Journal Entries
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poems
Posted Mar 4, 2002
Hmmm....
We never had sex
And it breaks my heart to think
That I could die or be dead
And you wouldn't know or care.
I used to sniff your underwear
When you left the room,
Left me on the edge of your bed
Wishing you would give me head.
You brought me cups of tea instead.
We never had sex
And when I masturbate I contemplate
Your skill between the sheets,
Your grace beneath the covers
That, had we been lovers,
I would have known.
We never had sex,
You never made me grunt,
I never made you moan.
Impressionable
Can you resist wet cement?
Do you ignore it, as you are meant,
Or do you always leave a shoe-shaped dent?
Clare.
Clare,
I like your hair.
I'd like to see your underwear
And remove it with care,
Clare.
I'd like to kiss you on the lips.
I'd like to stroke your wobbly bits.
I want to grasp you
By the hair,
Clare.
I'm sorry to be indelicate.
I'd like to be angelic, but
I can only spout perverted sput.
There you go,
I love you and I don't care,
Clare.
Modern Romance
Loving you is like
Banging
My head against
A brick wall.
It's only when the
Blood spatters,
That I begin
To feel
Small.
Indigestion Love Poem
Slowly and surely as Shirley
Sink I into the sea.
With my backpack and my frontpack
I shimmer through the weeds.
As a seahorse,
Not a main course
For a shark,
I float alone.
For surely as my name is Shirley
My hair will drift all squirly
And all the things that slipper and skipper
With a flip of the flipper
And the gradual grazing gradient
Browsing on the brink
Of the washer and the sink
With the tea bag fish
That swim in seas of tea
Will be me.
Acne Blues
I've got a spot,
Which is not
Very nice,
On my face.
It takes up
Too much space
Which it fills
For the thrills
That it gets
When I squeeze it,
When I tingle
And tease it.
Bad Old Greg
"I hope I don't die before closing time",
Said he, sinking into his beer,
"This pub is a place for the rats", he said,
"I know I don't want to die here".
So he lit up a fag and took a long drag
And his head slid down to the floor,
Then his eye popped out and wriggled about,
Down the lino and out of the door.
Note on an Envelope
I hope you
Don't need
This Envelope.
If you do,
And it's
Important,
We could
Always
Elope
On the Back
Of a passing
Antelope
(To Guadeloupe)
.
To Jo
I don't think it's rude
To be in the nude,
But my desire to see you so
Might be thought of as lewd.
Sense of Urgency
Do you find it unappealing,
The bogey that's congealing
On my face?
Why do you gri-mace
With such distaste?
Make haste and eat it
Before it flakes away.
Hurry,
It won't be there all day.
Sephin
I am breaking no law
(am I?),
As I hammer at the doors
Of your heart.
Except perhaps an obscure law
Of etiquette
I haven't come across yet.
Ever since we first met
My mind was set on wooing
And almost subduing you
Round to my way of thinking.
I decided you didn't mind
My stinking, reeking hole
Of a room
And when you walked in
You lifted the gloom
And blew out the dust.
You're a must, the top
Item on my list.
Even when pissed
The charm you exude
Is far from rude.
Josephiner,
You could never misdemeanour
And I love you.
Scents of Relief
I've just pooed a submarine
The like of which I've never seen.
It curled around the basin twice
And what is more,
It smelt quite nice.
Of spice.
Cinnamon, I think.
Flea
Be it a flea?
A flea it be,
Come to suck
The blood from me,
Slippin’ and a-slurpin’
Upon my flesh,
Sieving my cells
Through its mouthy mesh.
Barbara Cartland.
The sleek insistence of his mouth
That, plunger-like, pressed into yours,
Sought in vain to draw you out,
To clasp you in his maws.
Slimfast
Barry Bethall came on the telly
Showing off his shrunken belly.
“It used to wobbly like Jelly!”
Said Barry.
He thought he looked really cool,
The sad old tool.
Mr Holt (senior).
There is a man in the land
Who, whenever he pisses,
He often misses;
He gets it down his trousers
And on his hands.
He must have blockage
In his glans.
Tueuhhh
Jo didn’t know
She would eventually go
Even though
I often told her so.
I did
So she did.
