Tweet Repeat 48

A bother of spots from a marplot, whose persistant fiddlings undid our creative diddlings and released our plans across the land.

Tweet Repeat 47

Peek-a-boo, I see you 
Naked as the day y'were born. 

Peek-a-boo, I'll see you 
Turned and chased and torn.

A snail’s pace
A snail’s face
A snail’s shell
A snail’s hell
A snail’s trail
A snail’s fail
A snail’s end
A snail’s friend

The pupil who wanted to become teacher

Every pupil wanted to usurp their tutelary master,
But I wanted to do it much, much faster.
And so extra learning became my nights,
The aim of which to win each intellectual fight,
Until I left that old man completely burned out
And went on my way with my genius to flout.

Soon, though, I learned that without direction
I could not reach my momentous delectation,
That without this man I could not reach
The standard I could then to others teach.
But rather than bring me into line
This knowledge led me to my crime.

Impatient always and ever and to the last,
I went less than cooly about my task.
After another put down after impetulance,
I lanced him with absolute impudence,
Before proceeding to beat in his skull
Repeatedly and without a single lull
Until I was restrained and taken to the dungeon,
Where I would no longer be able to bludgeon.

If there is a moral to this odd little tale,
Is it that against your elders you should not rail?
Or to be patient, to hold out for the course?
Or just not kill, not to flog a dead horse?
I don’t know, I never really learned a thing,
That’s why I ended up bound in the clink.

No Ratiocination

Never The Dark Warrior I am simply not capableFallen of ratiocination: will rise but thrice. Bodies

faking, From chocolate hits, Scattalogical to leaves,the extreme, To cream that is whipped, writhing

Always The Dark Warrior No matter how much I eAutumnmploy determination, will takeover twice. Sweat

shaking. Cake and all Thinking about ittrees. a constant stream. things sweet:sliding

Fear The Dark Warrior I can never maintain a traiHandsn of thought, will attack from every angle. Inter

rules, Cola, caramel Worrying always amuffling,bout its state, and sugar beet. locking

Never The Dark Warrior However hard the battle isFeet fought, will rise through dark triangles. Freely

nude. Veg and meats About the toilet shuffling.bowl’s fate. for Sunday roast, fucking

Born The Dark Warrior Flitting from oneHearts thing to the next will not exist. Heavy

worrier, Hot, buttered Mind snaps Eracing,ternally, and jammy toast, breathing

Brow The Dark Warrior From film to pictures Eyesto music to text:will of mist consist. Fleshy

furrower. Muffins, crumpets, Mind cracksfacing. Infernally. scones and cheese:squeezing

Show The Dark Warrior I cannot stay fWarmingocused, may still power retain Climax

concern, Crisps, crackers, Synapse straindays,: Head in pain, sausage please! building

Never The Dark Warrior’s My mind’s toChangingo footloose. future is uncertain Sweet

learn. Thoughts of food I do desire, This compulsion: Mways.y propulsion. Sets my stomach’s lust on fire. releasing

Tweet Repeat 46

Torrid heat gives florid feet.

The Phantasm

The phantasm hung over me nightly,
Fixing me to the mattress with its mad stare.
The phantasm was a beast unsightly,
With long lank black and bloody hair

That would dangle down and scratch my nose,
And I never dared move even my toes.

The phantasm would hang from dusk til dawn,
Hovering only a few feet above my bed.
The phantasm’s mouth was fixed like a yawn
And it would drip blood down upon my head,

Where it would collect and flow to my sheets
Stained red as Christ’s hands and feet.

The phantasm’s blood and hair I felt on my face,
Yet when he left me in the morning
The phantasm’s blood left no physical trace,
But for a slow thought within me dawning:

A phantasm by its very definition
Could only be in my imagination!

The phantasm, then, did not exist,
Though I saw and felt it every night.
The phantasm, then, did consist
Only of thoughts made into fright.

