Just because I gave a man a thock,I’m in the dock,for one wee thock.He batted my sushi away,“meat is murder”, he did bray,so he got a thock,and now I’m in the dock.The judge, not easily swayed,decided I was to be put away,for thirty days, no less!The veggie activist smirked,oh that bastard, he really irked!Shouted his phrase,So I gave him another thock.The judge wasn’t happy,clearly, he shat his nappy,gave me another thir...

When you are tiredOr just feeling emptyWhen you've had enoughCome back to me.When the disco's overAnd your eyes can seeYou are all aloneCome back to me.When nothing makes senseAnd the world becomes meanI am here with open armsCome back to me.If ever you're afraidThat there is no such weWait just a minute longerCome back to meQuiet the noisesSlow your heartbeatMove a bit closerCome back to me. Stay with meTogetherAs togeth...

Warning: Hey, I know this isn’t very good – ‘tas written many, many moons ago and recently rediscovered on an old CD (remember those?). Seriously, it's a miracle this guy ever gets any action at all. But believe you me, it was way more embarrassing/painful for me to read that than it would be for you. Still, I miss that sweet, stupid lovable loser lad..anyhoo, to the story….Jonathan was a smart guy. Most of the time, at l...

Behind the door is another door and behind that door is a demon, but you already knew that. Behind the demon, there’s nothing. The demon is you, didn’t you know? You should do. Something tells me you’re not as self-aware as you think you are. Me? Oh, I don’t need to be self-aware, especially when I’m aware of you. That’s my curse, you see. Also my gift, if you want to look at it that way. People have said that some more s...

Let us talk about ducksShould be easy with any luck.They don't growl and they don't cluck.They quack and quack and don't get stuck. They have cute webbed feet,Their meat is such a treat,They don't bark and they don't bleat,They like fish; tasty to eat. When winter came, south they flew,I really like them in my stewThey don't meow and they don't moo,Come for dinner, I'll cook for you. Summer comes, back to the bay,Peking d...

Imagine how funny it would be if a woman called Jaffa, married a man with the surname Cake. I have a problem with that. Not because it might be misconstrued as racist, because that’s just stupid. It’s just a name! No, what I do have a problem with, is that women have to change their names when they marry. That’s pretty bloody old fashioned, and sexist. When I marry, I’m taking her name. We’re taking each other’s. Yeah, we...

I like drink,and drink, I think,likes me. What a pair we are,keeping one another company.Like old mates,we have a laugh. Guess what?I don't get a hangover.Never once. Now you hate me,and I giggle "teehee".Anyone got some brie? I'm drunkin the manner of a skunk,so... y'know... berzunk!

Oh, yawn,might I compare thee,to a word that rhymes with thee?Or maybe I shouldclimb a tree?I don't know,but I'll let the words flow,they may be slow,but I'm gonna crow.Oh, crow, might I compare ya,to yer elderly pa?Nope, nada and definitely nah.I think I'll just look,and think you're a rook. I think I'm stupid.

I imagine it to be the last in queue: a line first, then a diagonal cross that leaves you astonished, amazed that later melts into a familiar line, just a simple little line. almost as knowing as a human, it can hide very well; its siblings s and c are mentioned frequently, and display the same jingle, the same bell sound, but still it remains in hiding, waiting knowing not to come out too frequently, so that it is never...

I stroke my beard,am I weird? Well you have to be weirdto wield a beard!Like a Lord,I strut about with a sword.Am I a Lord? No, but I have a sword!A bacon sandwich,I eat at Nantwich.I have a stitch,Oh, bloody sandwich!I’m an ordinary man,eating a sandwich,but I didn’t planon going to Nantwich.I wanted a beer,but there wasn’t one here,so I went to Nantwichand ate a sandwich. Now off I goto drink a beerwith a queerand say “...

I’m not a fan of plectra.I don’t find them all that electra.Or spectaculah.But this one,a jazzy wee plum,fit right between my finger and thumb.It made a noise,oh boy, oh boys!What a lovely noise.I played with it for more than a minuteI fell in love, innit!The wee plectrum,allows noise of loadsa spectrum...It’s a spectacular plectrum spectrum!

Marination...Wine...Writing...Good combo? No’ always.Y’uft. This isny a poem,it’s a random...Stringing of words.Pseudo stanzas...Drunken rambling,unedited.Crap.And that’s the way it shall stay. For the record, I’m not that drunk, and that "isny", is a Scottish word, so not a typo. I’m tipsy, but not drunk. If I was drunk, I’d still be able to type and make some sort of sense, but that’s my curse. I haven’t been rat-arsed...

A blank page, this isny right,in fact, it's bloody shite!The page should be filled wi' text,a curious mix ae Scottish and English,It's whit a speak and also write. My rhyming, there, jist fell oot,but quick as a flash, I'll right that wrongthen I'll sing a happy wee song.A song aboot rhymin' an' stuff,Scottish an' English, written by a wee scruff.Next line is the last,and with this, the poem is past.

Stormy weather. Nice to be out in. There’s a cyclone on the horizon and it looks pretty. I don’t know why, but I have this strange compulsion to look directly at it. It’s taking houses, trees, everything with it, but I just can’t leave my house to escape it. Something has happened. What’s going on here? Where am I? Wait... I’m inside the cyclone? Really? It’s a funny thing that seems to have happened. One minute I’m stand...

This third person narrative thing. I might as well give it a go. Here we go, then...Fuck that shit. You don’t realise it,But you’re illiterate.Think you’re being astute. You’re being ass toot. Wait, that wasn’t third person, was it? Let me try again...I think and then write,I write that I want you to bite,I wonder if you might...This is shite. Yeah, that wasn’t third person either. Is a third person poem even possible? I’...