Posts tagged “Poetry


gonna spend some time
on my playstation,
maybe watch an episode
of clafornication
or indulge in a little
bit of masturbation.


today i feel happy.
today i am sad.
today i feel lonley.
today i am glad.

today i feel silly.
today i am smart.
today i feel empty.
today i have heart.

today i feel brilliant.
today i am small.
today i feel like
i am fifteen foot tall.

tomorrow i think
i’ll take
the bloody
day off.

True love

She was beautiful
And kind and sweet,
Had a laugh
Like forest raindrops.

I thought about her
All the time,
And wanted her to know
Just how i felt.

I showed her my love,
Just what she did to me.
The policeman said
Its called ‘indecent exposure’.


I want to be owned by you
And broken by you,
Give myself to you
And be destroyed by you.


Eat me up and spit me out,
Throw away the key
Do whatever you want with me,
but never set me free


Make me yours,
And make me pay.
My pain, your pleasure
My loss, your treasure


I am

a few sandwiches short of a picnic
a few bricks short of a wall
a few lines short of a poem
a few dancers short of a ball

a few feet short of a mile
a few notes short of a tune
a few days short of a month
a few craters short of a moon

a few stitches short of a dress
a few words short of a novel
a few pixels short of a bitmap
a few whores short of a brothel


i am so sentence right now,
that i can’t even string a stoned together.
i am so high today,
that sense makes any nothing at all.
i do worry sometimes,
that i might have brained my damage.
but who fucks a give
as long as i’m having a ball?

Your picture

i stare at your photo, wondering
what it was you were smiling
so sweetly at, imagining
that it was me, knowing
that it wasn’t but wishing
that it could be.


i am not the boy my mother wanted me to be.
i was the boy your mother told you not to play with.
i grew myself up, and i made me, me
and on the way i fucked up royally.

i watched my friends get brought up properly.
i saw them educated every day.
i though was left all alone and free,
but i’m glad that i got to make me, me.


words for me are everything.
you can do anything with words.
they don’t have to be spoken
or whispered
or screamed.
just ink on paper
or pixels on a screen,
paint on a wall
or shit smeared across a front door.

words carry emotions.
words can fuck you up.
words can heal you.
they can terrify you
or arouse you.
you can fall in love to words
and even learn to hate.
you can kill with words
or just use them to help you masturbate.

My followers

i think you’re neat pete
and that wobsy does the jobsy
you are my star la la
don’t take the piss little miss

you make me swoon june
i like your name jayne
you make me sin robin
lets dance to jazz paz

you are a silly one gillian
have you heard bird
the others 1 is fun
and we all love joeyann

you fill the void gigoid
i am your man lsam
you are a smiler laila
and you never make me yawn dawn

you’ll send me to hell isabelle
you’re quite a catch, snarkysnatch
do not fret anette
i like the stink of your ink

i am your fan big gay man
treat me kindly heidi
make me merry mari
and make me linger linda

i like your moans ms jones
for your thoughts a penny jenni
nothing rhymes with after hours 78
that’s the kinda shit i hate

sorry if i missed anyone, its not because i don’t love you dearly, but because nothing rhymes with your name. blame your parents.

RIP Mrs Bucket

I am sorry to inform you, but sadly Mrs Bucket has passed away. She was found here in Kyle’s office this morning, clutching a picture of his unimpressive dick, having drowned in a sizeable pool of her own love juice.

My name is Sally Dofuckall, and I will be taking over until Kyle returns, which should not be long. He sends his kindest regards and says he is having a great abduction, he is particularly enjoying the orifice probes that these aliens so like to employ. He has met God, who he thought was a dicksplash and Elvis, who he thought was a god. He say’s that Joan of Arc gives great head and that Mother Teresa is into fisting.

I found this poem in his drafts. I hope he doesn’t mind me publishing it, I’m not sure it is finished.

i wanna dance with you
i wanna romance with you
i wanna fly with you
and get high with you

i wanna cry with you
i wanna die for you
i wanna come in you
and have fun with you

i wanna sleep with you
or count sheep with you
if we can’t

Profanities removed

I was able to find only one draft of Mr Mew’s that was suitable for publication. I hope that my removal of certain profanities has not detracted from your enjoyment in any way.

i want you to ★★★★ my ★★★★
i wanna make you ★★★★
because i think you rock
and i know it would be fun

i wanna ★★★★ you in the ★★★
and ★★★★ on your ★★★★
because you make me laugh
and i love you to bits

please let me me kiss your ★★★★★
and worship your ★★★★
i know this might sound wussy
but its always worth a punt.

Until next time, please do have fun, just not too much.



Damn it Janet

damn it,
you are the most beautiful woman on the planet.
you give me me a hard-on that feels like granite.
and we would never have met,
if it wasn’t for the internet.
i wish your name were janet,
then this bloody poem would rhyme.

Nothing gets me hotter

i’m trying to diversify
and not just write clit lit
but the numbers of visits that i get
goes up when i write that shit

i thought i might try poetry
i could even do horror, i bet
but all i really wanna do
is make your pussy wet.

flash fiction might be all the rage
and poetry is fun
but nothing gets me hotter
than writing words that make you come

Your open mouth

Nothing is as beautiful
As you are when you come.
Your open mouth,
Your half closed eyes,
The quivering of your thighs.

