Disoccidented

My first poetry collection, available on Amazon:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Disoccidented-Alfie-Shoyger/dp/1999922859

 

Cherry

Isle of Wight, April 1989

On the day before my ninth birthday and a weary-long birthday it was I still wanted to be an oinkpig, a flatfoot, a copper, so I could stop a traffic line, punch asinine citizens instead of clocking-in cards, shout, point, ignore criticisms and crack...

Toylet

When I was a boy I owned a small toy, perhaps you could call it a toylet. I thought it was wicked. You filled it with liquid...
Gold cherry
Poem of the week

My First Love, 1989 – 91

I was nine years old when you exploded onto my road long flaxen hair blue eyes from Kensington, although you said Hammersmith, to look less posh...
Cherry

Maturity

(Ghazal): I don’t much desire Maturity. You seem a vain liar, Maturity. You poke out of everyone’s Sunday Bests but I’m not a buyer, Maturity...
Cherry

Christmas Aunties

(Shoygrian stanzas): Auntie Elsie, not quite a Chelsea pensioner but can’t see too clear or mention a fight in a local car park without waxing vocal about men a lot and not relaxing, says aardvark...

The End of my Street, 1995

Pubescent chin abuzz with wispy bumfluff, I scratch my head at the poster outside the old tavern. Apparently the future of my street, my city, my country, my world that was full of such fun stuff...
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Sitting in a Twinkling Shack

(Sapphic Ode): I’m sitting in a twinkling shack or palace, call it what you will. Porcelain angels glint and crack on the windowsill. She stirs my tea, she jams my toast, she scrubs my plate until it bends...

Inside a Mosque, aged Fifteen

(Rhyme Royal): “Welcome to our mosque, young man! And help yourself to curry!” sang a gleeful, red-bearded gent as he stretched out his hand. But the voice from the stage...
Cherry

Youth, London

(Clogyrnachs): Youth’s a time when magic bounces through the heart, a heart that trounces all things monochrome. Life bubbles like foam and you roam in flounces...
Cherry

Uncle Eddie

It was in the late sixties as London was swinging and Eddie, my uncle, his flared trousers flinging pet dogs across pavements of silvery ice, his sideburns as though he was on the phone twice...

Luxor Massacre, 1997

(Dalit): Sixty dead tourists blotch our view of the pharaoh’s temple. I blame the West...
Gold cherry
Poem of the week

South-Central Walthamstow

The war memorial’s slashed in brash Cyrillic-esque graffiti: “Da Shapka Krew runs tings” and slits your whistle-throat entreaty for peace in a pebbledashed circus where defaced, de-souled banditti give a blindfold knife-thrower sort of show down South-Central Walthamstow...

Limericks

There was an old churchman from Limerick who believed his behaviour was chivalric, for he only would force himself on a horse in the boundaries of his own bishopric. There was a young lady from Penge...
Cherry

F--k Off, Sh--ty Free-Verse Poet

A poem inspired by a poetry reading in North London.
Gold cherry

Chicken Caesar

A plump gherkin swims round a jar, as chips crackle. Pasties malinger and saveloys shirk. Gristle and sinew are scraped with a rattle off skewers...

It Seems that I’m a Dinosaur

(Shakespearean sonnet): It seems that I’m a dinosaur with spiky tail and drooling gnash, I thought that life was meant for more than marketing and swiping cash...

Tips for Getting Published

(Ottava Rima): Feed the masses on their leather sofas juicy murders, shrewd detectives, blood, feisty women sleeping with their chauffeurs, spotty kids with magic wands, a flood of swoon-inducing swanking Casanovas...

Eavesdroppings

(Haiku): I listen, concerned, to the crows...

New American Century

New Pearl Harbour! Well, fee fie fo fum, I smell the vile scheming of neocon scum bombarding with their bottomless money-bags, their aerodrome dreams and battle drum, flogging dead dinosaurs with false flags...

Whoopsadaisy

Once upon a peculiar time, above New York and its glittering wealth, there loomed a lucky-numbered tower that could fall over all by itself. Nobody knew if it was the hand of God or Allah or Jehovah...
Cherry

Baa! Baa! White Sheep, Have you any Cool?

You suburban kids who flash around in falsetto stripes with your shoulders back and forth like gutter ghettosnipes as bold as packs of couscous, booming great stereotypes, down Conifer Cul-de-Sac, you summer-in-Sorrento types, what’s this fighting posse-speak, this sinister sermon-slurring? You’ve got white rosy cheeks like Reichsminister Hermann Göring...