And how do you rid yourself of such a curse
Before you wind up being driven in a hearse,

When the phantasm controls my brain
During the time meant for dreamy rest;
When the phantasm my energy drains
So that I lose every single bravery test?

Surely then I had to accept
A life where I never slept.


But what if I could change my mind?
What if within me I could find
A way to alter this hovering beast
And upon his carcass feast?

What if I could use another part
That would not project hell’s darts?

In the daylight hours I looked for it,
The weapon that would cleave into it,
Push it through and out my brain,
Crush it with a heavy goods train.

It took time, but when the answer I found,
I fell down laughing on the ground.


If this thing was to be found within,
Then maybe I could dictate its horrid grin.
I started with its festering locks,
Cleaning and cutting to a tidier block.

Then the face, starting with the eyes,
Exchanging them for dreamier pies.

A smile that was rank and crooked
Became instead smooth and nicely hooked.
A body emaciated, pale and sallow,
Became something a lot more fallow.

Every part I changed of him,
To create a whole no longer grim,

But instead a spectre of awe and delight,
A beauty to slice this darkness, to smite
The evil one away forever, to be replaced
With a man I wanted to meet face to face.

In my mind’s eye and to my delight
I did: night after night after night after night.

And never did I have a better, deeper, sleep
Than the first time my hand went on a creep,
And changed everything with a gentle rub
As soothing as a long, hot soak in the tub.

And ever after my fears drifted off and away:
Through force of thought and simple pleasures

they were totally allayed.

Tweet Repeat 45

Calliope lived for heroes, 

don't give her none o'those goddamn zeroes:

like a groupie she followed them around, 

seeking to see what and where they would abound:

watching them gain success after near epic fail, 

and recording it all mentally as epic tales:

so she could pass them on with no misnomers, 

most famously to the old man Homer.

The Truth Speaker (unfinished)

The Truth Speaker, also known as The Prison Keeper, 
Was kept away for safety's sake, 
For the words that he spake
Would incarcerate rather than liberate.

A mind fried, it's future denied
By an overloading of information
That replaced a lack of notions
An ignorance in realisation

That sought to discover, not to need to recover
All the sanity that created a self
Becoming little more than a shelf
Stocked with all bits of knowledge./With nothing but knowledge.

But all the same
despite this shame

Beware of The Truth Speaker
Also known as The Prison Keeper
How much do you want to know?

Be careful of The Truth Speaker
Be careful with those two peepers
The future can cover you in snow.

Mind out for The Truth Speaker
Watch out for this havoc wreaker
He is dangerous as a swords’s blow.

He calls the knaves Jacks, this boy!

From childhood I thought we were destined,
As are all who climb into and share skins.
I grew up dreaming and planning our life,
Seeking always to avoid unnecessary strife
By building myself up to be worthy of you,
And not slide into the almighty pauper-stew.
But although I managed to climb up and along
We never got closer to completing our song,
For you were always cold and distant as stars
Your heart always unassailably far.

I should have known, right from the very start
That I would never be able to win your heart,
That you too were a pawn in a game against men,
A trap to ensnare all of my kind and my ken;
That I was never to even your time let:
I should have known from that sentence,

the first time that we met.

My language and my being appalled you,
This reaction remained ever to be true,
Everything else was merely pretence.

Tweet Repeat 44

He may have been the most wifty of knaves but in battle he moved swiftly and brave.

Tweet Repeat 43

The skirls swirled around the castle grounds causing girls to whirl upon the castle mounds.

Those were the times (war)

Those were the times that war became even more insane,
The times that made each action ever more inane:
When enemies came together in camaraderie,
When enemies showed respect for professional longevity-

We’d get on so well,
Then blow each other to hell.
We would shake hands,
Then fight for No Man’s Land.

One time we chatted while collecting our dead,
Exchanging stories of the women we had wed;
Another saw us talk of fields occupied by our brothers,
And what we would never write home to our mothers:

Ever condensing our shared experience
Within snatches of time with expediency.
Because on each side we were the same:
Pawns playing out the politician’s game.

