..taught me how to French kiss =]
The three months late, but very beautiful and poetic letter he sent me for my 21st
v
v
Saturday, 17 January 2009
9941 Log U J- maiden *space*
Justin Logue..
..taught me how to French kiss =]
The three months late, but very beautiful and poetic letter he sent me for my 21st
v
v
..taught me how to French kiss =]
The three months late, but very beautiful and poetic letter he sent me for my 21st
v
v
Big Fat Friends
(For Kim)
"Nobody look! Kim's kissin' Kate Moss!
I touched Pete Doherty and saw two hearts break.
You put my heart in a blender and threw it in my face,
but I just want you back. Booby. I just want you back for good.
Justin doesn't even like camping and he hates Postman Pat.
John Pauls a gay y'know and DJ likes quiet girls.
Peter Dennis is a Spanish tapas dancer..
..it keeps the rich, rich and the poor, poor.
You gotta make him your lover so I can make him my friend.
Yaah Sweden, yaah. What's the capital of Luxembourg?
Let's steal some holly from Vienna and some milk from the Ming yin Gardens.
We could go to Vegas and make our fortune as hand twins.
You said that someday we would look back on this and laugh..
..Je suis anglais! Je suis anglais! Je ne comprends pas!
Bonsoir, bonsoir, Vous êtes sexaaay! (Noir Chat.)
You're like a little bit of skiing on my lips. My sister from another mister.
My nephew from another orange. My 900 Dollar Man and my Miss Sensation.
Well Papa, its a half past one and the fun has just begun.
Irish Eagles ready? Yesaaa! Granny from another..Yoc Baby.
(Dude this cake is mingin', wanna come back for more later, yeah?)
These chicken nuggets are sick. Holly and chu..ugghh.
You're on every Tuesday at eight- Get back on the bus blossom.
Nah man, it's okay, I know South Belfast like the back of my hand.
Alternatively Ulster till i die. I know I am. I'm sure I am.
She's the singer and I'm the runner. Road flavoured curry and 24hr shopping.
'Stu and Holly: Tiger Fanatics.' An orphan who lives in a bath.
My dads rich and I drive a Subaru.
Yer fadher woza dirtaay thievin' scoundrel from the lanes of Limerick,
and you're mawder woza two punt hooker from O'Connell Street.
Toilet? Yes?"
Spour spemories spin.
"Nobody look! Kim's kissin' Kate Moss!
I touched Pete Doherty and saw two hearts break.
You put my heart in a blender and threw it in my face,
but I just want you back. Booby. I just want you back for good.
Justin doesn't even like camping and he hates Postman Pat.
John Pauls a gay y'know and DJ likes quiet girls.
Peter Dennis is a Spanish tapas dancer..
..it keeps the rich, rich and the poor, poor.
You gotta make him your lover so I can make him my friend.
Yaah Sweden, yaah. What's the capital of Luxembourg?
Let's steal some holly from Vienna and some milk from the Ming yin Gardens.
We could go to Vegas and make our fortune as hand twins.
You said that someday we would look back on this and laugh..
..Je suis anglais! Je suis anglais! Je ne comprends pas!
Bonsoir, bonsoir, Vous êtes sexaaay! (Noir Chat.)
You're like a little bit of skiing on my lips. My sister from another mister.
My nephew from another orange. My 900 Dollar Man and my Miss Sensation.
Well Papa, its a half past one and the fun has just begun.
Irish Eagles ready? Yesaaa! Granny from another..Yoc Baby.
(Dude this cake is mingin', wanna come back for more later, yeah?)
These chicken nuggets are sick. Holly and chu..ugghh.
You're on every Tuesday at eight- Get back on the bus blossom.
Nah man, it's okay, I know South Belfast like the back of my hand.
Alternatively Ulster till i die. I know I am. I'm sure I am.
She's the singer and I'm the runner. Road flavoured curry and 24hr shopping.
'Stu and Holly: Tiger Fanatics.' An orphan who lives in a bath.
My dads rich and I drive a Subaru.
