the second coming (eventually)

with apologies to W.B. Yeats, who maybe had dogs and would understand

Turning and turning in the widening path
The lurcher cannot hear the owner;
Walks fall apart; patience cannot hold;
Dog anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The off-lead time is lost, and everywhere
The ceremony of exercise is doomed;
The beast lacks all conviction, while the owner
Is full of passionate intensity.

Surely some revelation is at hand;
Stanley’s never coming back goddamn.
Coming back! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of It’s Me or the Dog
Troubles my sight: somewhere there in acres of forest
A shape with lurcher’s body and the head of a mop,
A gaze blank and witless as a sheep
Is moving its arthritic thighs, while all about it
Reel shadows of indignant forest squirrels.
The clapping starts again: but now he knows
That ten years of patient training
Were vexed to nightmare by a cloddish head,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last
Slouches towards baffled Jim to be warned

this poem could save your life

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Reviews:

I didn’t read any poetry before
I’d sooner slam my head in a door
but when I downloaded a coupla stanzas
I became poet laureate – what are the chances?
(five stars)

I always thought that fiction was lies
poetry a puzzle for snooty guys
I only read manuals, the papers and that
now I know words like ziggurat
(five stars)

bought a poem, turned out shit
really not at all happy with it
as soon as I took it out of the box
it fell to bits and ruined my socks
asked for a refund, felt a bit sick
all they sent me was a limerick
(one star)

wot an honour

well smack me arse n’call me Raymond
if this ain’t the way to fame and
belch whatever
mate, yeah
sorry – didn’t see you standin’ there
anyway who needs a sense of self proportion
wot an abortion
mate
you’re too ugly n’ too late
you oughta’r ‘ve
thought’ve
that
right off the bat
you miserable twat
you’re basically lazy
paddlin’ in shit while we’re swimming in gravy
n’ listen mate – maybe
if you said the odd nice thing for the Daily Mail
you wouldn’t be a sprat but a baby whale
nice n’blubbery, morally free
top o’the tree, mate – top o’the tree
King Kong ain’t got nuffin’ on me
you jes’ gotta learn to act n’speak right
when to fix fings, when to fight
maybe then you’d be alright
son
yeah
mark my words
do yer time, do yer bird
grease a few palms, kiss a few swords
n’you could be shittin’ in the house o’lords

I’m so hot

I’m so hot
I got in a spot
when I stopped
for a hug with the human torch
and he swore and said his back was scorched
then said game on
frowned at me and said flame on
which I have to say put a strain on
our fantastic relationship
(actually – more like a situationship)

I’m so hot
the sun said stop
I’ve been watching you off and on a lot
sandalling about, stealing my job
there’s only room for one fiery blob
position taken
and I was sadly mistaken
if I thought he wouldn’t report all the rules I was breakin’
he was like Jim! I’m a ball of hydrogen and helium
I said d’ya mean plasma? he said yes mate, premium

give us this day our daily existential dread

I think it’s basically
and unmistakably
the case
that when you stop and look at the place
you have to conclude
we’re screwed
and God doesn’t give a shit
that’s it
that’s all I have to say on the subject
we’re over-hyped and over-budget

and I’m sorry
if you’re worried
about God being absent
and you scrabble through the cabinet for muscle relaxant
because you’re not consoled
by the thought there’s no one at the controls
no one harvesting dutiful souls
ticking off names on golden scrolls
angels applauding lifetime goals
(etcetera, etcetera
like God’s some kinda administrator)

no
because you know
God’s a human construct
for legislating conduct
loving you today, hating you tomorrah
look what He did with Sodom & Gomorrah
everybody getting the cataclysm
you say it’s Freedom, I say hmm it really isn’t

and if He ever did exist
he’s patently quit
sick and tired
of the care required
his permit for Eternal Love expired
mankind a messy misfire
somehow hardwired
to self-destruct
a bit confused and somewhat fucked
the prototype sucked
the first-born Adam
up and at ‘em
a little too busy with the tarmacadam
driving out of Eden
proceeding
at speed
in a four-by-four he didn’t need
with God as his witness
off to do business
breaking his word and spreading the sickness

