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.

I Am The Master Of My Own Destiny... Unless Someone Tells Me Otherwise

I am the creator, the architect, I make my own fate,

The words that I write are the words I dictate.

If I want to fucking swear, then it's my fucking choice.

If I want to praise God then I shall rejoice.

If it's something I want, it's something I'll seize.  .

I'll make my own rules and I will do as I please.
For I am the master of my destiny, to greatness I'll rise. 

Unless, of course, my mum says otherwise......

I'll be on the throne, I'm the king of the castle .

You'll bow below.... you're the dirty wee rascle.

"Pour me my wine, prepare me a feast!"

"Fit for your lord, must be the roast beast."

"Ask your king for mercy, you subordinate, you swine."
Total control, high command, supreme power is mine.
For I am the master of my destiny, to greatness I'll rise.

Unless, of course my wife says otherwise......

I am the skipper, I'm the captain of the ship.

Only I hold the wheel, so tight is my grip.

I plot the course, put the 'X' on the map.

"All hands on deck! Don't give me no crap!"

Far away we're sailing, this hell I'll not miss,

We'll head for golden sands, we'll live a life of bliss.
For I am the master of my destiny, to greatness I'll rise.

Unless, of course my kids say otherwise.....

Sounds silly but....

onomatopoeia in the brain....

Ever wondered how much noise you create?
Ever thought about each little sound you make?
I did today, and it's quite surprising,
I am a noise polluter, there's no disguising.
Though I sit silent, the tap, tap, tap on the keyboard echoes around the room.
Ideas flying through my mind with a zip and a zoom.
I hear every clang, clank and clatter,
As my brain clicks up a gear and the voices start to chatter.
'Shush, hush,' I tell them. 'I can't focus, can't think.'
My head is banging all the time, Christ I need a drink.
The vodka hits the glass with a sharp little splash,
The crackles can be heard as ice and liquid start to clash.
Coke next, and my drink hisses and fizzes,
I sip, it pings off my tastebuds, up to my brain it whizzes.
I can focus again, colour flashes through my cheeks.
I hear the thump, thump, thump in my chest as my heart loudly beats.
Concentrate on this for a ticking minute, feel every breath you share.
Can you hear every pant, puff, whoosh, every gust of air?
'Phew,' I sigh. At least I know for sure I'm still alive.
But the wham and bam of doubt and realization are the next to arrive.
I contemplate whether this is actually good or bad,
For if I spend hours listening to the flutter of an eyelid, surely life must be sad?
I hear the voices arguing in my head as my mind starts to crack.
The droning murmurs send shivers and quivers rattling down my back.
I grunt and mumble to myself, take another drink before my head pops.
Then I shout, 'keep the f**king noise down... or I'm calling the damn cops.'
   

Three Little Words

 How are you?

 Not to bad.

 Where's the loo?

 Are you mad?

 Who said that?

 Am I mad?

 Who said what?

 Just a fad.

 What's your name?

 To and fro.

 What's your game?

 Watch love grow.

 Bread and butter

 Wine and dine

 Start to mutter

 Make you mine

 Little white lie

 Make her mad

 Please don't cry

 Don't be sad.

 Kiss and tell.

 Flee or fly.

 Heaven or Hell?

 Hope you die.

Fuck off you.

Where's my tea?

Fuck you too.

Don't annoy me.

Fix your hair,

Straighten that tie.

I don't care,

I'm gone. Bye.

Dead and buried,

Said and done,

Am I worried?

Load the gun.

Fortune and wealth.

Fork and knife.

Sickness and health.

Sentenced to life.

Dos and don'ts,

Cans and can'ts,

Wills and won'ts.

Want to dance?

Let's make up,

Let's make love.

Saucer and cup,

Hand and glove,

Peas in pods.

Time will heal.

Winks and nods.

Spin the wheel.

I love you,

You love me.

Can't you see?

Meant to be.

Nine to One

Nonet Number 1 
(A nonet has nine lines. The first line has nine syllables, the second line eight syllables, the third line seven syllables, etc... until line nine that finishes with one syllable.)

So the horse I've backed is nine to one,

need a winner, stuck on a ton.

Pray it gets over this fence,

horse falls.... makes perfect sense.

I sink to the floor,

crawl to the door.

Bastard luck..
Bookies...
...suck.

The Art Of Lonliness

There's a saying that goes ,'you can feel lonely, but you're never alone.'