Stanley

(Haiku): In your two-inch blade you see a sparkling sceptre...
Gold cherry

Prolefeed

Bingo. Pop stars. Gossip. Tits. Implants. Nose jobs. Hairy bits. Champions’ League. Transvestite vicars. Pics of duchesses in their knickers. God save the Queen and the P.M. That’s us. The unemployed are them...

The Royal College of Fishwifery

(Rondeau): At the Royal College, which upsprang at the turn of yestercentury’s clang, we teach the girls fishwifery, we lead them from the periphery in a glorious petty niggling gang...
Cherry

Security Guard

Laryngitis is the unexpected explanation for why I sit at midnight wearing a woolly hat and five pairs of pants on my head...

Clerihews

Adolf Hitler was peeved that Germany was littler than Russia. He didn’t invent the walkie-talkie. But proudly, he invented the marchie-shoutie...

Nick’s Girlfriend

My mate’s got a girlfriend I’d flush down the U-bend if I had the chance. She’d be killed at least...

Habits

(Kouta): “Don’t fart around me, it’s rude!” she ordered...
1 likes
Cherry

The Morning I Woke Up Having Forgotten I was German

I woke up at eleven feeling conquered by French absinthe and lacking recollection of events that weren’t too distant, inside a ferny wood that seemed to me more like a labyrinth. My sight was blurred, my speech was slurred, my footsteps were resistant...
Cherry

Ode an den Dönerkebab / Ode to the Doner Kebab

Döner, schönes Götterfleisch und Tochter aus dem Schwarzen Meer, Lamm von Gott, dein fettes Reich erweitert sich nach vielem Bier...
Cherry

Sharp Cockneys

Some people inform me that I ought to be a geezer, I should be a street-talking bandwagon-seizer who says “Football, birds, Kentucky Fried Pizza, look at me, I’m a geezer-of-the-geezers-on-the-streetser who keeps his trousers in the freezer, who’d never say nothing, mate, what wouldn’t please yer”...

Contemporary Limerick

There was a young artist from Chelsea who announced that his work was postmodern...
Cherry

David’s Dad

Iachi da, Dafydd, boyo! Seen much of your Dad of late? He’s sixty-five now, isn’t he, or do I exaggerate? I can still remember the days when Harry plaited spaghetti strands into a foot-high Grecian caryatid...

Southall

Men of every desh and stan are lolling round and chewing paan or swigging frothy Lal Toofan down Southall way...

Salman Rushdie Chokes on a Kipper

Circa Nineteen Sixty, dining hall, Rugby Public School. Fork clangs on floor as Salman Rushdie, still hair on his head instead of a price, chokes on a kipper...

Eels

(Lu-Shi): The sea licks the sky clean and new and flat. Chewy eel-chunks stew in a jellied splat...

Climerihewicks

Benjamin O. Zephaniah, past drug-test, beyond breathalyser, imagined a world free from bigotry’s squelch, in which all Negroes spoke Welsh...

Nothing to Offer

I thought that tenderness might be, perhaps, an attractive quality, that women would be pleased to find a man whose heart is well-inclined...
Cherry

John Bevan

(Saxonic couplets): There’s a strand of string stuck to the fast-spinning blade on the ceiling of the Dutch beer-house down Deptford High Street, it’s stretched in the slipstream and follows a forethought and forenamed pathway while the blade keeps out dry heat...

Sexy Marlene

(Muyaka stanzas): The girls are drenched in slutty vogue, in miniskirts, bobtails, the like. Each boy’s beard is that of a rogue, his tie not just kipper but pike, dapper from fedora to brogue...
Cherry

Herefordshire Birds

It’s not the first occasion I’ve been wrenched from the concrete splodge to which I clenched, I’ve often tramped the bramble-scattered banks of duck-jammed Roding, Ching and Lea, which quench the forest with their murky snaking tanks...
Gold cherry

Theft on the 15:33 to Penzance

(Skeltonics): Here’s cause to complain, I was robbed on a train near Salisbury Plain! After flushing the chain I returned to my table where an Auntie Mabel in moth-eaten lace with heart-monitor face was parked in my place...
Cherry

Canine Glares

Although he is a handsome creature, poodle bitches still glare proudly at him. Tail in any case an ohmmeter needle, genitals a pendulum, Llewelyn, my Alsatian, skips along beside my shins...
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Prig Culture

