Remind Me To Forget You...

Remind me why we weren't to be,
Remind me why you had to flee.
Remind me why the fire ceased to glow,
Remind me why you had to go.
Remind me to forget the times we had,
It reminds me why I get so sad.
It reminds me why I feel so blue,
It reminds that I must forget you too.

Hey! It's Okay. I've Found Another Door...

I'm gonna end this suffering,

I'm gonna end this pain.

I'll do it right this time.

You can't stop me again.
You won't hurt me....
I won't hurt you.
You shut the door on me.
There's nothing left to do.
The time has finally come,
For me to move on.
Anything I ever felt,
Is now utterly, totally, completely gone.
I struggle now to picture you,
To remember your face.
I thought you were the One.
But that's not the case.
And I'm not sad or hurt.
Not anymore.
There's someone else,
Who I can save my love for.
And I'm not even scared.
Not anymore.
I think I'm gonna be okay.
I've found another door.

Sunny-side Up

I sit awake through the night, filled with gloom and doom,

Thoughts of you fly by with a zip and a zoom.
I wonder if the darkness will ever go.

Will dawn break? Will the sun show?

I feel so tired but I'm not allowed to sleep.

I've counted a million jumping fucking sheep.

Then I hear your voice, I get a rush, a tingle.
The bells of life start to jingle.
I hear the birds tweet, blackness turns to blue,
Morning's here at last because of you.
You smile at me and I smile back,
This sunshine moment makes up for what the night did lack.
You open the curtains, out the window I gaze,
Only your beauty can beat the early morning haze.
We go out for breakfast in a place by the square,
Your eyes reflect a sunbeam's glare.

We sip on our tea, and as your lips touch the cup,

Our bacon and eggs arrive.... sunny-side up.

I Am...

I am sorrow,

I miss someone,

I can not function.

I am missing something.

I have nothing.

I am solitude.
Abdication. I am alone.
Desolation. Come back home.
For you I will always fend for.
Complete me once more.

I am anger.

Frustrated I'm of no avail.

I am the twisted, rusted nail.

I am the bitter taste,

Of love going to waste.

I am vengeance,

I will react in rapture

I will strike down your captor,

He that has taken control of your life. 

I grip my knife...

The Poor Rapper

I'm the poor rapper, ain't got no gold.
My house is empty. It's got mould.
No central heating. It's fucking cold.
Bitch I'm the poor rapper,... but I won't fold.

I got no red Ferrrari, I got no Bentley,
Got no Lamborghini, Ain't got a Hum-V.
Ain't never been, in a limousine,

I gotta blue Rover. It's fuckin' obscene.

I don't pick up hoes, with the top down,
My car's too slow, it slows the traffic down.
Got no Nine-Eleven, no shinin' alloys,
Fuck your Aston Martin, Fuck your Rolls Royce.
Coz I'm the poor rapper, ain't got no gold.
My ride is shit. It got mould.
No central lockin. It's fuckin old.
Bitch I'm the poor rapper,... but I won't fold.

I got no penthouse, Ain't got a mansion.
Ain't got a swimming pool, there's no expansion.
No gym room. No steam room. There's not enough room,
There ain't a lock on the motherfuckin bathroom.
I got no gold taps, no solid oak floors,
No jaccuzzi. No solid oak doors.
There's no conservatory, I gotta patio.
No fuckin tennis court, but I'm still the daddyo,
Coz I'm the poor rapper, ain't got no gold.
My house is shit. It got mould.
No central heatin. It's fucking cold.
Bitch I'm the poor rapper.... but I won't fold.

I got no Gucci sunglasses, ain't got no rolex.
No diamond rings, I gotta Timex.
It tells the time, never runs slow,

It's gotta velcro strap. It's a fuckin' Indiglo.

Got no gold medallions, got no thick chain.

I ain't never been on a private plane.

Was on the Seacat once, went to Stranraer,

Fuck your G6, I'm a fuckin star.

Coz I'm the poor rapper, I got gold.

But it ain't real, it's got green mould.

