Thursday 19 December 2013

THE CRAP WEDDING

There really is nothing quite so life affirming
As being sat at a table
With eight complete strangers
At a wedding reception
With barely enough alcohol to drown a flea.

That is, if your life is a pained, awkward, silent,
Elongated existential crisis with unfamiliar faces
And nowhere to escape to.

By way of an ice breaker,
The man next to me asks if I like logic puzzles.
I laugh and say no,
To which he replies,
“You have to ask a meta question,”
Which has to be the worst and weirdest opening ever.
I should have asked him
If he was enjoying his pate

At the quantum level.

WHEN STATIONERY IS NOT STATIONARY

This one is for Tom (and Becky, if that was her name...)


WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?
I have one day off
And come back to find
That someone has tidied my desk?!?!
“I didn’t want to throw any of it away,”
Admitted the culprit, the one-day desk squatter
“So I put it all in piles.”
Yeah, except for the folder,
Which is now on the wrong side of the desk,
The stapler being in the drawer,
With the pens and the post it notes
Where none of these things EVER LIVE,
And the ruler,
Which has magically migrated to your own desk.

Look at it, this is chaos;
You people are the worst kind of terrorist
Why don’t you come ‘round my house while I’m out next week
And glue all my furniture

To the ceiling? 

Tuesday 29 October 2013

SHAMELESS PLUG #18

Yours truly has had a poem published in Vol 3 of the Poetic Bond series:




I'm even on the cover with an unsmiley face. Clever or wot?

You can check it out at www.thepoeticbond.com/

or at good old Amazon...



LIKE A CLOSED BOOK



She had a faced like a closed book
A book that you had heard was shit
And almost certainly didn’t want to read
But nonetheless, there it was
Every day,
In your face,
Like Fifty Shades Of Grey
Only shorter,

But just as thick.

Monday 7 October 2013

NONSENSE

You’ll pardon me
If I stop talking to you
For the rest of my/your life
(delete as applicable)
But I have found
That some people take most of what I say,
Which is at least fifty percent nonsense,
At face value
And despite this being their mistake
I am the one who looks foolish
Suggesting that all the world leaders
Get together and make sandwiches

To resolve all their problems

RABBIT

The problem with people like you
Is that you never shut up

They say it’s the quiet ones you have to watch out for
That’s because they’re the ones
Busily plotting your bloody demise
While you rabbit away incessantly
About nothing
Nothing

And nothing.

Wednesday 28 August 2013

IF I SAW THEM NOW...

If I saw them now
And they asked me how I was
I would probably smile and give them
A half-lie:
“Oh, you know,
The same but different, whatever,
Same shit, different place,
Let’s face it, we’re all (just) engaged
In ongoing acts of futility
So what does it matter?
That said,
At least I don’t have to put up with your particular brand of shit
Five days a week,
So,
You know,

Every cloud…”

WEBSITE UPDATE

The new <500 website is now up and running at www.lessthanfivehundred.com, featuring bonus content, shop and more.

Thursday 1 August 2013

TEAM MEETING

Thursday afternoon
Sat around a table
With all the other dupes
Enduring
The longest
Hour
Ever
I would rather chew my own face off

Than be here. 

Wednesday 24 July 2013

BORED WITH DOGS


THE ADVENTURES OF GOD AND STEVE, PART ONE:
“BORED WITH DOGS”



“Dum de dum,” muttered God, as he doodled away at his latest creation. He was in no hurry, and wanted to try and get things right. As he hadn’t invented time yet, he had loads of it to spare. He had only just invented irony too, and was still enjoying the novelty.
            How they would marvel at all the work he had got done in seven days, while they themselves would be constantly running out of time. God had a good old chuckle to himself at that one.
            “What’re you up to now?” Asked Steve, who God had created on the second day to keep him company. Steve had originally been a moth, but had been eaten by something God called a ‘cat’, so God had made him into a medium sized man thing with two legs and a tail. No cats had attempted to eat him since then. God was actually thinking of turning Steve into a donkey the next day, but he wasn’t sure what a donkey was yet.
            “It’s like a dog,” God told him. It’s a new kind of dog.”
            “What does it do?” Asked Steve.
            “Not much,” Admitted God, “But it looks nice. Here,” God held up a preliminary sketch for Steve to see.
            “What’s up with its tail?” Asked Steve. “It looks like it’s stuck to its back.”
            “I got bored with dogs,” God confessed. “Tails flapping about all over the place. So I glued this one to its back.”
            “It looks like it’s showing its arse off,” Commented Steve.
            “Maybe it is,” Said God defensively, though he hadn’t really given it that much thought. He just wanted it to look pretty.
            “He looks quite happy,” Commented Steve, “What’s it called anyway?”
            “This,” God proudly pronounced, “Is called a ‘wolf’”.
            “Cool,” Said Steve, “Is it going to have legs as well?”
            “Oh yeah,” Mused God, “I hadn’t thought of that.”