Yer fadher woza dirtaay thievin' scoundrel from the lanes of Limerick,
and you're mawder woza two punt hooker from O'Connell Street.
Toilet? Yes?"
Spour spemories spin.
Liar
Shades of green write words for you
Self-absorbed, you're colour blind
White lies and yellow bellies
Mouldy beans and half-baked plans
Worn out coats and washed out excuses
Tears and tantrums and crocodile skins
Drowning in debt while sinking a 12 glass bottle
Swimming in selfishness and soaked in deceit
Drooling at your own reflection, fringed with vanity
Ignorantly delusional and expecting respect
An Irish county and a border built on deception
Mini love and miniature conquests
A serial cheat and a victim of ego
Momentary guilt eclipsed by greed
Sponging is your trade and sole claim to intelligence
Artistic justification, creative lies
Scribbled notes and squandered cash
Erratic thoughts and premeditated fraud
Compulsively deceptive and blissfully deluded
Pretty face but car crash features
A professional at put downs and feeding on compliments
Helium enhanced but oxygen starved
A head full of air and suffocated common sense
Transparent like water, flowing lies
Tasteless and cold you're bad for my health
Your mental instability messes with my head
Your friends first and your friends most
Shallow and conceited, a beauty marred by dishonesty
Stubborn and unreasonable, a determined quitter
Abandoned dreams, riotous living
A granted chance for a better life-
The only stain you washed away
I saw you on a FRIday, the begining of the END.
^
^
^
The infamous mouldy baked beans.
Self-absorbed, you're colour blind
White lies and yellow bellies
Mouldy beans and half-baked plans
Worn out coats and washed out excuses
Tears and tantrums and crocodile skins
Drowning in debt while sinking a 12 glass bottle
Swimming in selfishness and soaked in deceit
Drooling at your own reflection, fringed with vanity
Ignorantly delusional and expecting respect
An Irish county and a border built on deception
Mini love and miniature conquests
A serial cheat and a victim of ego
Momentary guilt eclipsed by greed
Sponging is your trade and sole claim to intelligence
Artistic justification, creative lies
Scribbled notes and squandered cash
Erratic thoughts and premeditated fraud
Compulsively deceptive and blissfully deluded
Pretty face but car crash features
A professional at put downs and feeding on compliments
Helium enhanced but oxygen starved
A head full of air and suffocated common sense
Transparent like water, flowing lies
Tasteless and cold you're bad for my health
Your mental instability messes with my head
Your friends first and your friends most
Shallow and conceited, a beauty marred by dishonesty
Stubborn and unreasonable, a determined quitter
Abandoned dreams, riotous living
A granted chance for a better life-
The only stain you washed away
I saw you on a FRIday, the begining of the END.
^
^
^
The infamous mouldy baked beans.
Tumour
Out damned spot, relentless growth
Untimely plucked, stunted life.
Dormant forests standing still
Decaying foliage, rotting clock
Invaded cells, conquered mind
Ruffled hair, shaven head
Stitched up skull and ripped out hearts
Unravelling seams- you slipped right through
Ashen, sallow, ghostly skin
Unmarred canvas, coloured grief
White washed walls, a woe filled tomb
Unripe seed, a grape-like feast
Your sunken eyes bathe in pain
They float in childlike hope
Beats enhanced, playing at pulse
You switched right off. Vacant escape.
You left your mark, abandoned brother
Action figures and games out grown
Tear stained words through blurry eyes
Saved professions and consolations
Angelic face, heaven bound
A halo crowns your head, your perfect brain
Nine years old, too many years young
Twice born and prematurely taken
Six years gone, still six feet under
I wonder how you’d be today..
Untimely plucked, stunted life.
Dormant forests standing still
Decaying foliage, rotting clock
Invaded cells, conquered mind
Ruffled hair, shaven head
Stitched up skull and ripped out hearts
Unravelling seams- you slipped right through
Ashen, sallow, ghostly skin
Unmarred canvas, coloured grief
White washed walls, a woe filled tomb
Unripe seed, a grape-like feast
Your sunken eyes bathe in pain
They float in childlike hope
Beats enhanced, playing at pulse
You switched right off. Vacant escape.
