo Pucchini
Was inordinately fond of zucchini;
He consumed quite a lot
When he wrote Turandot
And indeed, much the same
While composing Bohème;
As to Manon Lescaut,
I confess I don't know.
Sadly, one night at the Met,
He choked on a courgette
It had occurred to me
To give up reading comments;
But I'd be banter
Miss the banter
Giacomo Pucchini
Was inordinately fond of zucchini;
He consumed quite a lot
When he wrote Turandot
And indeed, much the same
While composing Bohème;
As to Manon Lescaut,
I confess I don't know.
Sadly, one night at the Met,
He choked on a courgette
It had occurred to me
To give up reading comments;
But I'd be banter
Miss the banter
A clue on Quick Crossword No 13, 975 prompted a wonderful limerick battle between PedAuntie and Wolfhome, with a little help from Sgrafitti and Wifeand3kids.
You can read the whole exchange here:
You can read the whole exchange here:
fyodora
24 February 2015 10:42am
24 February 2015 10:42am
By a wild stretch of the imagination, we are shamefaced to present:
A Schottishe In The Dark
A caup o' brose tae Nicola Sturgeon,
The sturgeon is a stonsie fush;
Yon red-heered sturgeon
Needs nae urgin'
Tha's why ginger nuts ma dush.
The Frenchies hae their booly basie,
With sauer Krauts the best is Wurst,
Japaneasy peasy sushi's braw but
Tak a snip o' lumpfush first!
Wan moonlicht nicht ah went tae Glasgie,
It wis nae braw, it wis nae bricht;
An' it dis nae belong tae me nae mair,
But tae some corporate Yankee pricht
So hae a plat o' neeps, First lassie!
Braw chieftain o' the SNP
Wee timorous beast oor Nicola is nae,
That's why she' s the one,
Nivver a nither one,
The only one,
Fair me!
To be performed accompanied by a skirl o' the pipes, in honour of St Bruno
A Schottishe In The Dark
A caup o' brose tae Nicola Sturgeon,
The sturgeon is a stonsie fush;
Yon red-heered sturgeon
Needs nae urgin'
Tha's why ginger nuts ma dush.
The Frenchies hae their booly basie,
With sauer Krauts the best is Wurst,
Japaneasy peasy sushi's braw but
Tak a snip o' lumpfush first!
Wan moonlicht nicht ah went tae Glasgie,
It wis nae braw, it wis nae bricht;
An' it dis nae belong tae me nae mair,
But tae some corporate Yankee pricht
So hae a plat o' neeps, First lassie!
Braw chieftain o' the SNP
Wee timorous beast oor Nicola is nae,
That's why she' s the one,
Nivver a nither one,
The only one,
Fair me!
To be performed accompanied by a skirl o' the pipes, in honour of St Bruno
Night sneaks in
on tippy-toes,
wearing socksies
of amethyst.
Valley lights glimmer,
like decadent fireflies.
Dogs awaken
and begin their night's work
of barking.
On the wall above me
clings a large spider,
whom I would rather have
not noticed!
Bats roam.
Candles dribble
hot wax,
and through an open window
sneaks the sweetest
Stock scent
ever to join
heaven to earth.
on tippy-toes,
wearing socksies
of amethyst.
Valley lights glimmer,
like decadent fireflies.
Dogs awaken
and begin their night's work
of barking.
On the wall above me
clings a large spider,
whom I would rather have
not noticed!
Bats roam.
Candles dribble
hot wax,
and through an open window
sneaks the sweetest
Stock scent
ever to join
heaven to earth.
The Lady smiles,
And tucks a flower behind her ear.
Rejoicing resounds
Throughout the land.
Hope, like an emerging tendril
Of spring growth,
shivers.
Widows and childless mothers pause,
Their rejoicing shadowed.
The Lady has triumphed at last,
But they know triumph to be as
Ephemeral
As a dewdrop at a chasm’s edge.
The Generals pause,
History peeping
like glaring daylight
Over their epauletted thuggish shoulders.
The Generals ,
With their hands in the till,
On the teak chopping axes,
The Generals stare as
The Lady smiles
As the people
Dance weep hope remember
And perhaps the Generals will hesitate,
Will stay their bloody hands from old
Habits.
And let themselves recall
That karma always reflects
Cruel years.
Perhaps the Generals
Will tuck a flower behind their ears
And smile.
And tucks a flower behind her ear.
