#NationalPoetryDay

Let's write a poem,
For national poetry day,
Maybe a haiku?

Void Fillers

Inside doesn't quite cut it,
There's no stimulation to be found,
Tired limbs bring good memories,
But memories fade and blur,
Colour, light, noise, music, drugs,
Ingredients for a good time,
I need fun.

Restlessness is settling in,
The need 'to do' is constantly there.
Places, activities feel far away,
The past is of course unreachable,
The future uncertain,
I want to be around people,
I need company.

The touch of skin on skin,
Lips together, eyes closed,
Comfortable, beautiful silences,
Fingers entwined,
The sun breaking through,
Noises outside distant and muted,
I need love.

RIP

It was a year today that you were taken from me,
On that warm april night,
We were riding on a wave of freedom,
Our happiness shining bright,
Then that man came out the darkness,
With a face of anger and frowns,
He rammed us with his taxi,
But only you stayed down.

As i got up bruised and bloody,
You were motionless lying there mangled,
Passers by unsure how to help,
Your frame at awkward angles,
The ambulance came to no avail,
Your chances of survival minute,
The taxi driver drove me home,
Your corpse was in the boot.

My bella itilana I've left you now,
For a streamlined french madmoiselle,
I picture you in free-wheeled heaven,
While that Skoda rots in hell,
A greater companion I never did have,
Two days were never alike,
You'll live on in my memory and the parts I salvaged,
My beautiful racing bike.

A Sob to a Battle Cry

Our season is faltering,
Our title challenge fallen by the wayside,
No longer are we cock of the walk,
Feather's no longer puffed out.

Early season form has vanished,
My early season optimism has vanished,
Situations have been swapped,
With my Ars*nal supporting friends.

Five Fs
The five things most important to me,
Family,
Friends,
Females,
Finances,
Football is the only thing that affects the other 4,
Things need to turn around,
If only for my sake.

Suspicions start to sneak in:
Was it because I wore my Away shirt to a home game?
Have I been wearing my Spurs scarf enough?
Is it the two pairs of red shoes I bought?
Why do I own red socks?

Or I'm there looking for an excuse:
The national press tapping up our manager,
Van der Vaart's fitness,
Bale on the right,
Lennon's hamstring,
Kings's form.

But then I look at the table:
53 points from 28 games,
Third place in the Premier League,
Well clear of Liverpool and Chelsea.
One point is still a gap.

10 games left and 30 points available,
An easier run in than most,
Form is temporary,
Our class will shine through,
Come,
On,
You,
SPURS.

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.