Those times made a sham and a mockery of sacrifice,
And showed what could be done by a trap full of mice
That our leaders had quite simply failed to achieve,
Leaving the populace in the path of this grand cleave.

We would have ended it any day,
If we had just known the way;
Rather than remain stout professionals
Killing with an ever-growing arsenal-

Yes, we would have ended it any day,
Downed tools and walked swiftly away,
But for our stiff resolve and sense of duty-
Those things that made us quite, quite loony.

So that all we had were those times war laid down
And we populated the fields of mud brown
With minds full of peace,
Searching desperately for reprieve.

The Fates of Richard Parkers

Richard Parker, Richard Parkers,
Their fates could not have been much darker:
Slain to fulfil a need
By those beyond simple greed,
With only the wish to survive,
To return and their life revive
At any cost,
Whatever’s lost,
For life and soul
Is a nasty toll
For coming home alive.

Richard Parker, Richard Parkers,
From home they can’t have seemed much farther,
When the knife pierced their skin,
Or the air was kept from within,
By those who had held their nerve
And never from their need swerved:
To blood spill
And bellies fill,
To gain even a few
Days to wait for rescue,
While Parker his sentence served.

Richard Parker, Richard Parkers,
The cost could not have been larger
For a life spent away at sea,
That ended in catastrophe,
Turned from person to a source of meat,
Claimed later as a necessary feat:
To kill to live,
Ethics sieved,
No longer nice,
No self-sacrifice-
Parker’s conclusion made awfully neat.

Richard Parker, Richard Parkers,
Slain by those with minds sharper,
Or losers at the drawing of lots:
The end of a desperate plot.
Poor wretches,
Death fetches
All in the end,
He never can lend
Time for that’s all that you’ve got.

Tweet Repeat 42

A tucket for pucket! Let it sound aloud across the grounds and bring peeps in for a fling with a game where we all start the same.

Unwieldy Oaf

I am an unwieldy oaf, never taking the time to use my loaf to control my limbs, letting them flail about, exceptionally dim, risking the eyes of passers-by, endangering as if they were pests, people's pets and inanimate objects.  I have no awareness of body and space, only dreams dancing behind my face, clouding this judgment most necessary, even when I’m not in a hurry, means I frequently have to apologise, as my victims roll their eyes to the skies.  

For I’m such an unwieldy oaf - possessor of a wonky, ineffectual loaf.

I say!

I say eructation,
I say micturate:
Not to sound knobbish,
Though that may be my fate.

One can't help their upbringing,
The education they gain:
Though it informs their whole life,
Even the words that they say.

Tweet Repeat 41

His sciential mind drove his thoughts and motives as he offered sciential Gods experimental votives.

Tweet Repeat 40

These solstitial days feel so artificial: forced to cohabit with family rabbits, twitching and itching to be free, to return to normality.

A contract killer

He and his watch were stem-winders,
Which made him the greatest finder
And dispatcher of men this side
Of the Atlantic’s clockwork tides.

Always placed, on time, appropriately:
Always clean and quick, professionally.
His face and his prints will never be seen,
A body was the only evidence he’d been.

His family thought he was merchant banker,
His victims thought he was an arch wanker.
He knew he was mafia filler,
We know he was a contract killer.

Tweet Repeat 39

I'd like here to be more absurd... 
...like a pirate with a hull of pea curd... 
...with not one parrot but whole herds... 
...so he's constantly covered in turds... 

 ...but that seems more stupid than absurd.

Meere bugge-beares to scare boyes

“Childe, stray not across the sunlit path
Into the the forest bleak, damp and dark:
For that is where
Lives the dreaded Bugbear.

“The Bugbear is not wiry and small,
As are other goblins, but rather tall
And built like a bear,
A goblin quite fantastically rare,

“With great hairy hands that could rip
Off your face, huge teeth not just to nip
But to gnaw and chew and tear
Your head from your hair.

