Sunday, 14 July 2013

Kardashian Kar Krash

Why is your passion
On ration
Like it’s gone out of fashion?
You’ve perfected the trick of making me sick
Like I’m watching the Kardashians
Who think we’re enlightened when they whiten their teeth
Or get new tints
The vacuous bints
And that twatish bloke with the jumper round his neck. 
I’m no fighter
But I’d love to pull it tighter
Life would be better to see you swing
From the ceiling
Attached to an Arran sweater.

But I’m better than this
And I don’t know if you got the gist
It’s just I’d love your expensive watch
To list
Like a ship
And slip
To the floor
From your limp, dead wrist.

I’m in my prime
But I could turn to crime
Do time
And yeah it might seem that I’m
Being rash
But just a cheeky little car crash
Would do the job.
I know this bloke, Bob
The Everest of man-mountains
Who could sort it in such a manner
Like Diana
But with less memorial fountains.

And I know wishing death on someone is a little far

But I’d supply the car

If that’s what it takes

It just wouldn’t have brakes.

But I digress
I went off road
Like I hope their fucking car does
I’m joking
I’m just poking fun, I’m provoking
I’m karaoke-ing with a lie that I can’t deny:
I don’t really want the Kardashians to die.

I want them tortured

To within an inch of their celebrity life
Like I’d get one red ant
And his ant wife
To eat them alive
Starting at opposite ends
Until they arrive
And all that survives
Is their eyes
So they can watch their demise
In HD, like me
And their shitty TV show
I so

Men would say turn over
But I don’t control the TV in our house
I haven’t got the nous
I’m timid as a mouse
I haven’t even got a spouse
Just my girls
Steph and Emma
It’s not much of a dilemma
And I don’t moan when you don’t replace the loo roll
Or leave the key in the front door
But that Kardashian programme’s poor
And QI’s on the other side
And even silence is better for the mind
And I’m sorry for speaking while you’re watching
But please, please, please
Whatever you do

Don’t rewind. 

Tuesday, 30 April 2013

Compensation Culture Vulture

A window pane
When it connects with your brain
Is not quite the same
As gaining a stain
You could ring the council to complain 
But the paperwork might drive you insane,
So in the main
I would refrain
There's nothing to gain
But heartache and pain
It's throwing good money down the drain
It's walking, single, down a lover's lane
It's buying a horse that ends up lame
It's knowing you were rubbish and she never came
It's putting out the washing when it starts to rain
It's the FA Cup final and you've picked up a strain
Or you're late for Spain coz you missed the train
And of your life
It could be the bane.

I speak the truth
But only a grain
You can make a claim
Just sign your name

Sunday, 21 April 2013

Car Philosophy

As I gently press the throttle
I think
Aristotle had a lot of bottle
He had a lot of things to say
And as I break I wonder what he'd make
Of today
The proliferation of media
Smart phones, ice cream cones
The people lurking in social networking
Human wrongs and human rights
Electric lights
40 denier tights
How cool would it be to let him see
With a lightbulb
To marvel at planes, trains, bus lanes
A Hoover plugged in at the mains
Stock market gains
Our ability to remove stains

All those inventions
Too many
To mentions

There's laptops and Lycra
The Nissan Micra
How we deliver a parcel
And talk about a footballer's 4th metatarsal...

If I took him out
Our world would probably freak him out
I'd get the drinks
It'd be my shout
But these things, I just don't know about
How they work
I use them, I abuse them
Sometimes I lose them
I'm an ignorant jerk
A berk
I just see them as a perk
I'm sorry Aristotle
I just get all
With myself
A bit deranged
But the lights have changed
So maybe I should stop philosophising
Surmising and compromising with the temperature rising

And just start driving.

Broken Hearted In Tescos

Watching the tramps queue
For Special Brew
I think yeah, I fancied you
A bit
I mean you were fit
You had a nice nose
And always looked good
In your Tesco's clothes
By the cream cake shelf
(And that's an art in itself)

I worked there too
And there was nothing in my contract
About your eye contact
Plus I would've expected additional fees
To cover goosebump usage
When you teased
You were the honey to my bees
The carrots to my peas
The toast to my cheese
The squirrel to my trees

Oh how I'd loved to have buried my nuts

And it cuts
When I think about her
On the cheese counter
All big eyes
A big white hat
And lips
All I had was my quick wits
And funny quips
We drifted apart
Like passing ships
Well I was more of a sinking rowing boat
And you were an aircraft carrier
With a permanent barrier
But it's not your fault
I should've run after you
Like Usain Bolt
Or swam like Michael Phelps
But time's a great healer
And I've put out a few feelers

Well, Every Little Helps.

Friday, 29 March 2013

A Happy Ending

The problem with some poems
Is you don't know where they end.

(big pause) 

I hate the awkward pauses
That can drive you round the bend.
They become a slight distraction
And you don't know your reaction
Is quite the right action to gain satisfaction.
A fraction of the time I applaud too soon
I feel like a loon
Like there's an elephant in the room.
But it's not my fault, it's the poet
And he knows it.


The false ending is even more mind bending
It seems to be trending
And is frankly a little offending.
It needs mending
And I feel like spending some time sending
A letter to my MP,
And John Hegley.
Or paying a visit
And if there is a happy ending
Then this is it.

(pause, look at woman in audience) 

Sorry that wasn't the end, missus.
This is.

Thursday, 17 January 2013

Arachnid Anachronism

Sometimes I think that you want me around
As muscle, to hustle
Or lend you a pound
To loosen a jar
For lifts in my car
To Ikea
I fear
It’s never too far
For me to say no
Some balls, I should grow

I should Coco.

And when
All the men are inside ya
Like the clown, I’ll always be stage left
Catching my breath

Trapping a spider.