Catholic Girls
Catholic girls regain their sense of decency
Just before they go to bed with me
And even though there are often hints
That they would like to behave
Like nymphomanic bints
They are just hints
And, actually, they resent being referred to as bints.
Pat
“Pat the dog!”, I said,
So she punched me in the head;
She turned around and knocked me to the ground
With one of her hard upper-cutters.
She hadn’t noticed the dog
Looking up at ‘er.
When she had gone,
The dog came up and bit me.
To Mark
It’s all such a hunky dory funky glory story, from my cousin Rory who lives in Tobermory. It gets a bit gory, but that’s the interesting part, the, erm, if you like, the art. It involves the removal of organs; lungs, liver, heart. There’s a journey in a cart, an old man who does nothing but fart and a moped that just won’t start. And then you get to the interesting part, the bit where the couple make up and kiss, well instead they wriggle and writhe like snakes and they hiss. Sssssss. Did I say that was the most interesting bit? Well I must have been talking... I must have been talking baloney, because I forgot to mention the baddie, evil Stony Tony. He makes love to a pony, the soundtrack is Mony Mony (the Billy Idol version, I’m afraid). Not just his lack of taste, but his lack of haste, the size of his waist all make him one fine pig of a villain, he goes on a killin’. He’ll kill his mother for less than a shilling, but, heaven willing, he’ll get his just desserts and it really hurts. That’s it, you can fill the rest in yourself. Merry Christmas and good health.
Girl
Press on your dog-dick lip-stick stick on smile.
Purse and press your pout, push your bust out.
Cross your legs to reveal a length of thigh.
Vaguely and imperceptibly sigh.
Roll your eyeballs upwards in their black mascara slits.
Stroke the muscled morons and snigger at the sag-bellied gits.
And remember, sex is for pleasure, love is for s***s.
Please Insert Name.
______ I think I love you,
I’m sorry but it’s true;
I’d like to spend a lot of time
Acquainting myself to you.
I’d like to take you out
For a meal and perhaps a drink,
Maybe we’d go dancing
And then later... What d’you think.
Oh, I know my clothes are shabby
And seriously out of date
And my belly’s getting flabby
And my dancing’s second rate
And I watch too much telly
So my eyes have got huge bags
And my breath is really smelly
‘Cos I smoke too many fags.
Yes, I know that I’m not up to much,
Not really much of a dancer,
But I think that you should try me out
Because I will take no for an answer.
Long Shot.
I’m just a sad romantic fool
With ideas above my station
So I pray to the Deity
To give me elevation
To a level of attraction
That would aid in the seduction
Of the someone to whom my heart must be true.
I’m afraid that someone must be you.
Jo’s Amazing Toes
Jo’s amazing toes,
They pick up socks and discarded hose.
Before I die, wherever I goes
I’ll tell the world ‘til everyone knows
Of wonderful Jo’s amazing toes.
Tesco’s
Seduced by the goods that were reduced
When purchasing provender for dinner and luncheon;
Brown bread and cheese, some lettuce to crunch on.
Dance the trolley dance along the busy aisles,
Try to avoid collision and apologetic smiles.
Checkout at the checkout the girlfriends and the wives
As the checkout girls assess us all, toting up our lives;
The sundries, the groceries, the toothpaste and shampoo,
Detergent, bleach, a meal for one (Tyne Brand value stew).
She looks at me dispassionately as I’m handing her my card.
She’s bored and tired, I’m still half wired and I’m starting to get hard.
“All right mate,” she hears me say, “What time d’you finish work?”
“Oh, not tonight, I’m feeling s****e.” My cock has gone berserk.
I sneak a peck on the side of her neck when she isn’t looking.
She throws that poisonous face at me; a yellow card and booking.
So, home I go to unpack my goods, a treasure trove of wealth,
The fabulous wares from around the world, and I put them on the shelf.
Littlun
People say I have a childlike mind
And I don’t think that’s too unkind
But the thing that gets me quite upset
Is when they say I haven’t grown up yet.
Mitten
There’s dog s**t in the alley,
At least I think it is.
It could come from a human
In this stench of s**t and piss.
There’s a single children’s mitten
Lying by the turd.
It’s small and blue and woollen
And fluffy and absurd.
Willy
A penis, however hard one tries,
Is difficult to romanticise.