I felt

I felt so happy that I’d found her.
I feel so stupid now I’ve lost her.

I felt so clever when she laughed at my jokes.
I feel so stupid now she won’t pick up the phone.

I felt so light, now I feel so heavy.
I felt so full, now I feel so empty.

I felt so fulfilled,
Now I just feel horny.

Thanks to  Jane for  the idea.


Think of yourself
As a pan of water
And me as the fire
Of the stove underneath.
Softly I lick you,
Slowly you feel
Little ripples of heat
Scampering through you.

The window wide open,
And cold morning air
Wafts gently across you
In icy contrasts.
The heat growing stronger,
Rising up through you,
You roll like an ocean
In long slow convulsions.

Bubbles now swarming
Through you and up you,
Stinging and bursting
On your surface in gasps.
The bubbles now grow
In size and in number,
You pop and you fizzle
And writhe and spit steam.

You rise up again,
You have no control,
And you spill and you burst
Out of the pan
In long, thick cascades,
Screaming my name,
You fizz and you gurgle
And froth down the sides.

We lie there quite still
Just trembling slightly,
I am extinguished
And you are quite empty.
Somebody calls
From a kitchen somewhere,
“Mum has forgotten
To turn the stove off again.”

Vagina diner

there is nothing that tastes finer
than a good vagina diner.
from the rooftops hear me shout,
“girl i wanna eat you out.

forget that meat injection
or your nasty yeast infection,
and do not think it wussy,
that i wanna taste your pussy.

how i wish that they made snacks
that tasted like your snatch.
The only problem that i’m havin’
is finding a word that rhymes with cunnilingus.


i am a puddle and you are the rain
fill my dripping soul with your tears
evaporate me
i welcome the pain

i am a leaf and you are the tree
shake me and blow me away
but never
ever set me free

i am the match but you are the flame
burn me and devour me
how i long
for that flickering pain

i am the paper and you are the pen
scrawl on me, tear me to shreds
and let me beg
for you to do it again

i am a bird and you are the sky
you engulf me and shatter my wings
it matters not
because you saw me fly

i am the tear and you are the eye
you wipe me away
but just to have been there
i’m happy to die

i am a puddle and you are the rain
fill me until i overflow
but remember me
and how i loved the pain

When we die

when we die
our web presence will remain
like ghosts.
technology will allow us to animate our spirits
from beyond the grave,
they will continue to interact with the living
uploaded to the cloud,
we will be digital angels
when we die.

Every second 1.8 people die. There are around 500,000,000 Farcebook users. That means in the time it takes you to read this post eight of them will have died, four of them will have been logged in at the time. There are over 70,000,000 WordPress bloggers. One of them will have died while you were reading this. I bet you wish you hadn’t read it now, don’t you?

We have never

We have never met,
Never held hands,
Never walked along the beach
And pressed our toes in the sand.

We have only words
And occasionally skype,
But I feel your love
In every word you type.

I love you to death,
And I love you to bits.
It would be so sweet though
To come on your tits.

I want you right now,
I’m fed up with waiting,
Because internet love
Is just masturbating.


A Sunday haiku showdown

Earlier in the week, the wonderful tales of a charm city chick responded to a haiku I had written, in the comments section, with another haiku. I thought it was such a clever and brilliant idea that I thought I’d have a go at it myself. The result was this wonderful to and fro between me and the fantastic Reality in Progress:

from the love I have
through the pain I will embrace
to the life I want

i love this poem
it is so very clever
please write another

my body was weak
replying was put on hold
i had to get food

i understand you
we all need some nourishment
it was worth the wait

happily admit
this poetry geekery
is making me laugh

it makes me laugh too
poetry can be such fun
and good for the soul

who would have known that
until experiencing
expression in short

i find it a thrill
to squeeze my words so tightly
into such a form

i really agree
maybe the future will be
one-word poetry

i like that idea
let me have a go at it
here is my word – poem

truly love your word
for me another one though
‘love’ my word will be

your word is so sweet
and i find myself thinking
our words are the same

maybe all words are
same reflection of a truth
we find in all hearts.

Ten things

Every day I write a list
Of 10 useful things I want to do.
If, at the end of the day,
I have not achieved them all,
I throw the list away
And write another list
Of 10 useless things I did that day.

Know your ABCs…

I saw this post and it gave me this idea:

Asshole at times,
Beautiful at others.
Cranky now and then but a
Dreamer always.

Extrovert mostly,
Fucktard occasionally,
Googles himself regularly and
Hurtful when in pain.

Idealistic to a fault, the
Joker of the pack.
Kyle –
Likes to think he’s a lover not a fighter –

Naughty like the best,
Optimist with the rest,
Poor of pocket and
Questioning of everything, but
Rich with friends.

Slut when he can be and
Toasted when he shouldn’t be.
Undervalued by himself, a
Victorious loser.

Wanker for ever,
Xylophone player never,
Yesterday’s hero? who knows?
Zeds? maybe? but when he’s dead.