and so on
but I’ve only got the bible to go on

and even if you insist
I’ve missed
the point
which is God gave Man the run of the joint
as an exercise in freedom
an early example of a Holy threesome
living it large in the Garden of Eden
I’d say
that was a high price to pay
for trashing the Earth at the end of the day

so
despite the fact I sense you’re annoyed
here we are hurtling through the void
with nothing but our egos and a pramful of toys
until Nature steps in a little after lunch
says come on people this is the crunch
you’ve had your time now I must insist
you absolutely cease and desist
I’ve got some other deals on my list
and the planet gets spritzed
and we all get fritzed
and it’s not only God who doesn’t exist

I talked with a zombie

I stagger around after god-knows-what
compelled by this bitey draw
and I really don’t think about things a whole lot
so I’m pretty much the same as before

whilst it might look like a life of brutality
obsessed with things to devour
I worked all my life in hospitality
so I’m used to the punishing hours

you can shoot me till I’m in bits on the floor
but honestly it’s hard to explain
why the only thing that’ll stop me for sure
is a bullet to my wormy ol’ brain

I just walk here! I don’t make the rules!
it’s really not that exciting
I stagger around in malls and schools
and do a lot of biting

thanks for sitting and letting me talk
finding you was propitious
but – my! – how your neck looks plump as heck
and your hands so goddamn delicious

apocalypse whenever

Climate change?
strange
I’m actually a supporter
why would you mind if the weather got warmer?

No bugs?
shrugs
those chitinous freaks jes’ make me restless
I like my balcony nice’n insectless

Water wars?
snores
thas’ why we got the military, man
to shoot big holes in yer watering can

Storms?
yawns
I like me the occasional flash of lightning
why would ya find a thunderhead frightening?

Sea rise?
lies
I live in a nice fat condo
I couldn’t care less if you lose the congo

Wildfires?
kill spiders
anyway – all those trees only spoil the view
and everyone loves a barbecue

two fairytale thumbnails

I.
Cinderella, missed by social services,
victim of domestic slavery,
works all day scrubbing surfaces
in dresses cut from drapery
gets rescued by a fairy
who magics up shoes and a frock
says go to the ball but be wary
of staying past twelve o’clock
lots of dancing ensues
it’s midnight before she knows it
loses one of her shoes
when she jumps in the pumpkin to close it
the prince orders a search
of his poorly neglected kingdom
using as part of his merch
the shoe that Cinders had flinged ‘im
her ugly sisters struggle
in desperation to prove
the prince bites his knuckle
but the shoe doesn’t fit their hooves
Cinderella coyly tries it
while her sisters wail and whimper
it’s just her size so she buys it
and suddenly life gets simpler

II.
Jack spills the beans
uploads himself to the cloud
throws himself on the castle scene
an ogre gets ploughed

yawn

God I’m tired
my battery flat, my password expired
unexpected silence in bagging area
only the chiller aisle is scarier

I’m the Kraken, broken, saying that’s it
I’m done with sinking ships and shit
tentacles bent, suckers spent
a washed-up calamari malcontent

my razzle frazzled, puzzle guessed
I’m like a knight in a castle at the end of a quest
who puts up his visor and has to confess
now the dragon’s slain he’s slightly depressed

my sparkle? unremarkable
theoretically speaking a hopeless particle
dragging his sad and sorry quarks
round & around the Hadron parks

my pizazz in rags, my fitbit quit
am I dynamic?
nee, nein, NYET

I’m a chart non-mover
Henry no hoover
action man AWOL lost on manoeuvres
a long weekend in wet vancouver

an eager beaver
post-procedure
not building dams or giving one either

I’m a me-shaped hole
where my ego scrolls
through an endless, friendless
Facebook of lost souls

not a whizz kid
a was kid
not Scooby-Doo
Scooby-Don’t
not Doctor Who
Doctor Won’t

Schroedinger’s cat
dead and that’s that
Brannigan without the zap
Peaky Blinders without the cap

and even though I started bravely
the only way I can finish… is … vaguely

so

YAWN