Swim, Son

Kick your feet son

the seas not high enough to mention

and if you don’t swim

I’ll put you in for detention.

Try, try, try, kick hard

and get the girls attention

even if she’s in the

later stages of pretension.

You couldn’t mention her pretension

to her pretty little face

she’ll go on a date with you

then blank you for the chase.

She’s blowing bubble gum

at the boys like it is mace.

But you want her, oh you want her,

so just swim son, win this race.

Kick your feet hard

off the scummy mossy wall,

like your jumping off a cliff

dive into the fall.

She’s watching you now

as you reach the final stage,

her plucked eyebrow arched

on her pretty little face

but when you reach the finish line

she’s gone without a trace.

free vintage printable_scissors kick swimming man

The Tale of Butter Bean.

There was a little Butter Bean,

a boy of paunch and of tight jeans.

He was round and large, with little legs,

with little arms, like garden pegs.

He had ginger hair, just like a bean

and was full of lard under tight jeans.

One day he fell upon a pin

and out burst lard that filled four bins.

That lard was used to make more cakes

that Butter Bean would have ate;

but alas he couldn’t, he was dead

after too much chocolate, crisps and bread.

I Am A Tortoise.

I am a tortoise,

my poem will take

a while to write,

due to my slow pace

of writing, walking, talking

and any other action

you can think of.

I am a tortoise.

Maybe you should

come back later

when my tortoise poem

will be complete.

All I can say of it now is this:

it will be much more impressive

than that fucking hares.

He will just rush through it

without thought for

word play,

alliteration,

punctuation

or any other things

that go into poems

that I can’t write right now

because my feet are getting cramp

from the exertion of writing.

I am a tortoise.

Come back later.

My poem will be bloody brilliant.

The Tale Of Edna, Who Ate Her Own Sister Brenda.

Edna was a child with metabolism poor,

it made it hard for her to fit through doors.

The children at school pointed and laughed

for their size to her was about half.

It was indeed proof of the child being cruel

because Hell to poor Edna was being at school.

Edna’s sister was blonde and slim

with taut muscles and little fat in her limbs.

Sadly for her Edna’s cravings were ravenous

and what happened next was indeed scandalous.

Edna tied her sister up like a pig on a spit

and watched with glee as the fire was lit.

She gobbled her up without thought of sisterly love

but complained bitterly that their wasnt enough.

Greed came back to haunt the still hungry Edna

in the style of her nibbled and dead sister Brenda.

“You ate me for lunch! You’re own darling sister!

Did you not even think of how much you would miss her?

Inside here I’m not shouting for fun

now let me out, my life had barely begun!”

These words Edna heard from deep inside

and in one belch out her sister did glide.

Brenda came out all gooey from bile

but she smiled gratefully all the while.

It was clear to the rather relieved  Brenda

that she was lucky her sister did not use a blender.

Edna then promised to change her diet.

Humans on the menu, you shouldn’t try it.

Face Rape.

O.M.G I am so ANGREEEE!!!!!

Y u angery hunn?

Yeh wots up Saz? xx

Jus my mum bein a nob wunt let me outt!!!

Y OMG wut ew gunna do?

Dunt know shes angree bout our piks in barfrum as well

in our shorts and braz and cuz i wear meke up at school! im 13! ¬_¬

Wot she fink bout ur bf? xx

she dunt knuw she wudnt undersand!!! </3 he want meet me 2mora

but dunt tell no1!!!!

Iz this dat relli fit boi wiv car? xx

YEH he just turn 16 well fitt. 😉

Maybee ull hav 1st kiss LOL!!

NAR I had that wiv mikey at disco!!

OMFG!

YER! GTG LUVS!!!!!! ❤ 🙂

Three days later:

Missing Girl Mystery Connected to Facebook.

Still No Sign of Mystery Girl.

35 Year Old Man Involved In Missing Girl Case.

“I saw Missing Girl Get In Car With Paedo.”

Missing Girl: Body Found.

35 Year Old Convicted Rapist Charged.

Whispers in a Jar.

Hard, dry, crumbling ground,

quietly cracking from the explosives

hidden, breathless beneath.

Sixty years before

small, grimy, gentle little hands

in the darkness before dawn

had dug deep, with determination

to hide something  within them.

It was a secret that

wouldn’t be known  for six long decades.

Those children grew

into stunted, tortured, twisted bodies

that could not escape

those harsh, tense touches in the night.

Lying in bed,

they wait for the creaking crack

in the door to grow in size

and for the shadow to flirt with the ground

and the decision of whether or not

to rape a child.

Eyes surrounded by puffy wrinkles

still wait, with the covers

pulled up tight to their chins.

The home for children

was meant to be a haven

of safety and security;

but instead of colourful crayon

drawings  placed proudly on the walls

there were whispered words

written in light, shaky hands.

Light enough to be almost invisible,

these children were hidden from a world

not yet ready to understand.

In that day and age such things

did not exist

and were easily missed  by blind eyes,

milky with the dew of patriotism and ignorance.

Sixty years on and those brittle,

broken words are finally heard.

They escape from the cracked jars

they had been banging on,

burdened and buried under the crumbling ground.

Like a phoenix they rise

free from those lies and the perversion

of people who were meant to care.