behind velvet cloth I saw your quail's eggs,
I saw your gentleman's relish too,
protruding as it was,
an Etonian slap to the face of the marmite jar which
it was reluctantly sat next to.

and although the relish would happily admit that
to sit next to marmite was certainly preferable
to finding oneself positioned next to Bovril or Cup-a-Soup,
it certainly was a far cry from the delicatessen counter
he was once accustomed to.

oh the delicatessen!
how the tear ducts performed with nostalgic aplomb
as memories of stuffed vine leaves and caramelised baby shallots
filtered back to the gentleman.

what he'd have given to be back there now,
to once again share the company of proper food,
of handmade chutneys and pickles,
not this common oafish tar.
this brutish black gunk.

'You may not have been factory made'
retorted Marmite,
'or contain E325,'
'but that isn't to say that your place on this shelf
is any more valid than mine.'

So there’s a girl across the street
A girl to whom he’s grown accrete
A girl he’s just to scared to greet
But yet still he sits and hopes

You see she’s in love with Darren
However Darren’s in love with Karen
And Karen sits and stares at Bob, who’s probably gay, probably not,
But still he drools over Linda,
Who’s stare is blank and barren,
Pointed at the anti-nerd, football loving, guru Darren.

Yes it’s really that simple,
Forget love triangle, more love enneadecagon,
Gone,
That reminds him, as it hits his head like a hadron,
Gone,
Are his hopes of him and the girl across the street.

Her features to him, were long developed similes,
They came to his brain, seamlessly, chemically,
Of course he’s never express these feelings formally,
But to him they acted as a soothing love remedy.

Her eyes were golden like caramelised sugar,
Or the enticing qualities of slowly melting butter,
Each eye, a galaxy waiting to be discovered,
And yes he means the chocolate bar.

Her hair is crimson like strawberry laces,
Which reminds him of the disadvantages of having braces,
But he braces himself as though it’s his duty,
Braces himself for an overwhelming amount of beauty.

She talks to him about all the awful things that guys do,
She then says she wishes that more guys were like you,
She says she wants that guy to show up this year,
But what she doesn’t see, is that that he’s standing right here.

So there’s a guy across the street
A guy to whom she’s grown accrete
A guy she’s just to scared to greet
But yet still she sits and hopes

You see he’s in love with her neighbour,
A chore that she knows can be a labour,
Yet she knows she can be the saviour,
Because she is even greater

So one day to no surprise, he’s looking out with eager eyes, they lock eyes, butterflies, quite surprised, more butterflies, they remain like that til sunrise, emotions start to normalise, then fluctuate because of those **** butterflies.

So there’s a girl across the street
A girl to whom he’s grown accrete
A girl he wasn’t scared to meet
And now they live and bond

Because that girls in love with Darren,
However Darren’s in love with Karen,
But who cares,
They have each other for the rest of their days

And beyond.

You wonder why I dwell in the dark,
You wonder why I never call back,
You wonder why I be a lost sane,
I wonder if I’ll ever see you again,

Evading the city flare,
Evading to the mellow lair,
Evading the caramelised routine,
Evading a contagious whine,

A thing of pity, years and hence,
A sweet  obsession, that only commence,
You wonder if I have lost every sense,
I wonder if I ever made any sense,

You wonder why I invest so much,
You wonder why I run on loss,
You wonder what became of us,
I wonder if it's fantasy or lust,

Come! Come! Sure let's reshape our maps,
What has been and maybe perhaps,
Swoosh! Whoosh! Be undone and done!
How awfully convenient, is it not, hon?!

Exuberant creatures they flatter me often,
Those lofty lot, enticing I find none,
Sure I shall allow an unbiased  trial!
Sheath the heart, her eyes a biased thrill!

Never mention my poached heart,
And we'll get along just fine, love,
And be forever entwined,
In that same old fairytale, concubine!

You wonder why I am a repugnant aristocrat,
You wonder why I am a narcissist in grave dearth,
You wonder why I am a deception to change,
I wonder how passionately I was never your gain...

Of course I am not an island of my own,
Of course I am but a mere fraction of the whole,
Oh! Tempting balms! they embrace me so,
Quite the way you wrapped me Cozy, long ago,

You wonder why I am stuck in a rut,
You wonder why I choose not to be smart,
You wonder why I wait without disgust,
I wonder where my rescue boat is lost….

You wonder why I let the years fly by,
You wonder why I live in the bygone and deny,
You wonder why I never forget your voice,
You wonder why I keep every memory alive,

I wonder if I'll ever see you again,
I wonder if it will all be the same.....

Cute little thing,
Two rows down.
With her dark locks
Encompassing her caramelised skin.
Those pretty eyes above her pretty lips,
May sell pretty dreams and witty lies.
But beauty,
A man’s Achilles heel,
Has my heart racing like a McLaren wheel.
If only the erratic beats within my chest she could feel.

Her skin without blemish,
At least unto mine eyes.
Her legs without ending,
Forever locked in a dance
That only I can see,
The way she walks she speaks my language,
The way she writes she speaks my language,
When she smiles she speaks my language,
When she sighs she speaks my language.

When her guards fall,
She falls,
Into my love filled arms
A whittled down version of my masculinity puts up arms
And emasculation rears its head.
We lie within this room of red.
Satin silk sheets,
Icing on the bed.

Ultimate fantasy --
Visions of falsified ecstasy
Holding her lying next to me,
Sitting two rows down.

