Spin,Doctor

The stars
are barred,
no room on the moon I bet,
no plot to let
if we went
to pitch an A frame tent
Sorry
Saturn's rings
are chock a block with things
we can't disclose
Even if we chose to know
the reasons for
lesions
that appear in a row
Little green men
pestering hens
gesturing come hither,
the rotters,
dithering
glistening bug eyed squatters
It's a real deal
the state,
of pan galactic real estate
No vacancies for flagrant,
vagrant,
short stay species
Conspiracies hatched
behind doors latched
in B and B's
But we might
if we try
find a place in the sky,
better yet
for some debt
as entertainment
in containment
as some house trained alien pet

Back to the suture

Needle and thread,
our daily bread
Bandage
and cast
How long
do you think
the NHS will last?
Grazed knees
annoying me
from last orders
in the A and E
Some poor Mr
with a big
blood blister
Aw,
poor you
abrasions
from new
leather shoes?
Hardly front page news
Chaps
having scraps
and gaps in teeth
Good grief,
no wonder
we're overrun
From folk
doing coke
and people choking,
how nice,
from smoking
vast quantities
of spice
Big drinkers
are not usually
forward thinkers
Inebriated
reprobates
causing a fuss,
scuffles,
and kerfuffle's,
at the back
of the bus
Well,
bless those doctors
and nurses,
met with curses,
seek to aid
those
who have chose
to make folk
feel afraid

Go Compare

It's apparently transparent,
the votive motive,
balancing between
unheard and unseen,
keener eyesights than mine
have seen
far brighter lights,
brighter minds than mine
have feared
far greater heights,
so,
comparisons between greater
and smaller,
don't result
in one better than the other,
brother.
Smothering small cries of delight,
plights unheeded
I'm wheedling,
peddling feelings,
balancing on a razor wire,
free wheeling.

Project Condign

After much speculation
hesitation
discourse
and of course
trepidation
the lies
are revised
Whole paragraphs
erased
along with names
facts and faces
No traces of doubt
remain
Blames levelled
and gavels
struck
we're still fucked
Truth be known
it's still
all talk
and no show
Despite bright lights
causing
night time frights
I'm shitting a brick
if it turns out
they're right

Get Down

Welcome to the dance
Ignore the rants
It's easy
A series of advances and retreats
to shy glances
under brows
Cheeks reddened
by thoughts caught unsaid
How neat
The beat dictates of course
Wait your turn
against the wall,
choose a partner
great or small
have a ball!
Spin your partner
twist and shout
Bunching around mixed punches
Name tags
and game rags
Polite chatter
scattered applause
Awards presented
to well dressed
special guest
well thought out wars

No Quarter

Once again
 I fail
to maintain
indifference
Fence sitting
is a void
devoid
of opinion
Defiles filled
with overspill,
justifications met
are,
to some degree,
a cause for regret
I'm easily
consumed,
now,
chow down,
take bites,
I'll make no sound.
Ground
 between teeth,
cheeks round
Remove me
from approval
Wipe slates clean,
demeaning me
is hardly
pain
I retain the right
to oppose
and
sometimes fight
some small part
of myself
that clings
to reason
in the face
of overwhelming
blatant
hipocracy

Radio Active

Polonium two ten,
applied with a pen,
solves difficult questions,
and eases uncertain tensions,
felt by world leaders
(no names mentioned).
Chlorine gas,
must be quite bad,
its applied against people resisting Assad,
murdering blighters
we called freedom fighters,
until the world press,
under duress,
screamed of the crisis,
and relabeled them Isis
While nuclear arms,
proliferating,appear to calm,
alleviating the worry
from quandaries concerning funds
squandered on the aims of distorted,
contorted,
political campaigns.

Sir Chengin

Google want to know when I masturbate,
how frequently
how indecently
and even at what rate.
What I eat and what I buy,
extroverted,
perverted,
or merely shy
What I wear and where I've been,
my vocation,
or location,
their insistence is obscene.
Are we statistics
for an online quick fix?
Can we deny
the need to be freed,
with shaking fist,
from supplying details for mailing lists?
Wrists tired and tied,
from emails missed,
I'm a trifle pissed
having to delete greetings,
and special deals for cut price meals,
and meetings,
with princes and kings from African states
insisting
on listing
the reasons for the gold being late.

Premier

I'm disputing
with Putin
civil fights,
he's neurotic
Barechested
on horseback
How homo erotic!
While he's
waving flags,
they're taking
photographs,
how bold,
that tortoise-like centrefold
of many
gay men's porno mags
Podium rants
while wearing
hot pants
too tight
a terrible example
of a closet
transvestite
He's not
after all
such a bad fella
He's promised
to give me
an atomic umbrella
But don't gloat
at the scrote
because he lied
Meekly
subscribing weekly
to issues
of London's gay pride
Kinky gay boys,
it seems to me,
are the letters
that make up
K.G.B.

Mind The Stares

Pulse racing
Thoughts of caresses
tracing fingers
down her neck
Eyes wild
with desires
I'm reading you
needing you
I think
Every twist
and turn
sculpted
burns me
Musical notes
emitted
from
a beautiful throat
But
I'm a scumbag
One time lag
No good
do gooder
A checklist
for wrecking
my self
Begins with
chairs
propped against doors
To dispel
kiss and tell
An emotive vagrant
you see
Attempting
to keep at bay
my emotional
tendencies