2nd October somebody going through me

2nd October somebody going through me

as in reading a load of stories overnight

maybe it was the Democrats as they committed suicide

Instead of voting

Anyway suicide is dangerous and hurts more, those left behind

So Democrats get you fingers out and vote

Or TRUMP has already won with all his LIES

Or is empty pride all you have

then NOTHING gets done

Joe will be a one term man

But IF you actually vote

Then you have FDR changing point in History

Or is USA really in denial 

And as the Titanic sinks you are arguing over

the colour of the life boats

BUT ENOUGH OF POLITICS

my pain levels are through the roof again

but at least the Subway sandwich was nice

My small daughter who sits in the corner 

8 feet away from me has just

put her UCAS list of 5 Universities

I just want her to be happy

But any one of those 5 would be nice

Me I got where I am the hard way

2,000,000 words

1000s of downloads in multiple languages

while I eat my Subway sandwich

So I'll leave it there for now

Maybe I'll watch Modern Family

As I hear a love song in French playing

in the student's corner

Life has been a box of chocolates

Though it has been very hard to get

all those wrappers off

Multiple meanings there

That's why I really love words

Though PRETENTIOUS words

just make me want to PUKE

and yes I read something recently

here's something from Dec 2016 according to my list

Though dates may be wrong

But like I've said before

Everything is My OWN

Pretentious Poets Strike Again ©

 

By Michael Casey

 

Now how exactly shall we describe Pain, is it just a myth advanced by Pharmacists aided and abetted by slick adverts on tv with wonderful graphics of throbbing this and that. Does it exist at all? Is it just a bad joke on Creation’s part? Shall I compare thee to a Scream on a Winter’s night echoing through The Dark of the Night of he Soul.

 

Now where did we put the Dictionary, next to our copy of the Perfect Word by Lenny Bruce, the well know American dictionary compiler, the coarse, the very coarse version. Or did we leave it next to our cook book, the American guide to Hamburgers a la Macdonalds, the 1999 version. Though who uses dictionaries, they are for the mentally weak, those with no moral fibre, we poets don’t need them, we just make up new words made up of sounds.

 

If it sounds good we use it, not forgetting a dose of alliteration on the side, and if we get the words wrong there is always the doctor or the priest to absolve us from our word choice. Priests are so forgiving of our words, especially Fr. Percy, he used to be a nudist till he saw the light and became a poet and then finally a priest, in the church of the Church of the Totally Gullible the church of Film Stars and Pop Stars.

 

But I digress, which word shall I pick and choose, where is my Muse, it’s hard to keep your muse, it should be chained to your bed, or was that a bad idea I saw on Blacklist, I really must stop watching late night tv, or was it the Brussel sprouts I consumed. We poets don’t eat we consume, and are consumed by ideas and emotions, because we are so sensitive, as we are Artists who teach the whole world what is Nature in the atmosphere and deep deep deep down inside us.  

 

I found the dictionary in the bathroom, its such consuming reading while one is at repose, or just sat on the toilet. Sadly a few pages are missing, I ran out of tissue paper, the letter Z has all but disappeared. But Z is so boring so it shall not be missed by this Poet, nor the world of words, how many zebras have you heard of in contemporary poetry. Not even Leonard Cohen used Z, so it won’t be mourned, he will be mourned, but Z will not.

 

So where were we, yes we were describing Pain, rather like a Rolling Stones concert where there is a 400 years queue for the toilet, now that is pain as one hops from leg to leg crossed leg to crossed leg, like a frog in a kilt, and no I’m not talking about that French Fashion person, whose name evades me right now, though he does make rather good perfume in the torso bottle. I’m almost inspired to write a ditty about queueing to have a sh sh well  you know what I mean, so long as its clean.

  

Now I was going to talk about how clever my choice of words is, but that would be boastful, but I am a pretentious poet, so I DO need to Educate you, there are more letters in the alphabet other than Z after all. In the Fall the leaves fall  and gather on the ground for walkers to walk in and squash and squish, rather like pages stolen from a dictionary never to be used again, its all such desolation, how can poets survive with no cheap alliteration to be found in the leaves, Nature itself thieves them from our life from our very being.

 

So Pretentiousness must end the pain killers have worked and its 5.30am now so I need to go back to bed to finish my repose, this stink of words must have gone up your nose or fallen down and left a mess on your pjs or dressing gown, amongst the tooth paste stains and hot chocolate stains. So goodnight to one and all, as the good Earth spins I have finished blowing my own Trumpet, another night owl is reading my words, its 3am somewhere and I hope he enjoys my prose brought on by lack of repose. And if He wants to give everybody a great Christmas Present, how about lowering the cost of pills, then he would be a saviour for all our ills.