Monday, November 28, 2011


Following are little bits of verse that I've written, often while texting friends.. I wonder why it annoys them.
Sleep Deprivation's a Bitch.
Oh KM, my KM.
I've been up since six a.m.
and hours of sleep numbered five.
I'm devoid of power.
on the same page for hours
In short I am barely alive.

The words they seem blurry
and sometimes I worry
I'll gouge my eye out with this pen
If you can take a break
help me stay awake
and the Lord will repay you for ten.

Sundays are Mondays for Lovers
My rhymes start to bug,
I guess that makes sense
As is with most Sundays,
My baby is tense

My fate like most lovers'
is to pine and sigh.
Crawl under the covers
and curl up and die.

The Frog's Unrequited Love
Alas, it seems, she
can't love me in turn.
Oh how long would it be
till I finally learn.

That the fairytale princess
Does not pick the frog.
I'll grieve now, I guess,
and howl like a dog.

My words they seem empty
Like some idle rhyme
She mocks my intentions
we laugh all the time

If only she'd see things
From my sad brown eyes
She'll see past the jesting
And laughter and lies

And maybe, just maybe
She might really see..
All that i am
And all we could be..

Midnight Blues..
Alas, tis' mighty woeful
My baby wont reply
I sit in wait and grow full
of Whens and Whats and Whys
Im sure she isnt heartless
Perhaps just occupied
She said we wouldnt part,Yes
Im sure she hasn't lied
I'll wait,although im weary
She'll be along anon
this night alone is scary
She'll bring with her the dawn

Monday, November 7, 2011

The Vicious Cabaret

They say that there's a broken light for every heart on Broadway.
They say that life's a game, then they take the board away.
They give you masks and costumes and an outline of the story
Then leave you all to improvise their vicious cabaret...

In no-longer-pretty cities there are fingers in kitties.
There are warrants, forms, and chitties and a jackboot on the stair.
Sex and death and human grime, in monochrome for one thin dime,
But at least the trains all run on time but they don't go anywhere.
Facing their Responsibilities either on their backs or on their knees
There are ladies who just simply freeze and dare not turn away
And the widows who refuse to cry will be dressed in garter and bow-tie
And be taught to kick their legs up high in this vicious cabaret.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The ballet on the burning stage.
The documentary seen
Upon the fractured screen
The dreadful poem scrwled upon the crumpled page...

There's a policeman with an honest soul that has seen whose head is on the pole
And he grunts and fills his briar bowl with a feeling of unease.
But he briskly frisks the torn remains for a fingerprint or crimson stains
And endevours to ignore the chins that he walks in to his knees.
while his master in the dark nearby inspects the hands, with a brutal eye,
That have never brushed a lover's thigh but have squeezed a nation's threat.
But he hungers in his secret dreams for the harsh embrace of cruel machines
But his lover is not what she seems and she will not leave a note.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The Situation Tragedy
Grand Opera slick with soap
Cliffhangers with no hope
The water-colour in the flooded gallery...

There's a girl who'll push but not shove and is desperate for her father's love
She believes the hand beneath the glove maybe one she needs to hold.
Though she doubts her hosts moralities she decides she is more at ease
In the Land Of Doing What You Please than outside in the cold.
But the backdrop's peel and the sets give way and the cast gets eaten by the play
There's a murderer at the Matinee, there are dead men in the aisles
And the patrons and actors too are uncertain if the show is through
And with side-long looks await their cue but the frozen mask just smiles.

At last! The 1998 Show!
The torch-song no one ever sings
The curfew chorus line
The comedy divine
The bulging eyes of puppets strangled by their strings

There's thrills and chills and girls galore, sing-songs and surprises
There's something hear for everyone, (reserve your seat today)
There's mischief and malarkies but no queers or yids or darkies
Within this bastard's carnival, this vicious cabaret

Thursday, November 3, 2011

The Anniversarie

All kings, and all their favourites,
All glory of honours, beauties, wits,
The sun it self, which makes time, as they pass,
Is elder by a year now than it was
When thou and I first one another saw.
All other things to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay ;
This no to-morrow hath, nor yesterday ;