No bank roll, I'm on the dole.

Bitch I'm the poor rapper.... but I won't fold

My Valentine

This is for you, My Valentine.

Make you love me. Make you mine.

Make you want me. Make you care.

Touch your face. Touch your hair.

Soft silk kisses.

Blue eyes.

Heart beat misses.

Blue skies.

The sun shines. The rains stop.
Smile rises, frowns drop.

Cupid's dart - locked in.

Pierced heart.
Head spin.
This is love. You are mine.

I am yours.

My Valentine.

For Thou Love Is Like A Bucket Of Chicken

If there was any doubts in your mind, any reason that you or I,
Should wish to leave, or feel the need to cry.

Then I'll give you the excuse to stay. Why we're meant to be.

And that reason quite simply is..... K.F.C.

Now, I know you're thinking, "Love?....Greasy chicken?"
But there's more to that tasty white meat than just finger lickin'.
It's a romantic gesture, the sharing of a meal,
A whoosh of ecstacy, the loving couple do feel.
If you decided one day to say, "That's it, I'm off. Fuck it."
You would then see my heart kick the bargain bucket.
I can't go to a drive-thru & order the family feast alone,
"Ha that fat bastard's so greedy! Ordered enough for 2, but he's on his own!"
The spotty foreign teenager behind the counter would say.

And everyone would peer out the window as I drove up to pay.

I would eat the cold chicken and it would take me hours & hours,

Not even that secret recipe coating, though so delicious, would heal my scars.

But if you were with me, I could drive up with pride,

We'd order our bucket then we'd go for a ride.

Drive up Scrabo hill, overlooking the sea,

I'd feed you & you'd feed me.

We'd eat that chicken right down to the bone,

And we'd be so happy because we weren't alone.

We'd share the gravy & dip our chips,

Then use that funny wipe to clean our lips.

You'd do a wee burp & I wouldn't mind.

For I'd know that with the love of my life, I  had just dined.

Slurp down the coke, have a hug, steal a kiss.
Now isn't that an experience that you would surely miss?

So stop feeling so sad, stop feeling so blue,

Next time I'll even get you an ice-cream too.

I'll say, "gee whizz that was finger lickin' good!"

And you'll say, "Yep, things are lookin' good.."    

Where The F**k's My Chocolate Factory??

I love children's books. I'd even love to write one of my own.
But something bothers me terribly, so I'm going to have a moan.
They give us dreams & wonders and we believe! Oh how we believed!
But Dahl and Rowling, C.S.Lewis and bloody Blyton... they all decieved.
We were too young, too young to see through their lies,
To notice this gobbledygook with our naive little eyes.
I hope that this poem shows that all is not as it seems,
Though revealing these truths may crush your old dreams:
No1: Charlie & The Chocolate Factory, brilliant you'll agree.
But.....  noooobody ever left their empire to me.

I can't even get a fucking job in a factory, forget owning it,

The apparent river of chocolate quickly turns to shit.

And as the British chocolate industry is sold to some German Yanks,

Even the Oompah-Loompahs find themselves on the Shit River banks.

No2 is The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe, a.k.a. The Narnia Tales.

I was stuck in that fucking wardrobe for 3 days! Nobody heard my wails!

Locked in a dark, dusty, coffin-like box, "I thought I was dyin'!"

"Couldn't find any White Witch, nevermind a talking bloody lion."

And what about No3. ehh? Christopher Robin & Winnie The Pooh?

For whom honey is in endless supply, but far, far too dear for me or you.

Next No4. Treasure Island, one of the best yarns ever told.

Bullshit. There ain't no treasure chest cramed full with gold.

Instead of a map, pirates have machine guns instead,

Then they e-mail your relatives & put a price tag on your head.

No5. Around The World In Eighty Days?

Not a chance, not with these delays.

You're lucky if your plane even gets of the ground.

Double lucky if there's no exploding backpack sound.

Harry Potter is No.6, the half-blood twat,

Okay he goes to magic school... but after that?