                                                                            *


Monday 22 July 2013

BORED NOW

(Did this one yesterday before it popped out, then forgot to post it)...


“Does anyone know what it’s going to be?”
Well, chances are
It will be:
Born with a silver spoon up its arse
Burdened with the weight of unrealistic expectations
Christened the saviour of the monarchy
Have its future decided for it
Worshipped by the press
Harassed by the paparazzi
Paraded in front of the world like the second coming
And given more opportunities to succeed daily
Than most of us get in our entire lives
But
It may also
Have big ears
A fat nose,
And a shitty backside
Above all else

IT’S JUST A FUCKING BABY

Sunday 14 July 2013

FOR STEVE

We met Steve on holiday
It was evening
And he appeared
Outside the restaurant
That overlooked the sea
And without warning,
Shat, or puked,
I forget which,
By the side of the road

His attempts to gain entry
Were met with disgust
And a sharp kick in the guts
From the staff
But still he persisted
Wailing
For food
Or attention
We didn’t know
We didn’t speak his language

Eventually, Steve gave up
The begging
The pitiful noise
And slunk around the corner
Into an alley
Where he lay down,
We thought, for a sleep

He was silent for a while,
So we carried on,
Felt sorry,
Eat food, and
Drank
And noticed that Steve hadn’t moved
For a while

In time, another cat came along
Sniffed the air
And looked at Steve
With big sad eyes that said:
“Steve? Steve?”
Those eyes already knew
That it was too late
That all was not well with Steve

It left quietly, perhaps
To go and tell the others
That Steve was dead

Later, we heard the scrape
Of metal on concrete
And looked out, to see
Nothing
Steve had gone

Shovelled away into the night

THIS IS HOW IT ENDS

This is how the world ends
Jammed on a train
Outdoing each other with blurts of noise
Rustling papers
Scrolling aimlessly
Through the latest lists of nothing
Dying for a piss
Or for some bloody leg room
Some relief from this dull skullache
Some relief from tomorrow

Living in between is not enough

Tuesday 9 July 2013

COVER FOR CONNECTING SOMETHING WITH NOTHING

Due in August from Influx Press, featuring writing by Mark Beechill and others...

Available to pre-order at a special price from http://www.influxpress.com/

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT


The sad thing about relationships
Is that you just end up lying about things
And editing the truth
Because it’s easier than having the argument you know will ensue
Where neither of you will back down
And all you wanted to do in the first place
Was tell someone
-just one person-
Exactly how you feel
Is it wrong to expect a bit of fucking comfort
A modicum of sympathy?
Apparently, we are too close for comfort

Or maybe

It’s just me

DOVER’S GOT TALENT

DOVER’S GOT TALENT 



Wednesday morning,
It’s pissing down with rain
And Dover town centre stinks of cabbages
My soul takes a plunge at the bus stop
As I stand waiting for something that may never arrive
And a small child dithers in front of me,
Humming tunelessly
While noisily jamming crisps in its mouth:
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Dover’s got talent.
Meanwhile, all of the gawping mutants stumble past
And I wonder what the fuck I’m supposed to do with all of this
And more importantly,

When it will be over…

Tuesday 4 June 2013

FIFTY-SIX CHANNELS

                                                FIFTY-SIX CHANNELS 


Well, blow me
Gasped the sentimental prole
As a gallon of vomit
Poured slowly out of the ground
Like a decade of molasses

They all drowned
With a smile
On their face
It was a life of some kind
Slow, sugary

And easy

Tunnelwater - This was ...what?


Courtesy of Simian Bridgestock of Id Log infamy....


Monday 3 June 2013

Exciting news! (Part 1)

Mark Beechill will have a poem featured in the forthcoming Influx Press anthology ‘Connecting Nothing With Something’ 
See http://www.influxpress.com/forthcomingtitles/ for more details - we'll post updates when a release date has been confirmed.