To prove that you don’t care about the colour of our skin, we must answer umpteen questions on our racial origin. You don’t ask if we’re from long lines of shipbuilders or miners whose lives are not as marginal as folk from Indochina’s now all that’s left is liberalism, intellectual minimalism sneering, “All is jingoism, Eurocentric gringo-ism, fish-and-chips-and-bingo-ism! I’m a pink flamingo-ism, I can speak the lingo-ism!” What a load of dingo jism, Prig Culture! The white man’s burden...
1 likes
Cherry

No Warm Arms

(Cywydd Llosgyrnog): When the gang vermin, thrashing hard, had left me fit for the scrap-yard and the guard outside Ward Three rebuked my swearword-peppered thrum of “Let’s just shoot the thick chav scum”, no warm arms comforted me...

Sex Shop Gwawdodyn

Gwawdodyn. As it says.
Gold cherry

The Reincarnation of Byron

The grit of the city alighting in eyeballs, confounding the warden, the basher of Bibles, the sergeant who mounts like a svelte caballero, each one of them locked in the pose of the scarecrow...

Horse Nectar

(Spegafk): I chuck my feelings here and there like nectar snuck into a trough where horses come to pluck a pear and kill...
Cherry

Victor

He’s on the floor. Sprawled across three quarters of the room, but he’s on the floor. Fat as a Volkswagen Beetle and clad in tuxedo and shirt and cravat, he’s on the floor...

Empath

(Tanka): Problems losing weight? I do indeed empathise. Emphatically so. I’m an emphatic empath...
Gold cherry

Opsimath

(Kyrielle): I twist and twist and twist for yards then leap like those in leotards down on the grass, limbs all splayed wide. I’m far too old to learn to ride...
Cherry

Job Centre Gwawdodyn

I said, “Jobs are just there to annoy.”...
Cherry

The Ballade of Armageddon

The planet ricochets to prophets’ chants and I am forced to only half-mistrust what Nostradamus fished from out his trance and revelations bishops have discussed...

Chaucer

(Cleriku): Geoffrey Chaucer, though dead as a saucer...
Cherry

The Dungeon

He said, “Alf, this is Anna, she comes from New York” and I thought my retort was so witty and maverick. I smiled, “Hello, Anna. I’m Alfie, from London. We must get together and invent a fabric.” I wasn’t in jocular mood on the Tube though, that afternoon clattering northwards from Gatwick, my eyes on an advert depicting a bloodied axe hovering over a skeletal Catholic...

Miss Willoughby

At half ten in the morning I watch Miss Willoughby’s lick-me legs dash behind a desk, I watch Miss Willoughby’s bite-me lips read out rubbish...
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You Seem to Think I Ought to Give a F--k

(Keatsian sonnet): You seem to think I ought to give a f--k what some limp-wristed Guardian-reading ponce has been programmed to think and sneer and cluck about the bigotry that he so achingly wants to find in some cold corner of my brain...
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England in 2006

(Shelleyan sonnet): Babies in “I love al-Qaida” hats are pushed by Nike-shod girls through undersexed throngs who chant of drowning us in vats of burnt dismembered flesh, their muscles flexed, their blameless treason tying Britain in plaits...

Leyton

(Shoygrian sonnet): Hemisphere-straddling town beside the Lea, that gulfy erstwhile Saxon-Dane frontier King Alfred fished in, catching condoms, tea- bags, shopping trolleys, cans that once hugged beer...

This is Not my Empire

What if the shaman-shooting, pygmy-robbing, Irishman-selling, continent-carving, child-hanging, Brahmin-flogging, farmhand-conscripting, peasant-starving, chimneysweep-buggering empire could redeem itself by stopping a jackboot- and-toothbrush-moustache-wearing fellow-Saxon who drowns nations in gunfire – with no help, no over-saluted Mason-Dixon apple-pie-chompers around for two years to (what’s that, Jim-Bob?) “bail it out”...
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Enough Knowledge about the British Isles to Fill a Leprechaun’s Sporran

Up a heathery mountain in Edinburgh City I gallivanted, gazing over the Firth of Forth to Fife, when I met some Californians (what a pity), a tam-o’-shantered hazy surfer dwarf and his wife who inquired of me, “Hey, man. What d’you call this pretty little stretch of water here? Is it the English Channel?” My answer lit up their tooth enamel...
Gold cherry
Poem of the week

To a Bagel

(Burns stanzas): Little puffy girdling bagel, all lonesome in your see-through cradle, what shall I smear across your navel, peanut butter? Some jam scooped up in a sturdy ladle the size of a putter?...
Cherry