Evidence of which, I am yet to be shown.

For I am a loner, lonely, lonesome, a solitary sole.

I'm the molecule of space dust drifting towards a black hole.

I'm the kid that's lost in the middle of the fun-fair,

The balloon he's lost his grip on, floating into the air.

It's self inflicted though, it's an art, a skill.

98 pages in my phone book, 97 yet to fill.

So many people on this planet, how is this possible?

To connect with nobody is surely impossible? 

I did have friends once, I wasn't always this way.

My life wasn't always so bleak, so grim, so grey.

I dismissed, ignored and hurt, one by one, year by year.

The realization suddenly hits. Oh what have I done? Oh crap. Oh dear.

This is no art, no skill, no talent. It's a curse, a f**king flaw.

I begin to feel anger and fear as loneliness tightens its claw.

I feel sick, want someone to comfort me, tell me it's okay.

Must I face this shit day after day after day........?

It hurts now as the sharpness rips through my flesh. The pain.

Will I ever share cheer or bliss or joy again?

Hallow'een is Coming.....and Batman & Robin Are At My Door

Hallow'een is coming and the goose is getting fat,

I'm half asleep when I hear the door in my onebed flat.

Ding dong, ding dong, rat a tat tat...

It's f**king half past twelve, who the hell is that?

I look through the glass, some guy dressed in black,
'Yes? Can I help you? Do you know what the time is at?'

'Please sir, put a penny in this old man's hat...'

So I take the chain from it's golden slat,
And open the door, to this forty something twat.
'Please put a penny in your bloody hat?'
'Get a proper job, Christ do you not feel like a prat?'
'What are you anyway, a giant rat?'
'No, I'm Batman silly, can't you see that?'
'Ha!' I laugh. 'You're far too f**king fat.'
'Do you not want the candy instead for your ridiculous hat?'
I give him a sweet, 'Bye now, no time to chat.'
But before I shut the door, another idiot arrives at my flat,
Dressed in red and yellow, green and black.
'Oh here we go, who are you?' I say to the wee brat.
'Why, I'm Robin of course, assistant to The Bat'
'Have you seen a woman dressed as a cat?'
'Oh yeah she's sipping cream from a bowl over there on the mat.'
'So do want some money too or do you not have a hat?'
'We need the change for the metre,' chirps up The Bat.
'The batmobile is parked right outside your flat.'
'We really are in a rush though, we're chasing a cat.'
She looks like a beauty, but she's a criminal in fact.'
'Oh piss off,' I say, 'You expect me to trust that?'
 'A giant rat and a little brat chasing a cat?'
'Holy parking fees Batman.' said Robin.... 'Damn!' Drat!'
As he drove his fist into his palm with a heavy 'SPLAT!'
'We'll have to ask someone else to put some money in your hat.'
'Yeah,' I said, 'Fuck off to somebody else's flat.'
And say hi to the Joker once you've done that.'
So that was that, I said bye to the boy wonder and the fat bat.
The next day a news flash came on T.V. as I sat.
A car being towed away and.... it looked like .... a bat.
And look, holy shit! There's my flat!
'In other news a rare diamond was stolen by someone dressed as a cat.'
I choked on my tea. Out it was spat.
'Well what do ya know! Robin and The Bat,
'They were tellin the truth! Stupid gimps. How about that?'

Should've Bought The Straighteners

This story is a love story. Not the fairytale, romantic, dreamy type though. It's one of commitment, compromise, doubts and obstacles conquered by a duo bound by true love.

My name is Robin and seven years ago I was in the prime of my life. No worries, financial stability, healthy social life and in a job I enjoyed. I was coming out of a long term relationship however, mostly due to my inability to settle down. Why commit to a house and kids? I was going to travel the world! I would be the the local lad they would talk about in the pub, the one that got away and ventured beyond the carriageway to adventure, to something different. I didn't really have a list of priorities, but if I did, starting a family wasn't on it.

Something happened though. I met a girl. I don't want to sound cliché, but it was.... love…. at.... first.... sight, dare I say it. An intense relationship began almost immediately, only successfully avoiding contact when I had to go to work (or the toilet). Three months in we were practically living together when Lucy was going to Lanzarote for the week. We hugged as though we wouldn't see one another again, we were now officially 'in love'. Lucy would be back on the Saturday with her birthday two days later and I knew her mother was planning a surprise party.