Be it small, thin and puny,
Or be it purple, huge and veiny,
It mostly hangs and loosely dangles,
Or sometimes pokes at awkward angles.
It will often smell foul and pungent,
It squirts out muck, sticky and unguent.
Yes, a penis is an ugly tool
And should be hidden, as a rule.
Summer
Summertime, the leaves are out,
The morning birds do scream and shout.
The smiling daisies; up they pop,
The little froggies hop hop hop.
It’s Summertime, the grass is green
And so’s the moss all in between.
The light reflected in the dew
Is bright and shiny, just like you.
It’s Summertime, there’s something wrong;
My pinky digits have all gone.
I’ve lost my fingers and my toes;
I’m writing this with my nose!
Lovesong
When I get home from work at night, tired and smeared with filth and grime,
You never shudder, as you might, but hold me so, despite the slime.
And when we wake at break of day, my tongue all furred with carpet
You never fail to kiss my mouth even though it’s like an armpit.
Though I’ve passed into decay, my stink, my sags, my blubber,
You somehow still desire me, and not some handsome other.
Another F*****g Love Song.
It’s another f*****g love song, gnawing at my mind.
They play them on the radio all the f*****g time
And when you watch the tv there’s bound to be one playing.
There’s always f****g love songs and they’re always f*****g saying
That ‘I love you and I need you and I really can’t get by’,
Or, ‘I want you so it, it hurts so bad, it makes me want to cry’.
And these f****g awful love songs with their f*****g awful words
Sung by pathetic pouting teenagers or slightly balding turds
Are f*****g up my sanity and it’s getting f*****g worse.
The f*****s won’t stop singing the words that won’t stop saying
That ‘I love you’ and ‘I need you’ and dear God I’m praying
That the f*****s stop their whining, their drivelling s****e
But the radio’s been playing all the f*****g night.
This one’s nothing more than a sugar coated pill,
An auditory valium; it makes me want to kill.
The problems getting worse, I’m not sure what to do;
Every f*****g love song reminds me of f*****g you.
Doh.
I’m just a sad and lonely twisted f**k
With a mind that’s full of filth and muck
And it’s other blokes have all the luck.
I might as well give up.
A life without love
Is like a left handed glove;
It isn’t right,
It’s a pile of s****e.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Mar 4, 2002
Ash Wednesday
Posted Feb 13, 2002
Well, a filthy cross smeared on my forehead and If I'm lucky I won't be assassinated by a bullet hitting its intersection (Buendia boys style). Seventeen of the poor buggers. Oh well.
Think i might give up axle grease his year. I reckon I can do without it for forty days. I mean, what's forty days? And you certainly don't find axle grease in the wilderness - you can be sure the good lord abstained and so shall i.
Maybe it should be called wash Wednesday - big nasty smear that it is.
Never ever ever ever.
Not again.
I promise.
And I mean that.
This time.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Feb 13, 2002
Typo errors
Posted Feb 12, 2002
I make loads of them - please ignore and interpret freely
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Feb 12, 2002
PANCAKE DAY
Posted Feb 12, 2002
IT'S PANCAKE DAY. WEH HEY. I'LL SAY IT AGAIN. IT'S PANCAKE DAY.
Oh bliss. I like a bit of lemon juice and a small amount of honey on mine. I can also recommend a little bit of hazelnunt and chocolate spread - don't go overboard - it can be a bit sickly in large doses.
In the rest of the world it's Greasy Tuesday and everybody goes mad feasting and partying, having insane carnivals with lusty latin dancing and fireworks.
We, the English, with our famous reserve, have pancakes - small pools of hot fried batter.
Still, I like to have both.
Tomorrow it's Ash Wednesday and then it's lent.
I'm giving up aquaplaning and thrombosis.
After tomorrow it's Valentines day! The excitement of the fever month never ends. I was never that much taken with V D though. Don't know why.
Discuss this Journal entry [1]
Latest reply: Feb 12, 2002
HO HUM
Posted Feb 11, 2002
Still not able to make a guide entry.
I like the flowers
I like the daffodils
I like the mountains
I like the rolling hills
And I like the fireside
When the lights are low
Singing a doo wop a doo wop a doo wop a doo wop
Discuss this Journal entry [2]
Latest reply: Feb 11, 2002
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Djrossiross
Researcher U187520
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