Posts tagged "poetry"

'Past One O'Clock' by Vladimir Mayakovsky


She loves me-loves me not.
My hands I pick
and having broken my fingers
fling away.
So the first daisy-heads
one happens to flick
are plucked,
and guessing,
scattered into May.
Let a cut and shave
reveal my grey hairs.
Let the silver of the years
ring out endlessly !
Shameful common sense -
I hope, I swear -
Will never come
to me.

Upon sighting a cheese
I may want to lick my lips
And raise my hands
So as to get to grips

With great yellow hunks
Of bliss. Just to press
Upon on my tongue
An Edam slice and caress

It with my teeth sounds
Sordid, yes, but one feels
Such a thrill. At once my
Mind, so lofty, swiftly reels

Back down to earth. It would
Seem that the man behind the glass
Display does not appreciate my
Slobbering everywhere, thinks it crass

Of me to soak the cabinet with the
Drippings of my cheese lust.
Fine, I’ll leave, but I will return
With renewed vigour and thrust

Myself over the counter, knocking you
Aside as I inhale deeply and in my head
Begin to swim in melty Cheddar currents:
Fulfilling cheesy desires best left unsaid.

Such a fabled rear-end
Is said to be made of brisket
Matters not: for it shall bend
To the will of just one biscuit

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

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


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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