{fb1000000figures and facts and back him up when his own knowledge lacks). When at last he replied, his voice it was flat, "I'm sorry to say we've got nothing like that."
Epilogue: And if that didn't make me flip my lid, for a pair of naff earphones, he charged me ten quid.
{fb1C00000Friday Night
{fb1000000Fritters and banana cream, Is this all an awful dream? My mind is filled with fetid fruits, And Cinderella's Puss in Boots. The Chemist now is all closed up, So pussy with the devil sups, But Beelzebub devours the lot, And asks of him “Surreal or what?”
Lewis Carrol, eat your heart out! (If the worms haven't got to it yet…)
{fb1C00000Hypocrisy
{fb1000000A pseudo-environmental poem, addressed from the modern 'pseudo-greenie' consumer, to the capitalist system and those who extol the virtues thereof to the detriment of the environment.
The Cosmos spins around itself, As deep into the Earth we delve. Deeper, deeper, underground — See the treasures we have found! The guts of this terrestrial place, We burn and throw off into space. For other peoples there to find, And wonder, Are we out our mind?
As we sit here, feeling smug, What about those holes we've dug? They fill with our discarded waste, Which cannot ever be replaced. Used but once; is that all? Through it now the rats all crawl. "Returned to nature"; is that true? "Not quite, but what else can we do?"
Market Forces rule supreme, "We can't afford to be too green!". The cry resounds throughout the land; "If only something could be planned!" Deaf and blind, what's on their mind? Not one solution can they find. It's left to poets such as I, To cleanse the Earth and heal the sky.
Hypocrisy is running rife, Your words say that you know there's strife, But you still think it's all absurd; "Conservation's for the birds". False faces and your false pretences — Your lies are still your best defences. But they won't always hold so strong, Your time will come, it won't be long.
The people soon will all unite, And you will see their awesome might. All together with one purpose, Cutting down the global surplus. No more greed, no more destruction, Soon will start the reconstruction The planet will be built anew, But it's your fault — it's up to you.
But now I really must confess That this has been a little jest. I'm not a poet, never was, I'm writing for no worthy cause. There's nothing left for me to say, It's all been said, it's all cliché. If we don't act, we'll soon be dead, But I can't be arsed, I'm off to bed.
{fb1C00000<Untitled>
{fb1000000(And I do mean untitled, it's not actually called "<Untitled>", I just can't think of a suitable title, that's all.)
The wind blows warm against your face, The Sun comes up and lights your land, The shadows play upon the trace, Of your footsteps in the sand. Life's a beach, and then you die, But do you ever wonder why?
How can I feel the way I do? Some dots of light, that's all I see My CRT's how I know you, Blurred and vague on my TV. In my mind it's not that far From where I am to where you are.
From time to time, my thoughts will drift Off into the Angel's city, And then my heart will tend to lift From deep despair to pity. That's the happiest I'll be When you're so very far from me.
I gaze around at dark grey clouds, The black stone and the gargoyles grim The seething, massive, faceless crowds, Gothic towers, tall and slim. Demons only haunt this town, Of Limestone grey and sandstone brown
No dazzling towers of blinding light, No West-Coast surf or warming sun, No love to make me feel all-right, I'm alone, I've got no-one. There's somewhere I'd rather be, But would you go there just with me?
But life goes on, or so they say, There's things I have to stay and do. I live my life from day to day, Day to day, and without you. Life's a bitch, and soon I'll die, And if you want I'll tell you why.
{fb1C00000Malta
{fb1000000I went to Malta, but I won't go again 'Cause when I was there it was pissing with rain And the hotel was filthy and terribly cramped And the roof had a leak so my clothes got all damp The waiters were English though the food was Maltese And we could use the bread to keep out the breeze.
The thunder and lightning was aesthetically pleasing I'd have enjoyed it more if I could have stopped sneezing One man