Rejoicing resounds
Throughout the land.
Hope, like an emerging tendril
Of spring growth,
shivers.
Widows and childless mothers pause,
Their rejoicing shadowed.
The Lady has triumphed at last,
But they know triumph to be as
Ephemeral
As a dewdrop at a chasm’s edge.
The Generals pause,
History peeping
like glaring daylight
Over their epauletted thuggish shoulders.
The Generals ,
With their hands in the till,
On the teak chopping axes,
The Generals stare as
The Lady smiles
As the people
Dance weep hope remember
And perhaps the Generals will hesitate,
Will stay their bloody hands from old
Habits.
And let themselves recall
That karma always reflects
Cruel years.
Perhaps the Generals
Will tuck a flower behind their ears
And smile.
searogue
1 Oct 2016 00:59
The Garden
The garden’s a tangle of thistle and thorn,
24a grows on the overgrown lawn.
Prickles scratch, nettles sting;
A stab or a bite in everything.
The slugs have smeared the grass with glue,
The ditch is a bubbling, poisonous brew.
Blow flies buzz around my legs,
Looking for a place to lay their eggs.
Gangs of carnivorous spiders creep
Across the corpse of the compost heap.
Everything sucks or bites or gnaws,
The no-seeums have giant jaws.
Mosquitos big as vampire bats,
The rhubarb hides a nest of rats.
Bloated leeches in the pond,
Famished things in the woods beyond.
Gobble, gobble, gobble,
Munch, munch, munch,
Everything is hungry and is
Looking for a lunch.
1 Oct 2016 00:59
The Garden
The garden’s a tangle of thistle and thorn,
24a grows on the overgrown lawn.
Prickles scratch, nettles sting;
A stab or a bite in everything.
The slugs have smeared the grass with glue,
The ditch is a bubbling, poisonous brew.
Blow flies buzz around my legs,
Looking for a place to lay their eggs.
Gangs of carnivorous spiders creep
Across the corpse of the compost heap.
Everything sucks or bites or gnaws,
The no-seeums have giant jaws.
Mosquitos big as vampire bats,
The rhubarb hides a nest of rats.
Bloated leeches in the pond,
Famished things in the woods beyond.
Gobble, gobble, gobble,
Munch, munch, munch,
Everything is hungry and is
Looking for a lunch.
Shipwrecked
Robinson Caruso
Sat by the sea
With noone but the oysters
To keep him company.
In his goatskin array
Crouched under a coconut tree
He cleared his throat and sang,
"O Woe Is Me!"
Wot noise annoys an oyster?
It's really hard to say,
But come the next low tide he saw
They'd all moved away.
(At the beach where he was banished
The bivalves had all vanished!)
Marooned upon a distant isle
Surrounded by the sighing sea
Where even the goats would bugger off
At the slightest hint of a doh-re-mi.
As he squats upon that lonely shore,
Serenading the setting sun,
Does he ever think of Enrico,
And wonder how he's getting on...?
Sent from my iPad
Robinson Caruso
Sat by the sea
With noone but the oysters
To keep him company.
In his goatskin array
Crouched under a coconut tree
He cleared his throat and sang,
"O Woe Is Me!"
Wot noise annoys an oyster?
It's really hard to say,
But come the next low tide he saw
They'd all moved away.
(At the beach where he was banished
The bivalves had all vanished!)
Marooned upon a distant isle
Surrounded by the sighing sea
Where even the goats would bugger off
At the slightest hint of a doh-re-mi.
As he squats upon that lonely shore,
Serenading the setting sun,
Does he ever think of Enrico,
And wonder how he's getting on...?