“So, childe, keep away from the woods,
Or you will be nothing but snack food
For the fearsome Bugbear
That lives over there.”

That’s what I told him, that’s what I said
And he believed me just like the books that he’s read.
Still I’d rather he believed a lie
Than trip.  And fall.  And die.

Tweet Repeat 38

A triumverate of cocks up on the wall, each stood proudly upon its balls.

Lavatory art the basest of things, from slander and filth to these ding-a-lings.

Little robin red breast

Little robin red breast pecking at my feet,
Little robin red breast with a taste for meat.
It's hard to get annoyed at my own blood's
Sight when nature here is like a flood:
Never have I seen so much so close before,
Nor this level of exposed and nasty gore.

I have flies buzzing hungrily round my thighs,
I got ants literally within my pants,
I feel the chaffing pinches of many chaffinches
As they make the cuts that will spill out my guts
So that snails can sup on my entrails;
And now a jackdaw crunching through my jaws.

I have worms working through my toes,
Working alongside their usual foes
To work apart and feast on the inside
Of my feet, my hands, my front and hide.
And on my lips I can feel the rough kiss
Wrought by the talons of a magpie’s fist-

I'd taste the blood but my tongue's been taken
By a helpful and friendly Tower raven.
My joy may seem to some feigned,
And even though I am racked with pain,
I am joyful as a pig in mud,
Even as I hear the thud

Of my hand, now departed
To the place we all started,
To where we shall return
Via grave or fire and urn-

And, oh what a pleasure!
To be so close to nature!
And, oh what a pleasure!
To be soon parts of nature!

For when through this bench I fall
I will join the glory of all-
Taking on a brand new wife
To be with through eternal life.

Nothings ends but carries on:
Energy to energy ever on;
I do not see a way to die
If with nature I fortify.

Books on the loose!

I can tell from the shelves there are books on the loose,
Like that song with the lines about a moose in the hoose.
Scattered they lie on tables like the wounded in battle,
Round them up I must like great herds of cattle.
Out to them I trudge like a shepherd in fog,
Or another part in the library machine, a cog
And build mini towers of books to carry home,
Back to the shelves and place in the order of tomes
As prescribed by our old friend Melville Louis Kossuth Dewey,
Knowing that it’ll be the same again real soon - oh phooey!

Tweet Repeat 37

My pandect is I'm President Elect(ed by no one) and that's how it goes - NOW WHERE ARE MY HOS?

Tweet Repeat 36

It was slimsy, flimsy whimsy that day. 

But anything seems OK when you get paid.

Demiurge

When Demiurge arranged chaos one day,
He did not know it would end this way:
For with order comes power and wealth,
A combination that proves bad for your health:
Whether exploiting or under the cosh.

From the very first fences and walls,
From the very first palatial halls:
To all crops: wheat, fruit, honey,
To all wealth: gold, coins, money:
Everything was made to divide

All things make small or make tall:
All things are used to make trip and fall;
Gender, race, sexuality, perceived normality,
Class, politics, human history and geography:
Everything is used to divide

When Demiurge arranged chaos one day,
He did not know it would end this way:
It seemed that (he was really) doing the world a favour,
For without order there'd be no good things either:
It's just a shame about the bad stuff.

Tweet Repeat 35

The ground, for Yuri, was lifeless mounds:
The air, for him, contained all that was sweet and fair.
Until the day his luck did end 
And heaven did unto him forfend. 
Yuri, a man who could not bare not to fly 
Was thrown down cruelly from the sky.

Mallacht Chromail ort

Cromwell - divided by the Irish Sea,
A double headed man to me.
On one side a merman, guider, protector,
On the other a tyrant, criminal, murderer.
Slayer of a king but also of people
In the name of the owner of steeples.
A temporary eraser of monarchical woe,
A permanent changer of the ordered flow,
Yet a righteous condemner of the defeated
To trialess bloody massacre or from land unseated
Into the west, to hell, or to Connacht,
Or away across seas, muscles fraught.