You left your mark, abandoned brother
Action figures and games out grown
Tear stained words through blurry eyes
Saved professions and consolations
Angelic face, heaven bound
A halo crowns your head, your perfect brain
Nine years old, too many years young
Twice born and prematurely taken
Six years gone, still six feet under
I wonder how you’d be today..
An Ode to Repulsion
A lock of hair stolen from my untouched head
Your slightly enlarged purse and evaporating precautions
Frankenstein’s monster nestled in a womb of regret
Pregnant with repulsion you jab me with your Splinter
I’m dying to put it behind me while you die the death when you put it behind
Gullible. And. Young.
All. Injuries. Don’t. Seem. to have healed
Your disease rots my brain and scars my memories
Your slow motion downward punches pose as the backdrop to my Shakespearian soliloquy
Jacobean immaturity offering bird noises as a melody
Kissing cousins and trainers of tragedy
Comedy evoked at the sight of your face on a crisp packet
Black and white cats and Pats of platonic affection
Your wardrobe of denim turns my face pillar-box red
Vile and repugnant. My skin crawls. Sleeping creep
Eighteen candles blown out by bare torsos and blossoming lawless brawls
Bonfire embraces as the last embers dwindle and ebb
Numbers idly given and dialled by the finger of evil
Rolling eyes and high pitched laughs
Camp side confessions and games of hide and go seek
Never found but nothing lost
Acquitted from my sentence at the closing curtain
Delivered from your clutching claws
Your slightly enlarged purse and evaporating precautions
Frankenstein’s monster nestled in a womb of regret
Pregnant with repulsion you jab me with your Splinter
I’m dying to put it behind me while you die the death when you put it behind
Gullible. And. Young.
All. Injuries. Don’t. Seem. to have healed
Your disease rots my brain and scars my memories
Your slow motion downward punches pose as the backdrop to my Shakespearian soliloquy
Jacobean immaturity offering bird noises as a melody
Kissing cousins and trainers of tragedy
Comedy evoked at the sight of your face on a crisp packet
Black and white cats and Pats of platonic affection
Your wardrobe of denim turns my face pillar-box red
Vile and repugnant. My skin crawls. Sleeping creep
Eighteen candles blown out by bare torsos and blossoming lawless brawls
Bonfire embraces as the last embers dwindle and ebb
Numbers idly given and dialled by the finger of evil
Rolling eyes and high pitched laughs
Camp side confessions and games of hide and go seek
Never found but nothing lost
Acquitted from my sentence at the closing curtain
Delivered from your clutching claws
Thee infamous "Hate Poetry"
Chemistry of a Car Crash
(SJH= 1 < 3 \ / E)
The bulging veins of my borrowed biro
chug and choke as they dig their way to the
frontier of writing. My inked-up engine
splitter-splatters clumsily across a
page policed by road blocks.. Prohibiting
Rhyme. My imagination stalls until
melancholy revs the licensed pen-spade
into gear. A uniformed Heaney waves
me on with a nod. The writers code. My
muse acts on the signal and guns me down.
He sucks me dry with smiles and lends me words
that trickle out like tears. I love-hate him.
For steering my lost sonnet I thank him-
“Our car crash in motion helped drive this poem.”
SJH >.<
The Injustice of Priority
I'm stiffled by this skin,
the endless layers of mesh
jailing silent screams and
locked up hurt. These tortured,
tired bones ache for guilty
viens to bleed, some quick release
to numb the pain of inward
breaking and stinging tears.
Keyless smiles are out of
tune with my captors singing
school of messed up priorities.
Watching him propped up on
the other side of steely
bars coaxes me towards
freedom.
Dylan Thomas and his convulted web of artistic genius..
Fraying
It's a little bit tortured,
every stich tearing from its
fragile socket at the core
of 'us'. Our smooth lines fraying,
a suspended cable wire
unplugging where you meets me.
