Poems Page One

Curtains help loneliness, but you mustn't touch them

Drugs help pain, but you mustn't like them

Beautiful girls have beautiful bums, but you mustn't turn and look

Grandmothers smell like grandmothers, but you mustn't point it out

Books always have a last page, but you mustn't ever cheat

Life is slowly ticking away, but you mustn't be too enthusiastic

 

 

The Life of a Human:

 

A progressive search for airtight excuses to qualify it's inherent sadness,

it's natural miserable state. See also: marriage, money, overweight, love, alcohol.

 

 

Grass Skiing

 

Two years ago today I fell in love with

the girl whose favorite word then was "bulbous"

We were walking back from a ceilidh, where

we actually danced once but more importantly

it was for Greenpeace

Some guy earlier bumped into her and said "Excuse me"

"...hope I didn't mess up yer tits"

And a second jerk "excuse me but are you a Leo?"

 

So me and the girl with the bulbous nose were

walking home and as I fell in love and thought for a while I said

"Do you realise that some guy could be married to you

for 20 years without mentioning that your constant

humming really really really irritated him"

 

She pointed out that she'd only been humming coz

she was very happy and I think it went quickly

downhill from there.

 

 

Funny how important friends are:

 

There's a big function on

You turn up extra early

You've always been the one who has needed more

To drink

 

And they don't arrive

You drink a bit more

Get irritable

You know no-one else

Feel alienated

Like a toddler at a fatal accident

 

You switch off and drink more

Kill the Paranoid

Hide the Claustrophobe

etc.

 

They

(the friends, now appearing, so straight and docile and predictable)

arrive, only an hour late

but by then you're too bitter

too pissed and pissed

too subsumed in inner barriers

 

you ignore them as politely as possible

say the odd bitter, sarcastic, memorable thing

drink non-stop for an hour

throw up

and head home

 

 

This moment's grace

 

For once I sculled a pint

And sat in silence

Closed my eyes

And enjoyed the warmth in my veins

In the meditation of a drunkard

Fresh from a holiday

Preparing himself for Hell

 

 

A Perfect Death

 

The pain of life complete and gone

Our every pore now pure

Heaven's flat, a new age song

A nothing to endure

 

Wandering souls still wonder bored

They can't remember nothing

Except the final breath of life

Except that painless snuffing

 

But I am rare, a tragic case

I made the front page news

"Maniac removed his face"

In front of tv crews

 

The death recalled is vivid, bright

I relive painful hours

The envy of eternal night

I'm king in empty towers

Retasting blood in drunken lungs

While every saint weeps and cowers

 

 

She says that she'll always be yours

At least until menopause

She's known the hearts of many men

But why do they bore her so?

 

She wakes up when she's missed the morning

Arms outstretched you hear her yawning

"Hey Bob, did we have a good time last night?"

 

 

They're most quiet

Remaining still

Ever thinking and

Entwining the Earth and

Sky with an air of calm soul

 

 

Coke

 

Beat feeling need

All the obvious and other

Places, I find my friend

In a can, always cold

And light and easy

So easy

So crisp to open

Making people aware that I'm

Here and sipping

The nipple hole

The effervescence

Makes my mind sparkle

My smile startle

And nonchalantly

Disposing with the

Crass commercialism

With a crush

 

 

Women

 

"You're not saying much"

"I'm not in the mood"

"When will you be?"

"After I've had a beer"

"Wanna beer?"

"No"

(women)

 

 

The 2nd Coming

 

He came and went

Like a penis spent

Not really sure

What He had meant

Somewhat aloof

And probably bent

He dropped a smile

And wandered off

Staring silent

 

 

Reliable

 

My head turns carefully, don't look down

On a cog of new thoughts

To check that my pint is still

Mine and not yours

 

The twenty nearest conversations

Are scuttling about

In a mock battle

As you prod me with your curious lance

 

The medley of confusia punctuated

By steady sips

And when the noise changes gear

I sluice it to its finish and fumble for

The next balancing act

Of a certain consistency

 

(Owen's Hostel 2/3/93)