NO MORE

No more food to eat
No more gas to heat
No more water to drink
No more thoughts to think
No more love to take or give
No more chance or will to live

No more rope to hang from
No more blades to slit wrists with
No more ink for suicide notes
No more paper to write them on

No more nukes to burn us
No more comets to destroy us
No more prophets to deceive us
No more Christs left to save us

No more to save
No more to destroy

Failed entrails and one prize winner

My
One
Won
Prize
For an
Entry in
A Writing
Review of
Restaurant
Competition
Lonely Planet -
Plus compilation
Of Failed entrails

I won a prize
And lost the rest
But who is to say
Which is the best?
Antipathetic contest
Judges cannot suggest:
“These works you will detest”
So why not put them to the test?
Read, perchance, to be impressed.

Hoping for extinction

I’m hoping for extinction
I want to take my life
I’m hoping for extinction
But I can’t use the knife

I’m hoping for extinction
I envy dodo-kind
I’m hoping for extinction
I don’t think you will mind

Where the hell are we going?
There’s nothing worth knowing
Death destroys our life’s meaning
Life spat in my face now I’m leaving

I’m hoping for extinction
Life’s a waste of time
I’m hoping for extinction
It should be made a crime

I’m hoping for extinction
We should be neutered in our prime
I’m hoping for extinction
Cos we ain’t worth a dime

Where the hell are we going?
There’s nothing worth knowing
Death destroys our life’s meaning
Life spat in my face now I’m leaving

I’m hoping for extinction
We’re heading for despair
I’m hoping for extinction
Does anybody care?

I’m hoping for extinction
It wasn’t worthwhile
I’m hoping for extinction
So why can I still smile?

As You Fight It

All the world's a ring,
And all the men and women merely pugilists –
Some sluggers, some swarmers;
And one man in his time fights many bouts,
His matches being twelve rounds.

Last bell of all,
That ends this strange eventful match,
Is second childishness and mere KOblivion;
“Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.”

This be a curse

They fuck you up, those classics past
In leather volumes bound to last,
They fill you with anxiety
Or dreams of notoriety.
But they were ignored in their time
By publishers who couldn’t sense rhyme,
Who took one look and turned away
Or lost it in their filing tray.
Old poets pass pessimism onto young
It heightens like a paper pile of dung,
Stop writing as early as you can
And don’t publish any works yourself.

The garden county of Yorkshire’s footpaths and demonic pitchforks

The Yorkshire moors haunted by Heathcliff and child murderers.

A Moroccan is on trial for raping a traveller,
He wasn’t the first: Yorkshire had its own ripper.

Acid thrown in the face of a woman who complained
When delinquents sat talking throughout Harry Potter.

Race riots rousing the explosive ghettos:
Chapeltown, Harehills, Ravenscliffe, Holmewood.

Insulted and spat at, scorned and insulted,
From Quarry Hill to little Beirut.

The bombers of Bradford: becoming a cliché,
Replacing the scared memories of World War two bombs.

The war of the roses has not yet ended.
The white rose of Yorkshire drenched red with blood,
Blackened by soot, and “dark satanic mills,”
God's Own County going to the devil:
BNP becomes MEP
A bigoted leader elected to represent Yorkshire.

We two Queens - A cruise carol

We two Queens of Wiltshire are,
To win, we’ll write for Samuel Cunard,
Dreaming, hoping, fantasising
Of a cruise aboard white star.

White Star of saunas for muscles tight,
A room with a desk so I can write,
Southampton leading, Zeebrugge proceeding,
Let us have four perfect nights.

Aboard a queen on seas to reign,
Words I write to her entertain,
Ours for four nights, yours forever
Lest you let us there remain.

White star of theatres to excite,
Stars on film screens to delight,
Bruges leading, Rotterdam proceeding,
Let us have four perfect nights.

“Words, words, words” to offer have I,
For marine luxury, I swap my pigsty,
Eating oysters, champagne tasting,
Joyful, salty tears I’ll cry.

White star sailing come twilight
Awestruck by the sublime sight,
Amsterdam leading, Cherbourg proceeding,
Let us have four perfect nights.

The dream of mine is an endless room,
A Borgesian library with infinite volumes,
Reading, thinking, writing, reciting,
Watching words begin to bloom.

White star of dinghies to inflate,
Channel sailing until late,
Normandy leading, Southampton proceeding,
Let us have four perfect nights.

Ship of beauty, a sight for sore eyes,
Land envies sea that engulfs her size,
Breaststroke, frog kick, doggy paddle
Below “De sterrennacht” sapphire skies.

White star of partying till light
Letting the atmos ignite,
Southampton leaving, Wiltshire proceeding,
Let us have just four more nights.