Rural Dreams

Six a.m. A pub in the countryside of my mind. More like a sitting-room. Metre-long bar, one pump. “I’ll have a pint of that then, I suppose. Do you have any jobs going at the moment?” The tangerine-faced landlady replies, “Only for pole-dancers.”...
1 likes
Cherry

De Dodo Dodo Dodo De Dada Dada Dada

(Rondel): Has anybody seen the dodo? Has he made an exeunt? Perhaps the puffin spiked his cocoa in a jealous, scheming stunt, or broke his beak like a cheap yo-yo, or gave his bum a hefty punt...
Cherry

Gandhi

Gandhi, Gandhi, where are you going to run to with your mucker, Nehru? Churchill won’t come near, he thinks you’re a buccaneer, but he can’t resist your smile. How he really longs for you, Gandhi...
Cherry

Lo! How the Powerless are Falling

(Olwyn): Peterloo, the Jarrow marchers, typhoid, Tyburn, People’s Charters, endless jibing from the rich once knit us in united stitch. We stood in the indicted air and tens of thousands gathered where our folk were browsing for a chance to wake from Empire’s smacked-out trance on gassed and shellfired poppy fields, on muddy ground, with blood-strewn shields, but failure found us, we were captured in the end by Blair and Thatcher...
Cherry

To Lucy K

(Swannet): What goes up must come down, as proved old Isaac, and though you purred that I made you chirrup and chortle more than any other living mortal, it came down shattering in your room of lilac...

Smack Your Bloke Up

(Caudate sonnet): If I growled, “You are asking for a wallop, for me to thrash your face into a pulp, now shut your bagel-hole, you vole-brained trollop,” so my marshmallow of desire should gulp, the sisterhood would gather for the lynch since it’s a sin to turn your lover victim, to reduce your sweetheart to a flinch. But Man has cause to feel that something’s tricked him...
Cherry

There is No Limit to What People Contradict

Is this a pondered-over scheme to drive me mental, part of some theory that’s long and continental? My mind’s a home. D’you have the licence to evict? There is no limit to what people contradict...
Cherry

Broken

(Spegafk): Blown away from mankind’s shore by mankind’s drone, I lounge around like plate-shards on the stony floor of a taverna. Broken. Thrown...
Cherry

For a Woman to Notice me

VIDEO: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q_3yWo5hOdk For a woman to notice me I have to wear the right collar, flash some Yankee dollar, roast an armadillo in some esoteric pasta, memorise the plot of every movie ever shot with well-informed opinions on each director and actor...
Cherry

It’s Alright, I Don’t Expect You To

It’s alright, I don’t expect you to take the rocks life throws, and throw them back, and keep on throwing till your biceps bulge and all the rocks are gone. Instead, you’ll slack and whine, “Back down! There’s nothing we can do!” You just retreat and never dare attack...

Silence is as Painless as Suicide is Golden

It hurts and pains deep inside through the early morning fog to see visions of someone to be, when someone is withheld from me. Silence is as painless as suicide is golden but my eyes still see many changes, if I please...

Poker

I could have helped you spin your straw, like Rumpelstiltskin, into gold. I could have set your poet’s mind on fire, on greatnesses untold...
Cherry

Mind Games

(Wordsworthian sonnet): Your love burned like a toy and hobby shop in the first flush of an insurance scam. With you a partnership is not one gram to do with love, but “How far can I flop, turn, river, baffle, push before you’ll drop?”...

Thirteen East

Cloaked in a haggled-for tricoloured tent of a hammer-and-compass, Stasi officer’s cap back-to-front on history-drunk head, hands bent into “East Side” and “West Side” gangsta-rap gestures and watching the concrete-faced Russian Embassy guard caress his Kalashnikov...
Cherry

Last Watchtower, Potsdamer Platz

(Doppelspegafk): She cowers there among the office blocks, her hour shovelled up and, scraping-knifed, devoured by a taste that flips from sweet to sour. Friendless, wilting, concrete flower...

Hamburg

Ich wanke, meine dicke tasse beinahe leer von muckefuck, dann mache mich gefasst. Hier kommt die kunterbunte fahrt. Der ankertätowierte kaufmann flitzt in eine gasse, möwen schlucken brezelbrösel und erbrochenes wie saat. On every doorstep thrusts a tottering, conniving wretch, fatherless and cold-armed, barcodes carved into their flesh...