Sent from my iPad
Smoke climbs up in the sunny blue air
Leaving the tower of dreadful despair
Eighty people burnt at the stake
Of lies and cheats and dreadful fate
Eighty people's dreams and hope
Spiralling up in the morning smoke
Rock me mama rock me
Rock me mama rock me
Eighty people burnt alive
In a land where hope and faith have died
The only charity a fire clad stone
As hard as the hearts that force us alone
Take me back to the time back when
I ran in the streets and climbed with my friend
Take me back to my brother and sister
I've lost them now they're gone for ever
Rock me mama rock me
Burn me mamma rock me
Take me back to my husband's arms
I feel the fear of the fire alarms
Take me through this window of pain
Let me wake in our bed again
Rock me mama rock me
Burn me mamma rock me
Take me back to my woman's warm heart
I don't know how we can be apart
She cared for me that's the only truth
I'm choking on smoke, I'm choking on smoke
The fire's coming now it's through the door
I can't see the world my eyes are so sore
Water in the bath is boiling now
Blood in my heart is boiling in my ears
Burning mamma burn me
I know I'll be rescued they told me so
They said it was safe they said stay put
Stay put, rock me mamma
Rock me, mamma stay put
Burning mamma burning
Burning, burning, burning
Leaving the tower of dreadful despair
Eighty people burnt at the stake
Of lies and cheats and dreadful fate
Eighty people's dreams and hope
Spiralling up in the morning smoke
Rock me mama rock me
Rock me mama rock me
Eighty people burnt alive
In a land where hope and faith have died
The only charity a fire clad stone
As hard as the hearts that force us alone
Take me back to the time back when
I ran in the streets and climbed with my friend
Take me back to my brother and sister
I've lost them now they're gone for ever
Rock me mama rock me
Burn me mamma rock me
Take me back to my husband's arms
I feel the fear of the fire alarms
Take me through this window of pain
Let me wake in our bed again
Rock me mama rock me
Burn me mamma rock me
Take me back to my woman's warm heart
I don't know how we can be apart
She cared for me that's the only truth
I'm choking on smoke, I'm choking on smoke
The fire's coming now it's through the door
I can't see the world my eyes are so sore
Water in the bath is boiling now
Blood in my heart is boiling in my ears
Burning mamma burn me
I know I'll be rescued they told me so
They said it was safe they said stay put
Stay put, rock me mamma
Rock me, mamma stay put
Burning mamma burning
Burning, burning, burning
fyodora
28 December 2015 10:36pm
Easy peas, eh? Well, Buvvy, you asked for it (nobody else did, though):
Walther, Walther
Preislied me to the altar,
Ee, our Gracie,
Silly and lazy,
Longing to be
A shady lady
Easy peasy,
Leman squeezy,
Icy freezy,
Chesty wheezy,
Nice 'n' easy
Brighton breezy
Muvver Brownie –
Kneesy weesy,
Dumb and dusted
Cuts the musted
Boogie woogie
Flat foot floosie
Lovey dovey
Ha'penny shovey
Crazy Maisy
Ups-a-daisy
Prissie missie –
Gissa kissie!
Doggy woggy
Erwin's moggy
(Delta p times
Delta x-ie
Half an aitchbar
Heisenbergy?)
Nikki Glinka
Little tinker
Ruslan composer
Bit of a drinker
Rimsky wimsky
(Taught Stravinsky)...
Igor blimey
Look at timee
Oh we know we
Love each other so
We gotta call the calling off –
Off!
Yes.
Paris, Zurich, Macclesborough
2011
Postscript, 2013, Pièce en forme d'un homophone (merci, Erik Satie)
Lukas Podolski
Fabulous goalski!
(Einstein, Rosen
Were not chosen)
Walther, Walther
Preislied me to the altar,
Ee, our Gracie,
Silly and lazy,
Longing to be
A shady lady
Easy peasy,
Leman squeezy,
Icy freezy,
Chesty wheezy,
Nice 'n' easy
Brighton breezy
Muvver Brownie –
Kneesy weesy,
Dumb and dusted
Cuts the musted
Boogie woogie
Flat foot floosie
Lovey dovey
Ha'penny shovey
Crazy Maisy
Ups-a-daisy
Prissie missie –
Gissa kissie!
Doggy woggy
Erwin's moggy
(Delta p times
Delta x-ie
Half an aitchbar
Heisenbergy?)
Nikki Glinka
Little tinker
Ruslan composer
Bit of a drinker
Rimsky wimsky
(Taught Stravinsky)...
Igor blimey
Look at timee
Oh we know we
Love each other so
We gotta call the calling off –
Off!
Yes.
Paris, Zurich, Macclesborough
2011
Postscript, 2013, Pièce en forme d'un homophone (merci, Erik Satie)
Lukas Podolski
Fabulous goalski!
(Einstein, Rosen
Were not chosen)
Ritalin
When I was a homeless teenager on the streets of london
in the early seventies, I consuned copious amounts of
pharmaceuticals, smack, barbs, speed, trips, rat poison and dettol
....one time I even injected whisky intaveniously
just to see how it would feel....