Everywhere a legacy for the ages,
Everyone paying his ghost wages,
As he is remembered differently
By each Tom, Dick and Harry.
But always and ever is talk of that curse,
Which, for me, is getting decidedly worse:
Can you judge in isolation,
Should you judge as a whole?
Political dislocation,
Nations buried in holes.

the northampton square spider

the northampton square spider watches over us all
spinning a web within which we must fall
but not in any way that would be sinister
but as a bed for weary misses and misters

the northampton square spider keeps us all calm
by playing her web to ward off any alarm
she spins us clothes of silk
she feeds us fly blood milk

the northampton square spider is our first and last
we are now stuck together gladly fast
for this spider is now our mother
we no longer need another

Tweet Repeat 34

As pungent, as keen, as the knife was, it was nothing compared to the stink it unleashed on the city after piercing the mayor's insides.

To move from pies toward worldy-wise

Often I've wished I were worldly-wise and not just the guy who eats the pies with ever expanding thighs and ever deader eyes with whom it's hard to sympathise. 

But the world outside is a mystery, I only know interiors, I’ve never felt the urge to flee, to go beyond my own posterior, only wish to be sedentary, always to me the choice less inferior.

Yet doubts creep in, what if I’m missing something – what if an outside fling changes everything, makes me sing louder than a flock of starlings – creates within me a whole new meaning?

At the moment, though, a change is too hard, my mind is set against flow, set concrete hard: I’ll just keep down low, stay down real hard, I’ll block it out with stereo, try it real hard.

So, to move from pies toward world-wise?  This is something for my future to try.

Tweet Repeat 33

With thimble rig I trick you with my jig,

In a game of shells I'll bring you merry hell.

Some get angry, say I cheat each woman and man:

I say, hey, it's just a trick, a sleight of hand.

Tweet Repeat 32

The benevolent dictator was good in many ways, I remember, but also had off days. 

I mean, who needs a free alligator?

Tweet Repeat 31

It only took a minim for me to become a victim,
When, to the delight of the local boys,
I was voided by brown noise.

Tweet Repeat 30

The epitome of my tweets so far/Perhaps one day I will be a star/Til then these rhymes/Will be my only crimes/Anywho: I have nothing to mar!

A problem for a pilot before the Battle for Gray’s Inn and West Smyth Fields

I tried to placate him with food,

I tried to placate him with words:

I tried desperately to alter his mood

And go out to face Underearth birds.

But it’s hard to be in charge,

Of a creature so incredibly large.

It is one almighty feat

To get his wings to beat

And take on the incoming hordes,

Taking one big piece from the board.

So when a giant mead-filled flagon

Won’t do it, you just have to say,

In a downtrodden, sigh-ridden way:

“That’s the risk when using dragons”.

Tabloid journalists are the bankers of the press

My oh my!
How the fourth estate can bombinate!
So much guff in the form of rebuffs,
Tits only the beginning of beliefs sexist,
Plus suspicion presented as intuition
Leading to the sort of hate that can only instigate
Or breed into bruises and bleeding.

Line the gutter with these fuckers!
Pulp and burn and feed to worms!
Consign them all to the bin,
We cannot let these bastards win
In destroying our society -
Let us make them entirely history!

Please-
Only present us with news that's news,
Not celebrity gossip and leering views;
Do not kick up sand,
Do not incite the land:
Bring us together,
Bring peace forever
Or leave us forever in peace.

Tweet Repeat 29

Opposite socks (almost, but not quite) make me oh!-so quirky,

Opposite socks (almost, but not quite) make my legs feel jerky:

When hidden by smart trousers and shirt,
I hope they do not hurt 
The Company through complaints
from those without taste:
My! It would be such a waste
Of lovely opposite socks (almost, but not quite).

For, in them, I'm quite a fox ;-) -

All the girls go crazy

At my hair quite wavy:
They dig my flowing locks,
Matched with magical opposite socks (almost, but not quite)!

           

pic.twitter.com/e6g7Kn7