Haiku Twitbook Français

L'oiseau a sonné
mille fois donc il ne parle plus
au livre ou visage.

:|

Ravaged by moroseness and ennui,
Grasping me in their seemingly eternal grasp,
Wondering why one always suffers,
After life's most invigorating experiences.

Drunkenness is followed by a hangover
The comedown follows the high,
Tiredness follows exertions of energy,
Whilst heartbreak undoubtedly follows love.

The problem intensifies when,
In search of the memory of these feelings
One's sombre mood is mixed,
With nostalgia and wistfulness.

The longing ensues,
To recreate the mood,
Strive for that level of ecstasy,
Or simply have a kiss and cuddle.

But melancholy never helped anyone,
And past-living is non-effective.
So the task now at hand,
Is to recapture these experiences once more.

Daily Mail

I am the problem with this country,

Young and unemployed,

Half-heartedly looking for work,

Doll money spent on drugs and booze.

I am the problem with this country,

Mixed-race son of an immigrant,

Sleeping with the white women,

Besmirching our English roses.

I am the problem with this country,

Proud, adorned with my knee strap,

Pending benefactor of a claim,

Fuelling the vile compensation culture.

I am the problem with this country,

Another youth from the middle class dystopia,

Open-minded and forward-thinking,

Desperate to avoid being run-of-the-mill.

Fresh

Bournemouth is an odd little place,

Especially in late september,

Clubs heave with wide-eyed youngsters,

Eager to explore what hedonistic delights,

This quaint seaside town has to offer.

Men on the cusp of adulthood,

Still wet behind the ears,

Seek to integrate with strangers of the opposite sex,

And be welcomed with open legs.

I remember when I was the same,

Youthful and fresh-penised,

Back then people had sevens and eights,

On the back of their sixth form hoodies.

We were all as naive as each other,

So in that way it was harmless,

Now it would be like shooting fish in a barrel,

And I've got one big-ass gun.

London's Riots

REMOVED DUE TO IGNORANCE ON MY BEHALF (and it was shit)

For Lucy and Berno

To be Christian,

Is a different experience,

A one with which I feel,

Intent and delirious.

Lucy and Berno,

Look so good together,

I feel like they've been,

Together forever,

And of course,

In time they will,

I hope they're loving,

I hope they're chilled,

I praise the groom,

I admire the bride,

And seeing these two married,

Fills me with pride.

NB I wrote this poem on my phone whilst very drunk at the couple's wedding reception, and performed it an hour later to them and the rest of the room as part of the reception's open mic session.

Ode to Ovaltine

Oh warm malty cup of chocolate mirth,

How I have longed for you for hours gone by,

As I sit in front of my computer screen,

My eyes square with every movement of the clock's elongated hand,

One sip is all I need to be transported,

Away from cold empty shared accommodation,

To memories of my grandmother now inhabiting distant lands,

And sitting in front of the fire on cold winter nights,

Alas the warmth is short lived,

So with my last sip I slip,

Into this cold April evening,

Alone once more.

Yellow Skies

As I lie in bed with tired eyes,
I look up at the pale lit sky,
A colour so constant in full view,
Grey-ish tones with jaune-ish hue,
This monotone,
Comforts me,
A feel of familiarity,
Compared to any other night sky,
This would shout,
Normality,
Foreign skies,
No matter how star-filled or full of wonder,
I'm born and raised,
Forever a Londoner.

So as I go to bed,
With tired eyes,
I know I'm home,
With yellow skies.