I didn't know if it was too soon to be buying expensive gifts for each other and was severely struggling with ideas for Lucy's present. With this dilemma in hand I decided to enlist the help of her mother, Margaret.

“Oooh, she likes these straighteners down at Argos...” was the advice I received with an underwhelmed, “thanks, yeah. That's a good idea.” Is this what girls really want as a gesture of love on their special day? Hair flattening equipment?! Maybe I'll stick with dependable Plan B – chocolates (Milk Tray or Ferrerro), flowers (from a very reputable petrol station) and a card. “Or what about an engagement ring?” Maggie chirped up. I almost ignored this ludicrous, uncalled for outburst, but I knew that she knew I heard her. “ Yeah, ha.” I replied, not totally sure whether the crazy lady was serious or if she was exploring some sick avenue of humour.

As I strolled through the thriving shopping mecca of Newtownards, I became worryingly similar to a small hobbit in Middle Earth. I couldn't get 'the ring' out of my pickled head, blinded by glistening gold and silver when I walked past a jewellers. I contemplated the straighteners when I saw them with a fiver off in a Superdrug window.

Saturday came, Lucy returned with skin lightly tanned and hair a frizzy, climate damaged mess. I should've bought the straighteners I thought, trembling as I handed her the small cubed gift box. Too late. She agreed to marry this absent minded, amateur gift bearing love fool. We were married within a year and I had removed the drawing pins from my giant atlas poster. New Zealand, Malaysia, Thailand and Rio would have to wait.

Usually the fairytale would end about now with a “happily ever after” conclusion, but as I mentioned this isn't the traditional love story format.

We started a family swiftly after marriage and have four beautiful children adored by everyone (that doesn't live with them). But life became tough. The lad who didn't even have a list of priorities now had a book's worth of responsibilities to adhere to.

Overworked, underpaid, mounting bills and faded dreams. I developed a severe gambling problem which tainted the bliss of our family life. Unaccepting of help from friends, family or professionals, I was unable to kick the habit which was now putting my marriage at risk. Debts were ever increasing and the struggle to cope with both financial and relationship commitments was overwhelming. Lucy issued ultimatums and offered to help pack my clothes on more than one occasion. I would go through dry spells, not even putting a pound on the lottery but relapses became more serious, throwing up to a week's wages into Barney Eastwood's back pocket quicker than it took to change our baby's nappy. I would cash in my holiday pay to try and fill the bottomless pit of debt meaning I couldn't even take time off to spend with my family in order to make some kind of amends.

I should've bought the straighteners. I wasn't ready for all this responsibility. I've let down my family, the people who I should have been prepared to sacrifice everything for.

Eighteen weeks ago I placed my last bet. I lost of course. It was a moment which triggered a domino effect, one I was not ready for. An anxiety attack prompted my wife to ring the doctor and reluctantly I attended. Diagnosed with depression, anxiety and self esteem issues, I have since been off work and bet-free. I continue to work through these problems with great optimism only for the fact that Lucy is still by my side. She has had many opportunities and more reasons to finish this fairytale love story on a sour note. But she hasn't.

Maybe I should've bought the straighteners but it seems to be the only bet I've placed that paid off. I'm glad I didn't. Lucy was able to buy her own with vouchers she got the following Christmas anyway.
We look forward to spending the rest of our lives together, problems or no problems, frizzy hair or straight hair and perhaps we will even be happy ever after.

Okay, so I saw this shrink the other day....

Okay so I saw this shrink the other day, nice girl, very hairy arms though. I don't hold that against her, it's just an observation. Anyway, we were discussing periods of my life where I was more content. Happier. Not suicidal. "Yeah, I remember that," I said. "Take me to that place with you," she replied in that droning patronizing, artificial voice that all psychiatrists seem to possess. "Tell me when and where it was, who were you with? What did you do?"

What a pile of shit I think to myself. I'm depressed. Remembering the happiest days of my life is even more destructive, dwelling on merrier times whilst suddenly realising that, from that point in time, it's been downhill. Those delightful memories, tainted by the fact that any potential you had, any hopes or dreams, have all drifted up to the big grey cloud in the sky along with everyone else's aspirations. one day that cloud is going to burst and the shittiest, rainiest, windiest storm will be upon us.