I could not tell you of where, when or how
Or why or whence or with whom
It began.
All I can speak of is what I perceive
My neurons oblivious of floor plan.

Gray matter confabulates my wisdom,
Muddles synaptic impulse.
Confused nerves,
Travel unsheathed in an unpatterned grid
Relay scrambled message with undue verve.

Concerto fifth, notes ripple through the air
I hear not this music rich
But I see
Colours of infinite depth ebb and flow
Sounds live in my eyes, lines swirl and flurry.

Waning sun kissing the horizon deep
I see not this beauty pure
But I smell
Warm scent of sweet cinnamon and jasmine
Pictures translated to redolent swell.

Olfactory bliss of soft infant kiss
I smell not this fragrance warm
But I feel
Velvet satin touch caressing my skin
Scents flow as mercury on fingers sealed.

Hypnotic pressure of pebbles underfoot
I feel not this kneading joy
But I taste
Caramelised coat cut by bold sour storm
Tactility morphs into scrumptious paste.

Palate aglow under five course repast
I taste not this saucy feast
But I hear
Melodious blend of pitch and cadence
Flavour unwrapped in acoustics of my ear.

My topsy-turvy world
Created
By my poor flummoxed nerves.
Never a listless moment
Dished up by
Crossing neurons as they swerve.

I like the way your name
Fits inside my mouth
When it rolls around,
Swishing gainst my
teeth, like a forbidden
candy kept, in younger
days, tightly pressed in
under my tongue, melting
there- into caramelised bliss.
It fits so perfectly behind my
Curtain lips that screen it off-
for one Clumsy moment only
-and then it is unleashed,
Lost, released. like you
and me, as teenagers,
Looking awkwardly
at each other- For
One uneasy beat,
frozen- and then
Leaping,
A pair
of
giddy frogs.

POETS AND SINGERS AND DANCERS AND BELL RINGERS

ARE IN MY HOUSE TONIGHT, I PARTY WITH ANGELS

AND ALL I EAT IS BAGLES, AND THAT MAKES ME FEEL SO DIVINE

I WENT TO THE POETRY SLAM, WITH VOICES IN MY HEAD SAYING POETRY IS FOR GEEKS

BUT I AM A GOOD PARTY POET, WHERE EVERY POEM

EXPLAINS HOW I WANNA PARTY HARDY WON’T STARDY

MOVE IT ON UP, MOVE IT ON UP

AND SHOW US HOW TO HAVE FUN

AND TONIGHT THERE WAS A POET BLASTER WHO HATED POETS

SHOOTING AT ANYONE GOING OUT FOR SMOKES

YOU SEE WE HAD TO DESIGN A WEAPON TO **** POETS

AND MINE WAS TOO EXTREME, FOR THEM

YOU SEE, I DEVELOPED CANNON ***** AND 1 BILLION AMMO HERE AND 1 BILLION AMMO THERE

AND BULLETS, AND LOADS OF OTHER STUFF AND POINTED IT AT THE POET READING

AND BLASTED HIS HEAD OFF, SORT OF WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME TONIGHT

MY OLD MATES, SAYING, IS BRIAN INTO WRITING POEMS AND THEN THEY SAY POEMS ARE BORING

AND I SAY, NO MATE NO, YOUR BORING, SURE I AM DISABLED, BUT IT DOESN’T STOP ME FROM WRITING A GREAT POEM THOUGH

DISABLE DISABLE I MIGHT BE A BIT DISABLED, IT’S NOT MY STYLE TO NOT JOT IT DOWN, YEAH IN A POEM YA SEE

I HAD COKE TO DRINK AS WELL AS A PACKET OF CARAMELISED ONION AND SOUR CREAM CHIPS, ****** AWESOME DUDES

I AM DISABLED, TOO DISABLED, FOR THE GOING TO BED MEN OR KIDS OR LADIES

I DON’T WIN VERY MUCH, BUT THE ORGANISER REALLY LIKES MY WORK

I PARTY LIKE I GET HEADACHES FROM CHAMPAGNE, THE PURE ALCOHOL DOES WEIRD THINGS TO THE BRAIN

AND MY FAVE, THE SCHITZOPHRENIC MACARENA, IT GOES LIKE THIS

1 2 3 4 DO THE SCHITZOPHRENIC, FROM THE FIRST DIAGNOSIS TO MY CURRNT SITUATION

AND NOW, WITH MEDICATION, I CAN BE REFORMED, OH YEAH MATE YEAH, I AM SCHITZOPHRENIC

AND FLY BURGERS ARE GOOD ENOUGH TO EAT, FLY BURGERS ARE SUCH A TASTY TREAT

JUST CATCH A BLOWIE BETWEEN TWO BUTTERED BUNS, ADD SOME LETTUCE AND TOMATO AND HAVE SO MUCH FUN

YOU SEE MY POEMS TALK, ABOUT HASPPINESS FOR A GREAT PARTY, HAPPINESS FOR GREAT ART

AND HAPPINESS FOR THE OLD SMELLY MAN WHO FARTS, WHILE HE PLAYS AND BEATS ME AT DARTS

MOVING ON UP, MOVING ON UP MOVING ON UP, MAKING AN EGG SIT RIGHT IN THE CUP

THEN WENT OVER TO PAT HIS PUP, AS HE ENJOYS MOVING ON UP