.one thing I used to neck was ritalin
which made a heady chemical cocktail for my already scrambled brain
... ritalin is now known as being responsible for retarding growth in children
by disrupting the cycles of growth hormones released by the pituitary gland
it routinely causes gross malfunktions in the brains of children
there is research evidence from controlled scientifik studies
that ritalin can cause atrophy or other permanent physical abnormalities of the brain
a large percentage of children become robotik, lethargik, depressed or withdrawn
withdrawal from ritalin can cause emotional suffering, depression, exhaustion and even suicide
all my life, every day without release
these symptoms don’t cease
inability to give full attention to detail
difficulty with organisation
am easily distracted
I talk excessively
I interupt people
I intrude upon others
all unknowingly........
and when I find myself doing these things
I am wracked with remorse
I blurt out and shout
answering questions before their asked
add to this cerebral soup a spoon or two
of hypodermik goo
and charlie......
and whizz....
and dragons and bombers
and ampules of mass destruction
plus mushrooms of mass invention
plus 0% financial freud detention
my kidneys get confused and don’t know when to drink
my dehydrated brain goes shrink......
shrink......
shrink-wrapped
here’s a rap for the shrink
in disbelief make your eye blink
when we lift the lid there’s a terrible stink
what you heal with your pills
creates societies ills
attention deficit disorder
attention .....deaf.....attention....deaf
dis-attention... order....deficit
tension fit dis and dat order
stay between the borders
that you draw in the sand
for the dumbed down and bland
in every pie is the stain of your hand
how much of this must we stand?
whilst you rake in your grands
you poison our glands
what benefits you doesn’t fit me
you look in my head and say you can see
the things that form barriers to me being me
another bloody miscarraige of psychiatry
when will you see?
it’s the slamming of your doors
that keeps you out....
your labels of sin....
just shut you in....
says the cheshire cat, with a grin...
IN...
IN....
INSANITY
As the rabbit-holes of your memory
turn inside-out in subterranean fraktal glory
can you remember any stories....?
can you percieve past glories....?
or were they never written down?
guarded by our sacred klown
is this making you frown...?
well don’t be afreud
there’s nothing to freud but freud itself.
there’s a mountain of wealth
in pharmaceutikal mental health
on the pharmacy shelf
there’s a bottle that contains your self....
AWARENESS
your self..ESTEEM
right next to the sun-tan creem
and suppositories of vanities dreem
lypo... sucko....anti-reality....kreems
perfumes and potions for mating dreems
assualt on the senseless...
that’s how it seems
how you view the world is not how I see
and if you COULD see
that this trickiatry
with its shock-troops of ECT
and mediaevil alchemy
are a constant parasite on we
“love changes everything” not chemistry
this is no patented mystery
of psycho-babylonian history
dis-satisfaktion guaranteed
“regular use may lead to dependancy....”
“symptoms may arise..............”
“side-effects may occur.........”
“you may suffer sensations....”
“if the condition persists......
please feel free
to shout FUCK OFF!
...... and let me be!”
the only thing that will set me free
is global enlightenment instantly
my condition persists constantly
call now ...lines are free
yours johnny ....aged free
(rant over)
one love
When I was a homeless teenager on the streets of london
in the early seventies, I consuned copious amounts of
pharmaceuticals, smack, barbs, speed, trips, rat poison and dettol
....one time I even injected whisky intaveniously
just to see how it would feel....
.one thing I used to neck was ritalin
which made a heady chemical cocktail for my already scrambled brain
... ritalin is now known as being responsible for retarding growth in children
by disrupting the cycles of growth hormones released by the pituitary gland
it routinely causes gross malfunktions in the brains of children
there is research evidence from controlled scientifik studies
that ritalin can cause atrophy or other permanent physical abnormalities of the brain
a large percentage of children become robotik, lethargik, depressed or withdrawn
withdrawal from ritalin can cause emotional suffering, depression, exhaustion and even suicide
all my life, every day without release
these symptoms don’t cease
inability to give full attention to detail
difficulty with organisation
am easily distracted
I talk excessively
I interupt people
I intrude upon others
all unknowingly........
and when I find myself doing these things
I am wracked with remorse
I blurt out and shout
answering questions before their asked
add to this cerebral soup a spoon or two
of hypodermik goo
and charlie......
and whizz....
