^^go on and post them
just stumbled over some old poetry of pete... those are my favorites....they're genius:
[b:154xq3i6]‘Ask a Stupid Question’ [/b:154xq3i6]
Someone on or above the earth, tell me why on
Earth, does she beg of love at the feet of men
who snatch hers from her, selling it on to themselves
at a profit that can’t possibly reflect it’s worth.
This always ungentle robbery, is not a plot of lust,
Because she is very conscious of her select few lovers,
Particularly in relation to her gains, to her own
The answer, in vague and uncertain terms, lies
somewhere in the shaded area shaped quadrangle
by the lines that don’t quite connect the picture
of a father, the part of her soul that freezes at the
touch of warmth, the tattered feminist beginners handbook,
the lamp shade and the bloody gate that she gazes
at monthly, that she once made me taste, that
stains her desire for progress.
But desire tarnished; twisted, perverse desire does not
have any implications for the progress itself,
and so, progressively, her questions become more stupid.
Hand in the fire stupid, eating broken glass stupid,
forgetting that you don’t like pain stupid. Stupid,
then and stupid when, on a terribly, deadly sunny
day came the most ridiculous, nauseous,
frustratingly stupidest question of them all.
On the wall high above the groggith of all the things I
could not bring myself to say, she turned to me,
just as the sun turned away, and
(thinking, in her stupidity, that it couldn’t
See or hear us) asked:
‘Will you love me forever?’
‘Of course not,’ I said.
The Continuing Adventure of Spaniel O’Spaniel. (Part XI, at the Careers Officers) [/b:154xq3i6]
In his passion, only a passion for life,
he would, with deliberation, never hurrying,
deliberately get the words wrong.
‘I don’t’ when he did
‘I will’ when he clearly won’t
The careers officer, a plumping cheerless soul
and a superb liar in his own right,
surveyed the sorry specimen before him. This
murky-eyed bundle of hair
and shabby blue suit. Mr Egg breathed a
sigh of despair.
‘So Spaniel, what are your interests or
‘My answer sir, here: I AM QUIET AND LONESOME
AND FULL OF HEAVY MERCURY, INDUSTRIAL
MELENCHOLY. I HAVE PATIENCE WITHOUT
INSIGHT AND INSIGHT WITHOUT CARE FOR COHERENCE
I MAKE MUSIC IN MY HEAD AND WISH THAT I WAS
The careers officer, Mr Egg, nodded with
false wisdom, discarded the Territorial
Army brochures, and gazed with intent
at the top of Spaniel O’Spaniel’s head.
‘Is there anything you want from life?’
‘Dangerous question, Egg.
THE ANSWER TO THAT, SIR, IS THAT
I WANT DEATH ON THE STAIRS’
Laughter billowed at a most unnatural frequency,
Shocking the small office.
‘When? When do you want death on the stairs?’
‘When? The same time as all the fucking others-
when I’ve been down in Albion in a Hackney
Cabriolet. When all my domesticated heroes have
died, when I’ve lied to all me loved ones.
WHEN I’VE BECOME IMUNE TO MY OWN
INSTINCTS, WHEN I’M SO MUCH IN DEBT I SMASH
UP TELEPHONE BOXES AND LITTLE OLD PEOPLE IN ORDER
TO KEEP UP MY PERIODICAL SUBSCRIPTIONS, AND
JACK McNASTY, NORTH WEST LONDONS MOST BLOOD
THIRSTY BLACK-HEARTED LOAN SHARK RUNS AWAY
FROM ME IN PITY AND FEAR.
WHEN I LIE BETWEEN COLD STONE WALLS
BREATHING GASCEOUS FAG ASH, ALONE WITH THE
DUST MITES IN THIS PITEOUS VISION.
WHEN THE NIGH IS WORLDS AWAY FROM THE
A pause. Mr Egg, the Careers Officer,
twirls his finger round a rubber plant
leaf. Spaniel stands, in crescendo,
WHEN I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT THE DAYS
IN THE SUN WERE ALLUSIONS.
WHEN I SEE THE TEARS & TEARS IN
MY PROUD FATHERS COAT,
WHEN MY SAVIOUR, MY LORD, THE
ONE WHO PROMISED ME LIFE
IS DRINKING IN STEPNEY WITH HIS SOON
TO BE WIFE
THEN, SURE AS McFUCKETY,
IT’S TIME FOR DEATH ON THE STAIRS.
Bath Water [/b:154xq3i6]
Having to share bath water
In the north of England
Is a common occurrence
Between families on the
Breadline, also it can be danger-
After taking longer than I
Should, my mother asked for
The last time for me to get out
Of the bath, she was late for
I jumped out hoping she
Wouldn’t notice the sperm I’d
Tried to hide under a blanket
Of bubble bath, well, I was a
Six weeks later my mum
Announced she was with child
Which surprised my father ‘cos
The old man had not been
Near mother since late 71.
8 months later a baby
With a strawberry birthmark,
Six fingers on each hand, and an
Also bore and uncanny likeness
Of course this accidental
Inbreeding incident is the
Tory governments fault for
Killin’ my dads jib
As a minor, in 84. After that
We couldn’t afford to have to have
The water boiler on more than
Once a day.