I didn't tell her that though. Just told her it was my early teens. Young, free, no obligations, pressures, commitments or deadlines. She told me as part of my therapy I should do things I did back then. Feel that happiness and care-free attitude. "Go to that happy place," she crapped out of her mouth. "I can do that, I'll try anything if...if I can just get better," I said in a hushed voice.

However what she didn't know is that i was a bastard when I was that age. A really horrible little swine.

So I stood up, pulled down my pants & pissed all over her desk. "Thanks you smelly, hairy f**ker, I think you've cured me!"

Funny thing is, I think she actually did. I feel great! This is the life. Once I've finished typing this, I'm going out to spray paint obscenities on my old headmaster's car, do a bit of skateboarding and I'll probably leave a bag of shit on someone's doorstep. Oh what bliss!

An exploration of rhyming words in an alphabetical manner. Part2

As i promised before this time will be words that rhyme with ‘B’, a very worthwhile cause i’m sure you’ll Agree.(plus it will count for c,d,e,g,p,t & v, and if i pretend to be a yank then it also eliminate z)

 So let me think what sounds like ‘B’, starts with ‘B’, hmmmm what could it Be? *knock at the door* perhaps thats my banana fritter & a chicken Curry? aww fuckin hell, it’s the cops at my house, i’ll brb...

....*long pause & muffled voices*, “Look officer i told you, you see, yeah i shot the sheriff but i did not kill the fucking Deputy....” *door shuts* i sit back down to finish my poem as my stomach growls coz it’s still bloody Empty. Whenever the dude eventually brings the food i better get it for Free. The door goes again i jump up, grab the grub, “oh what Glee!”, “thanks you c**nt, ever heard of punctuality??”

.... my shrink wants me to work on my Hostility, Hehe. Aggression’s in all of us though. It’s an Inevitability... .try tellin that one to the fuckin judge & Jury. They’ll lock the cell, throw away the Key..... i’ve got an alibi though, Luckily. “..ehh, officer it was actually shaggy who did it..... It wasn’t Me.”  And i’m sorry for being horrible & rude & acting Nastily, sorry for using an Obscenity, but apart from mr.boombastic, what’s that wanker done for you or me? Let him take the guilty Plea. Then we can all get along in life a little more Quietly?

And you might say “what the hell is he on about? Raving, ranting Ricky.” But i swear i talk sense...sense & Sensibility.

By the way whose turn is it to make the Tea? Certainly not me. i need s..s..some caffeine U..u..urgently as my hands shake V..v..vigorously. It’s becoming harder to type, i neeeed a hit of something, what’ll be? Nicotine? Alcohol? Not dope though...i’ll Whitey. Fuck it, just pass the Xtasy. Only jokin, none for me, i’ll just have the banana fritter, it’s so fucking Yummy.

Right! Time for bed...oh wait! Breaking news for all to hear & see!....apparently Bungle & George used to fuck the other one, can it be?! Oh poor little puppet, poor little Zippy.

RK  

An exploration of rhyming words in an alphabetical manner

Due to extreme boredom & insomnia, I shall explore words that rhyme with 'A', not one letter of the alphabet shall I Betray.

 Next will be 'c' for coffee shop/Cafe, beware though...too much sugar in your cappuccino can cause tooth Decay.

As I'm sitting here writing this poem/Essay & my mind starts to unravel & begins to Fray, I think 'Jesus I need to get out, how'd my life get so f**king Grey?' And 'Hey! Jesus! While you're there is there a word rhyming with gay starting with 'i'?' I..say. And I can only think of names for the next two, such as Jay, Jose, Reg & Ronnie Kray.

So should i quit? Leave this poem to Lay? Perhaps I'll try it again on Monday? Nay! I'll finish damn it, I can do it! Okay! ‘Coz quitting is soooo last year, soooo f**king Passé and the sun is shining according to Finlay Quaye.

And soooo f**king what if I used a rude word, what's wrong with bein’ a little Risqué? F**king & cursing are here to Stay.

So I'm nearly done my rhyming exploration for Today, words that rhyme with 'B' will be the next to get Underway.

Can't think of 'v' apart from Valet.

'W' is for women, 'hey baby, how much do those puppies Weigh?' wish I had goggles for vision X-ray. and so I'm finished! hurrah, hooray! Oh yes, oh Yeah!

Aww shit forgot about z....p.s. Gamu is probably goin’ back to Zimbabwaaaay