Hate Speech and Thoughtcrime

My proposed second poetry collection. Work in progress.

Western Society is Going to Collapse

The overdraft is plummeting to trillions and trillions. Satanic banks are bloating into ruby-crowned leviathans who clamp their clenching, flexing, metal-knuckled, hairy tentacles around democracy’s and freedom’s fast-retreating testicles. Murder-merchants, cardboard cut-outs, billionaire Don Juans grace the White House. Up ahead glint grinning petroyuans...

The National Dish

Doner kebab! O doner kebab! Often, when I recline beside you, how I wonder what’s inside you. Cloven hooves and mad-cow beef, bits of a bouncer’s blown-out brain, a suicide-bomber’s fingers and teeth, an aborted foetus from the high-school lane...

Phimosis, aged Nineteen

My loins, my loins are roaring, they rage for lack of whoring and hurry me towards a wench who treads the boards in my bawdy theatre group. She’d grinned at my swift swoop like it was grotty cabaret arranged by François Rabelais, but rubber goes to waste...

Circumcision, aged Twenty

(Rotfockel): Goodbye, good riddance, there’ll be no reminiscence of our coexistence as you kept me distant from my pump and piston teenage ambition, thwarting all my exertion with your inertia, striving like a researcher or a tough-nurtured street urchin to keep me a virgin...

Festival Moment

(Ballad): Miles of polystyrene beakers carpet a cow-smelling field. Kangaroo meat’s up for grabs in tubs that are clumsily sealed. It tastes the way a sofa would. To sit on its aftereffect I swig from a barrel of vinegary cider, wipe my neck and suspect I’m drunk...
Cherry

When Candles of Wax my Room do Light

When candles of wax my room do light, I down sit and some poetry write, and though the centuries late have got, I the verb at the end of each sentence put...
Cherry

Exvermination

My hat’s far from doffed at the rats in my loft, they screech and they fight and they breed from nine until two, when I’m trying to do boring and gay things like read...

59,000% Say Keep Smoking

Written in 2007, just before the introduction of the smoking ban.
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Cherry

Apathy in the UK

What’s so bloody marvellous about “democracy”? Just because we don’t all drop off joblessly with leprosy and dropsy, we think it spotlessly grand and lofty like some pompous opera, see, but poverty still hovers over Britain ominously, we wander disoccidented, our hopes all lost at sea...

Some Women Walk Briskly

Some women walk briskly with their arms folded. Is this to prevent excess bouncing, I wonder? Are they keen athletes training for some event, the Smart Marathon, perhaps?...

Bud Bud Ding Ding

(Kyrielle): Where is all the bloody tea? The bloody tea I cannot see. This bloody tea, it taste like mud. Bud bud ding ding, bud bud bud...
Cherry

College Reunion

Harriet is now a Jehovah’s Witness. Ranjit deejays at a folk music nightclub. His parents are proud...
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Poem of the week

To my Unborn Son

(Abercrombie sonnet): My unborn son, I drill down through the wires that thread my battered brain and ask, “What kind of world will drag you through the fires of earthy human passion?”...

Conversation with my Teenage Self

I need to find a girl who reads. But girls round here don’t read, old boy. They’re far too busy watering seeds and ploughing along in a tractor. Then university’s the place! For thought, discovery and joy! The student girl’s an empty space. The only boys who attract her...

Ironic

Mister Antifascist, dressed blacker than a goth, covers up his features with a bit of cloth. The patriots’ conference is a lamp to a left-winged moth and he smashes it to pieces in a blitzkrieg of wrath. Isn’t it ironic? Don’t you think?...
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Canute

My pet newt, Canute, is far too minute to hold back the tide on its moon-inspired route...
Cherry

Julian and I

It was a lizard’s tongue-flick after England One Germany Four in the World Cup when armies of churlish chair-hurling Anglo-Saxons who apparently aren’t Germanic in any way mid-stanza stopped caterwauling about two world wars and nineteen sixty-six AD or BC (no-one remembers), and as a thousand thousand flags of Saint George snuggled up to banana skins again...

Racist

(Ghazal): I can make you feel small, racist. So that you’ll have to crawl, racist. I can make you want, after speaking to me, to bash your head on a wall, racist...

