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I play with them

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Pear Drops

You have been so unkind to me here.
Still forcing solemn smiles to slip from my lips.
Come quietly along with me elsewhere.
Somewhere other than this London.
Anywhere other than this fear.

Isn’t it clear, that we never even belonged here?
Did you know if you place a shell softly to your ear,
It is the subtle whimper of the sapphire sea you hear?

We should run away through brittle fear.
And the sharp poison of misjudged excitement.
If you take the steep steps towards the door,
We might just steadily slide amongst the skillfully snide,
Confining our love to Embankment.

90'S unlabelled vinyl and Aretha of soulful cities.
Unfold your words around the wine,
Escaping these reams of uncultured pretties.
Taking on the terrible tapestry of tuneless times,
Crossing couples unwilling and lifelessly entwined.

Pushing through the rhythm,
Telling tales of blonde fuelled crimes.
Drenched in this melody of pity,
And the men buttered in lies.
Scuttling swiftly through Cromwells lonely city,
Practising lines.
With ill intentions lurking,
Behind glass eyes.

And still your metaphors bite me.
No money, rarely a job, just a great love,
That stays for days and plays.
But you make noise.
You make noise, proudly shrouding this space.
I can see it in your eyes, held plastically in place.

That luck I’ve had can only hamper the sad.
Where art you though dad?
Cuddle me through those powdered sweets,
We used to stash in the dash.
I don’t understand how my hands, can be so under planned?
And unknowingly you expect so much.
And yet you too do nothing to help her,
You accept so much.

I knew you wouldn’t step up.
Hell, you don’t half know how to disappoint.
I ought to have thought that such a kindly family,
Would steer clear of such a spineless sort.

But I will unconditionally stick by you,
Because still I see slivers of what others don’t,
I bet you see the transparent whispers of the mistress,
That live raw in my guilty throat.

Homage to The Streets

Holding heavy hands, on heavenly gilded hilts.
Temptress like silk, salted tears and scolding spilt milk.
Sorted when snorted and sordid he’s crawling,
Sweaty pizza for the morning geezer and lean like Pisa.
Rest thy weary head, on this coffee stained bed.
Wherein lays my dead, choking on Monday dread.

Dressed in the Sunday best, complete with string vest.
Get out the garlic butter, and mums yum swollen tum.
Sticking to slims - together forever, no matter the weather.
Washed tenner to mates, like Mr. Burns he yearns for sum.
Thoughts that ought to have been thwarted for the best.
They seem to suggest it’s fickle and far from jest.

If I told you I hated the way you dressed, would you get stressed?
Finish up and fuck off is the fable still said.
God you ain’t in heaven, how fried be thy brain?
Sorry songs on Singstar, sad fat lads on the train.
Never be on the Wii, as they sit and stare;
At the confined kind, who never learnt to share.
For that pork pie just there, you’ll need a common prayer.
Even though you live over here, why should you fear the jeers of peers?

Next joke for the broke fat bloke in the Potter cloak.
Dressed in tartan, smoking sheds, and bikes in gardens past,
Making mockeries of maudlin men whose arteries harden fast.
He is beaten by his class for his cherubic chefs arse.
I need saving by the craving for which I’m saving.
Saving all my shaving for the kind who enjoys topless raving.

Racing Post with Stella close, sinking six in the sticks.
Classics in tinted glasses, like Davey the dashing fascist.
Reaching out for the daughter who’s hungry on the quarter.
Ice cream pleas for Solero scenes, and tightlipped as they are tightfisted.
Crying for Rusk biscuits like junkie fixes.
E’s and dribble bibs.
E’s and citrus fizz.
Granddads knees and Viz.
Pulp Fiction for the kids.

Potty politics and Perry shirt – a dead cert in that skirt.
The Streets hold the words as he skins live the winner.
Hoddle’s smitten for the forever sitting.
Yeah mate, you’re right, we only come out at night.
The proud swimmer, and footballer tonight.

Capitol

Things just ain't the same I’m anxious. I wanted to make you thankful, but that would be breezy, so here’s a handful I’ll hand you, make it easy. Go back to being the fun yum mum, for your young one. I'll wait however long, however wrong. I know it will haunt but nobody matters anymore .I've told you before with sickly sayings galore, I'll try to restore what I think you first saw. Your jaw hits the floor as much as I hope my head hits that bit, the bit between the lips.

Padding is the shit, a winner with the theatrical knitter who knits bits together. The respected? No. The accepted exception whose job is repetition, but only you give me the ambition, to allow my mission to come to fruition, speak and not just listen. A gnome alone, with just an iPod and a mobile phone. With you I come alive; at a distance you touch the inside. I can toy with the snide when you're at my side. I am empowered at this hour. I am enamoured by your glamour. I am tampered with and hammered. Clanging to the sound of ciders. Bashing, crashing, need catching, room trashing in this daily rehashing of what happens when smoking punctuates actions. The unholy distraction, movies make the worthless just surface, smoking breeds loafing, boxes your mind, even Pandora’s tired of opening, no hope and then, I place this pen in hand again, and try and vent those mental mind minions molding my emotion, in this harsh ocean of notions, waiting on closure.

I don't care what you believe; just keep it away from me, because my thoughts are still free. I am not having you thinking me into a new way to be, I am far from you and nearly me. Let it be. Just forget me, and how we came to be, it doesn't apply when wheels means you can't chill, rely on strangers, to see who tops that bill. Ill with perceived skill, and boring still. Yet nobody knew I could slew without the use of YouTube like a boobtubed teen, trying hard to get noticed by a useless abusive nuisance, who hates you, and is only concerned with what your body can do. I don't mind because I find I renew, you give me the fire to write what I do, it's minds like you who inspire already thin pretty women to swim in slimming pills to squeeze into Pink linen, and somehow it seems like just the beginning.

Entertainments Sake

Confiding in you
About lacklustre love
And how it scarpers away
Amongst the blue hue
That taints midday
Midway through.

What to do as it slips
Like dew
Into
Such shapeless forms
That fail to conform
To any preconceived solid notion
Of twisted verse and clanging adverbs
I am not adverse
To the spouting of curse
From which I coerce
And engineer
'Til you become malleable my dear

And then from here
You’ll do as I wish
I have to tear
This smile of fear.
Ill grab the gaffer
Tie you down
Take a basin
Gurgling now

Spiraling drown
Tunneling through
Uncharted waters.
Forbidden quarters
As pirates do
As what they pursue
Is gaiety too.

But I won’t get it
What I need
So I’ll take it
Clasp it
Voice goes raspy
The beauty of the whimper
Simplicity.

Unfortunately for you
Wedlock surpassed me
Come my buxom layabout
Lets get classy.

You could have listened
I told you this
Think of the summers
I’ve made you miss

But tell me this too
In honest truth
What lies behind
What we do
How to function
How to live
How to breathe
What gifts to give

Its happiness sought
Can’t be measured
Not yet bought
Solace treasured.

I loved you once
Still I do
The damage
I managed
To cause
You
Lacking, contemplative, pauses.

I spite you now
Edging down
Bag in hand
Solemn frown
Discerning looks
Piercing glance
Splice you now
With shards of glass

The day after the night before.
As you rest in
The stupour of mourning.
Skittish and ill
The wave of the thrill
Standing dead still.

In this twisted eve.
Circling in the eastern luckless leaves
Drunkards and thieves
Conveyor of dreams
Or so it seems

Lets shift floorboards up
Waltz we shall
With your corpse cold
Limp and proud

Stand up my dear
Lets spin to Swan Lake
Now you have to dance
For entertainments sake