I cant resist touching you
with wet hands. Tempting fate.'I'm
loosing you and it's effortless.'
The Fray..
Without You
I’m desperately indecisive but decide to be pre-emptive,
something non-committal and in the safety of ambiguity-
a festering mire of under-cooked words half baked in their
wallowing belly of self-pity. I willingly succumb to the mantra of
egotistic cliché,instinctively indulging in the vanity of foresight,
I think they call it 'saving face'. It’s a pungent, bitter sort of
amusement that consumes my attempt to rationalise my pain
fuelled 'poetry in motion'. Pompous prose fills the void of
intentional absence, drinking me up in a weedy tangle of
words. Sullenly encrypted codes of confusion haughtily impose
upon my [he-] art. You’ve programmed me not to trust
you...we're crashing.
Hunger gnaws at my sanity as I lie in bed alone, mid afternoon,
with curtains drawn, watching Rosemary Shragar’s School for Cooks-
“I’m afraid it’s so delicate it’s beginning to separate and tastes
a tad too bitter.” All the things I hate keep on devouring me-
the way you choose to 'miss' me to save your wine glass congregating
dust. I fritter away lost time in solitude aching for you to swallow
me up in your arms, instead, you allow Tyrone’s prosy horizon to steal me from your foggy glug.
Spat out and exhaled.
Left to thaw.
And here I am. Writing this.
Without You.
Rosemary baby..
(SJH= 1 < 3 \ / E)
The bulging veins of my borrowed biro
chug and choke as they dig their way to the
frontier of writing. My inked-up engine
splitter-splatters clumsily across a
page policed by road blocks.. Prohibiting
Rhyme. My imagination stalls until
melancholy revs the licensed pen-spade
into gear. A uniformed Heaney waves
me on with a nod. The writers code. My
muse acts on the signal and guns me down.
He sucks me dry with smiles and lends me words
that trickle out like tears. I love-hate him.
For steering my lost sonnet I thank him-
“Our car crash in motion helped drive this poem.”
SJH >.<
The Injustice of Priority
I'm stiffled by this skin,
the endless layers of mesh
jailing silent screams and
locked up hurt. These tortured,
tired bones ache for guilty
viens to bleed, some quick release
to numb the pain of inward
breaking and stinging tears.
Keyless smiles are out of
tune with my captors singing
school of messed up priorities.
Watching him propped up on
the other side of steely
bars coaxes me towards
freedom.
Dylan Thomas and his convulted web of artistic genius..
Fraying
It's a little bit tortured,
every stich tearing from its
fragile socket at the core
of 'us'. Our smooth lines fraying,
a suspended cable wire
unplugging where you meets me.
I cant resist touching you
with wet hands. Tempting fate.'I'm
loosing you and it's effortless.'
The Fray..
Without You
I’m desperately indecisive but decide to be pre-emptive,
something non-committal and in the safety of ambiguity-
a festering mire of under-cooked words half baked in their
wallowing belly of self-pity. I willingly succumb to the mantra of
egotistic cliché,instinctively indulging in the vanity of foresight,
I think they call it 'saving face'. It’s a pungent, bitter sort of
amusement that consumes my attempt to rationalise my pain
fuelled 'poetry in motion'. Pompous prose fills the void of
intentional absence, drinking me up in a weedy tangle of
words. Sullenly encrypted codes of confusion haughtily impose
upon my [he-] art. You’ve programmed me not to trust
you...we're crashing.
Hunger gnaws at my sanity as I lie in bed alone, mid afternoon,
with curtains drawn, watching Rosemary Shragar’s School for Cooks-
“I’m afraid it’s so delicate it’s beginning to separate and tastes
a tad too bitter.” All the things I hate keep on devouring me-
the way you choose to 'miss' me to save your wine glass congregating
dust. I fritter away lost time in solitude aching for you to swallow
me up in your arms, instead, you allow Tyrone’s prosy horizon to steal me from your foggy glug.
Spat out and exhaled.
Left to thaw.
And here I am. Writing this.
Without You.
Rosemary baby..
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