and dragons and bombers
and ampules of mass destruction
plus mushrooms of mass invention
plus 0% financial freud detention
my kidneys get confused and don’t know when to drink
my dehydrated brain goes shrink......
shrink......
shrink-wrapped
here’s a rap for the shrink
in disbelief make your eye blink
when we lift the lid there’s a terrible stink
what you heal with your pills
creates societies ills
attention deficit disorder
attention .....deaf.....attention....deaf
dis-attention... order....deficit
tension fit dis and dat order
stay between the borders
that you draw in the sand
for the dumbed down and bland
in every pie is the stain of your hand
how much of this must we stand?
whilst you rake in your grands
you poison our glands
what benefits you doesn’t fit me
you look in my head and say you can see
the things that form barriers to me being me
another bloody miscarraige of psychiatry
when will you see?
it’s the slamming of your doors
that keeps you out....
your labels of sin....
just shut you in....
says the cheshire cat, with a grin...
IN...
IN....
INSANITY
As the rabbit-holes of your memory
turn inside-out in subterranean fraktal glory
can you remember any stories....?
can you percieve past glories....?
or were they never written down?
guarded by our sacred klown
is this making you frown...?
well don’t be afreud
there’s nothing to freud but freud itself.
there’s a mountain of wealth
in pharmaceutikal mental health
on the pharmacy shelf
there’s a bottle that contains your self....
AWARENESS
your self..ESTEEM
right next to the sun-tan creem
and suppositories of vanities dreem
lypo... sucko....anti-reality....kreems
perfumes and potions for mating dreems
assualt on the senseless...
that’s how it seems
how you view the world is not how I see
and if you COULD see
that this trickiatry
with its shock-troops of ECT
and mediaevil alchemy
are a constant parasite on we
“love changes everything” not chemistry
this is no patented mystery
of psycho-babylonian history
dis-satisfaktion guaranteed
“regular use may lead to dependancy....”
“symptoms may arise..............”
“side-effects may occur.........”
“you may suffer sensations....”
“if the condition persists......
please feel free
to shout FUCK OFF!
...... and let me be!”
the only thing that will set me free
is global enlightenment instantly
my condition persists constantly
call now ...lines are free
yours johnny ....aged free
(rant over)
one love
Rivvy
2 Feb 2022 21:23
2 Feb 2022 21:23
On the centenary of the publication of James Joyce's Ulysses
Poldy's Dog
Imagine if Leopold
and Molly Bloom
as well as a cat
had a dog
that had once bit Blazes Boylan
on the arse
(in other words,
a dog with taste)
so that on June the sixteenth
Poldy had had to take it with him
on his travels.
Okay, it's an anachronism
but you can just see him
stooping with a certain
methodical poise
to scoop its faeces
up off the pavement
discreetly enclosing them
in one of those bags
(just like the man
on the deli counter
wrapping up a lump
of faux exotic cheese)
feeling the warmth
and softness of it
while his inner encyclopedia
riffs on the body temperature
of dogs and on the toxicity
of dog shit
as he slips it
into his pocket
to rub against
the bar of soap
or perhaps the potato
as he walks.
Poldy's Dog
Imagine if Leopold
and Molly Bloom
as well as a cat
had a dog
that had once bit Blazes Boylan
on the arse
(in other words,
a dog with taste)
so that on June the sixteenth
Poldy had had to take it with him
on his travels.
Okay, it's an anachronism
but you can just see him
stooping with a certain
methodical poise
to scoop its faeces
up off the pavement
discreetly enclosing them
in one of those bags
(just like the man
on the deli counter
wrapping up a lump
of faux exotic cheese)
feeling the warmth
and softness of it
while his inner encyclopedia
riffs on the body temperature
of dogs and on the toxicity
of dog shit
as he slips it
into his pocket
to rub against
the bar of soap
or perhaps the potato
as he walks.
PaintedOcean
8 Feb 2022 14:17
8 Feb 2022 14:17
In memoriam of Tom, Daisy1950's husband who died on this date.
Thomas Alexander Finn,
what a very lovely name,
it conjures up all the many
kindnesses that Daisy told
us of. A bold, strong name
and then a death so bravely
borne. Rest in Peace, Tom.
You did your best, you gave
your all.
Thomas Alexander Finn,
what a very lovely name,
it conjures up all the many
kindnesses that Daisy told
us of. A bold, strong name
and then a death so bravely
borne. Rest in Peace, Tom.
You did your best, you gave
your all.