Unemployment figures are bleak, it's grim news for all.

For any job I reckon, even the wizards must have to beg & crawl.

Talking of unemployment, reminds me of the rising cost of living.

Which leads onto No.7, a book every kid's been given.

The Greedy Bastard Caterpillar, who in fairness gets his 5-a-day,

But not once does he finish a meal & then offer to pay.

He just goes around eating plums, pickles & melon,

Then turns into a butterfly. He's a bloody felon!

"Arrest that fat c**t!! He's stolen our food!"

The message this book sends is less than good.

So think before giving your child a book to read please

Beware of the false promises, for it's not fair to tease,

Kids believe so easily, they're convinced it can be true,

But I've seen what can happen, I had a front row view.

I believed I could be like Peter Pan, No.8

I put on my green tights. I thought, "I look bloody great."

I thought if I could fly I would meet my Wendy,

But now my damn back is all crooked & bendy.

I fucking fell in the garage, right off the highest rafter,

So you see, not everyone really lives happily ever after.

If I Say What I Mean, Must I Then Mean What I Say?

Does an author have to feel every emotion that they write?

An issue was raised the other day, one I feel must be discussed some more.
Can a writer write about something they have not felt before?
Can I write a poem or a story displaying emotions that are not real?
Will every word I type describe exactly how I feel?
You can't judge a book by it's cover apparently. But everyone does.
If I show anger or swear in a piece, would you assume you know the cause?
Probably. Issues with aggression and temper immediately spring to mind.
Plenty more labels I'm sure you can find.
A series of swears and curses, blasphemes and profanities,
F-words, c-words, s-words and other vulgarities.
Surely then this guy is a swine, lacking in respect and decency?
Probably a maniac, maybe been arrested recently.
I am not and have not by the way,
Though for my soul, I hope you find time to pray.
Anyway.....
Say I write an ode to a sweetheart, that she had stolen my heart,
That I loved her madly and we would never dare part.
That she's my rose, I go weak when I see her, feel my blood rush,
On to the paper my feelings would gush.
Then that's my wife, right? Perhaps it is in a round about sort of way.
But if I say what I mean must I then mean what I say?
If a writer wants to express a emotion, be it anger or love, sadness or glee,
Then they must have it inside them at that precise time. Don't you agree?
Myself, I disagree. Of course, you must have felt some sort of passion before,
But memories and imaginations are too wonderful to ignore.
So if I write a poem like my previous post (if you haven't read it, you should),
Then the chances are I'm actually not in a foul mood.
By thinking like that you would wonder why most authors bother to get dressed.
The stuff they are publishing make even the readers depressed.
I'm sure they're not like that all the time, I know I am not.
Or the news would be full of writers being shot.
So that's my point made, I hope that it's clear. I wanted it off my chest.
Writers can write whatever they please. Let the readers worry about the rest.

An Unprovoked Attack On An Old Friend

Caution: contains lots of rude words

You think you can hurt me by playin your stupid fuckin' games?
You think you can harm me by callin' me your stupid fuckin' names?
Well fuck you bitch, here's another game to play.
It's called you fuckin' listen while I fuckin' say.
So shut the fuck up, stop talkin your fuckin' shit
You've said your piece so let me say my bit.
You're manic, psychotic, motherfuckin' mad.
These games you play, they're so motherfuckin' sad.
I fuckin' hate you for what you do to me,
You absorb my world entire, my land, my sea.
You throw straight back, everything I offer to you
Give me a break, even a second or two.

You think that what you say leads to the light,

But actually what you say is pure fuckin' shite.

Why believe a word that passes your venomous lips?

I've seen the footage, seen the you-tube clips.

You're not to be trusted. You're a serpent from hell,

You're merely a lump of shit in a diamond crusted shell.

I need to relieve this pressure, I can't refrain.

You've infected my mind, my heart, my soul, my brain.

So please fuck off, fuck off out of my life.

And before you go, here... take your fuckin' knife.

It was stuck in my back, you left it there.

So run along now Rupert, you creepy little bear.