Posts tagged "poem"

Once upon a time
There was a little plum
He could not rhyme
But had significant bum

Chips for fingers

Quite useless, I’m afraid
They’re the greasy sort
Causes type to fade
But I’m a good sport:

They smell fucking delicious

Perhaps tomorrow a windy day
To set me off on my windy way
Towards a good old belly-ache
Having dabbled with beef steak

Scrabbling off up the stair
Stopping only for a swear
At passing jerk-faced birds
With the finest of coarser words

I’m here! Some rest at last
And space to park my fine ass
For a moment, I appear to muse
But it’s set - a two hour snooze

Oh look another little ditty
About blood, just can’t get
Enough of it
Well that’s not quite true
It’s been well-documented
That I’d like to be rid of
The stuff

Dry, dry veins if you please
Let them turn to dust
While the old lump rots
To be replaced by jam jar
Or custard bowl

Put my feet to the flames
By wearing too-thin socks
With holes round the heels
Or just pop them in the oven
To cook them up well-done
With parsnips

Philosophy of Environment, 2pm, Dugald Stewart Building

Have you got a handout?
Such is the form of greeting
as you step through the door
Well, no - I just got here
Best take one then

With a sheepish Spanish smile
(The instructor is Spanish and
Has a Spanish name)
Oh I will, thank you and sit
Down and sluggishly begin
To remove one’s coat

A small nap until everyone
Has arrived and a longer nap
Throughout the lecture part
Of the class, perking up when
Some smug prick gurns and says
Don’t want to be pedantic but…
But it’s too late, you’ve started
And one must titter at your
Concern over how the word
Nature is defined at this juncture

Spanish prodding to encourage
More chatter in the room
But this is the domain of one
Or two, occasionally three,
Gurning smug pricks who,
Like everyone else, have
Nothing to talk about but
Still perist in talking about
Nothing, loudly

Then we all bugger off with, presumably, better things to do.

Awaking as blubbering mess
With clogged-up nose holes
And should like to stress
My feeling like many bowls
Of lumpy custard, you know,
The bad kind, like runny dough.

Pins and Needles

Hopping around the living-room
Seems the only answer to shake
Off what I must presume
To be my own mistake

But another choice remedy:
Stare at the treacherous hand
And offer bad stand-up comedy
Until it submits to one’s command

Or just chop the bugger off
(As I will oft resort to do)
You can chuck it in the trough
and, while they grow back, make stew!


Took a shrink ray to my frame
(Smiling like a wild hobgoblin)
In order to cast shame
Upon some dastardly hemoglobin

'Oi! Get your friggin' act
Together, lads, or prepare
To suffer my keen iron impact
Upon your wotsits and despair!’


Bearing rust on me mug
Looks no bloody fun at all
Yet I still feel smug
On my walk down the hall

What might seem a spotty
field is, in fact, a cunning case
Of making you think I’m dotty
While I’ve got lasers in me face

pew pew pew


n. a hoarder of books.


n. an expert or skilled eater

I'm Mark. I'm 25 and I teach at a college in London.

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