I’M A HUMAN, GET ME OUT OF HERE

(this one's for Simon)



I’M A HUMAN, GET ME OUT OF HERE 
Aka GIVE IT TIME



A quick trip to Ashford
Pick up some books
Get out again
Simple

That is, until the bus doesn’t turn up
And I’m confronted
By a smorgasbord of dreck
Flotsam and jetsam on all fours

Miscellaneous mutants meander malignantly;
The High Street is an endless parade of bad haircuts;
A busker commits murder in broad daylight;
Bored teenagers on half term
Break a branch from a tree
And proceed to beat up a bus shelter
Even this attempt is half-arsed;
The fruitcakes loiter outside of shell-shocked shopfronts
Shouting at anything, nothing
This whole place is grasping at straws

So if you’ve lost faith in miracles
You should come here
And marvel
That someone hasn’t burnt the shit down




SPRING ALTERNATIVE PRESS FAIR - THANKS TO ALL!

Thanks to everyone who came to the Alternative Press Fair in London this Saturday, and extra thanks to those who bought a book or a 'zine from us, traded their own lovely creations or just stopped for a chat.
See you at the next one!
Here's a few dodgy photos...











Wednesday 15 May 2013

TOPICAL STORM


That smug bastard Cameron
Has got it all wrong:
Judging by the news
I’d say
We’re all paedophiles now.

Thursday 9 May 2013

OVERHEARD ONE MORNING AT WINCHEAP BARBERS

(the following conversation was real, and has not been edited or cut for comedy purposes)



“Did you see that new comedy programme last night?”
“Which one was that?”
“A Good Night Out or somethin’. Dunno what channel it was on. Really funny, well directed, really well written, I really enjoyed it.”
“Yeah, that’s one thing we do really well. Comedy. The British sense of humour…”
“Yeah, but the Americans don’t really get it, they don’t get that British humour.”
“When they take one of our shows over there, they don’t get it right.”
“Yeah, the Americans just like to go around shooting each other with semi-automatic weapons.”

(end of conversation)

PERKS

The best thing about working
In an office full of women
Is that toilet time
Is my time
Peace and solitude
And no one else farting, shitting,
Hawking, or talking.
There really is nothing weirder
Than two men holding a conversation
While also holding
Their penis.

Saturday 27 April 2013

WELCOME TO THE FUTURE

Welcome to the future:
Here’s your mundane, monotonous slog of a job.
Enjoy it, and most of all
Be grateful
You’re lucky to have this minimum wage opportunity
This chance to get stuck on the bottom rung
And stay there
Unless you put your hand up
And volunteer to swallow this shit
And then ask for more

Alternatively,
You can beg for approval
A sign that you are worth something
From a row of shiny twats
With more money than God
And less humanity than a fucking lamppost
They are (now) the new Gods:
To be closer to them
Is to be more like them
Only the closer I get,
The sicker I feel

LET ME DRAW YOU A PICTURE

If you asked me to draw a picture
Of an animal chasing its tail
It would look like eight people
Sitting ‘round a meeting room table
All asking each other
Different versions of the same question
And answering each time with the same thing
Without ever reaching any conclusion
Or making any progress

Me, I just sit there
Trying to guess which of the people in the room
Will be the first to tear someone’s throat out

SHAMELESS PLUG #1

http://www.alternativepress.org.uk/index.php/2013/04/alternative-press-fair-spring-2013/
Hope to see you there!

Saturday 13 April 2013

YOU KNOW YOUR COUNTRY’S FUCKED



YOU KNOW YOUR COUNTRY’S FUCKED



You know you’re country’s fucked
When the person who did the most damage to it in living memory
Gets the biggest outpouring of grief and tributes
And where the Daily Mail chokes on its cornflakes, knickers in a knot
Because a few folks expressed their feelings
And chose to celebrate instead


Still, that’s the idiotic world of fame and death for you
It doesn’t matter how much of a bastard you are in life
All you have to do is die
And all your sins will be absolved,
People will talk about your legacy like it’s something good
As if all that shit never happened
Yeah, the Eighties were great
“We could do with another one like her right now”
One of her former cronies dribbled
While anyone with a brain
Knows we didn’t need one in the first place.
 

MAGGIE

I did actually start writing these on the day, but I was so sickened by the outpouring of praise for this horrible woman that I spent the rest of the week vomiting continuously.

MAGGIE

Goodbye Maggie
And good riddance
Like they say,
Maybe you’re in a better place now
One where everyone sells each other insurance
And the lower classes do as they are told
And are neither seen nor heard
And everyone pays the poll tax,
One where everything is privatised,
And everyone is in it for themselves alone
And we’re all friends with dictators


Sounds like Hell to me
But that’s probably where you belong