All of my Opinions

Just look at all these privileged white male proletarian imbeciles who can’t use grammar properly! Just listen to their simple squeals about how they don’t want their daughters ravished by a grooming gang! Reactionary as the King of Auschwitz or the Kuomintang! They disregard the gender wage gap! Nobody can stop them from whinging about terrorism like it’s a real problem!...

Dissociative Love

Such hair, such springy marmalade hair, such arctic skin, such North Sea eyes, breasts to slaughter Vikings for, such breasts, such fertile vulpine thighs I’ve craved for months, all now crouch down by frying pan and library card...

Over

I’m over women. I’m over sex. I’m over beauty. I’m over youth...
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I’m Not Interested

(Skeltonics): I’m not interested in how you’ve learned to endow pockets of webblifrabe with auto-chiffliswabe and made the director go “wow” so that now you’ve earned enough thimbles of bottom-fluff to eat the best beef stroganoff in downtown Saratov...

Discussion about Tommy Robinson with some Liberal Leftists

Muslims are a race! You fascist nipple-face! They can’t be criticised! Screw your racist lies! Freedom? Go to hell! White men rape as well! Why don’t you scream your bile at pale-faced paedophiles? It’s just because you frown on those whose flesh is brown! Because you just can’t wait to spew your brainless hate! Well, chum...

The Road to 1688

(Zigzag Doppelflagofk Sonnet): The popinjays in parliament are fat from lack of effort as foreign gentlemen who’ve strangled children in a desert, invited by a German witch, come waltzing with their four-inch excited camel-prodders oozing heatstruck lust for...

My Girlfriend Cheated on me, so I Cut her Tits Off

(Sidneyan sonnet): My girlfriend cheated on me, so I cut her tits off. Then I threw them in a lake where maybe a voracious water-snake will eat them. Or a peckish halibut...

Tim’s Cat

(Limericks): I once knew a locksmith called Timothy whose cat was a lardy behemoth, he scoffed rats till he threw up. I forget where Tim grew up, his accent was Cornish or Plymouthy...
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Gold cherry

Morning Star Horoscopes Page, with Karl Marx

Aries. You’ve had a tough time lately making ends meet, but all your money worries will soon be over!...

Canute, Part Two

My pet newt, the minute Canute, was hatched on a mossy islet festooned with pine-cones and chrysalises in a soggy explosion of yellow, green and violet quenched by a frothy streamlet crashing through the Epping Jungle...

Terrish – A World Language

The Bagvaan’s Inori: Ower Baaba, hu is in Shammu, kaddosh is yor vardas, yor vasilio datang, yor zhelanye be fard, on Terra as in Shammu. Datch us vandaag ower daagly chingwa. Yungsow us ower pekaatums as we yungsow those hu pekaatum agenst us and lingdow us not intu pralobaana but valanka us from resha. For the vasilio, the shakti and the gogoniant ar yors axkan and betirako. Amen...

Die Merkel

Sie ist die Merkel, sie sieht nicht gut aus. Sie lädt viele terroristen ein nach haus. Sie wirkt so gerecht, an sie kommt niemand ran. Für die Globalisten macht sie was sie kann...

Prague

(Yiddish sonnet): Up on the shoulders of the shapely city, tucked inside the rock, beneath a huge forever-ticking metronome, the urge to strut around the place and set the party on fire with moves that startle...

Polish Afternoon

It was over uncleaned kitchens and unpaid zlotys, I think. Not sure. I only understood “kurwa”. The argument between you and those two bottom-jockeys, your flatmates, roared like a furnace as I swigged from a bottle of apple and beetroot juice...
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Men are from Minsk, Women are from Vilnius

Yuri. Round face. Cropped black hair. Red nose. He roars, “What can I do? Vodka naidu!” The tumblers drip. “Drink, Alfie! To the last man who can save the West! To Donald Trump!”...

Note to a German Geezerbird

hey dude dudette düdin look that one up in Duden you dindu nuffin...
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Poem of the week

Koumpounophobia

I’ve always hated buttons...
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Cherry

Soundwaves

Under the glow of the spotty-faced moon, a plough, a small bear and an orangey Venus, ascends the percussion of wheels on a track as grasshoppers fiddle away on their wings...
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