HER LIFE WAS BUT A LEMON

LEMON

She hungered for the

Chiselled features of

The marksman

Whose aim was true

His music hall smile

His demeanour aloof

The one who

Picked his lovers from an

Identity parade

Rigid digit stab and

A click of the finger

Half-hearted

Selection with a sigh

An idle yet

Effortless approach

Suited him at the time

Probably still does

 

She knew she was

His passable

Imperfect

Random choice that night

It didn’t bother her at the time

Life was too short back then

 

Of her?

Her life was but a lemon

All zest and bitter to the taste

A fruit served best within a fusion

Spread liberally

Compliments its opposites

Much better than it tastes alone

Citrus always needs attention

 

Beautiful to the eye though

Like the silver bracelets she wore

Upon an otherwise uncovered body

She the Gothic queen of Victoriana

Offered more than just a

Glimpse of bare ankle

On the night I dare say she has

Long since forgotten

Maybe not?

 

Would the marksman die for her?

 

Not a hope in hell yet I

The one she called

‘Second hand goods’

‘An almost rough diamond’

I would

Of course I would

 

NAOMI WHOLEMEAL – USELESS RADICALIZED ECO WARRIOR & POET

bees 2

As a committed eco warrior I do get rather miffed with our menfolk for ruining Planet Earth and I will always do whatever it takes to thwart them and protect this orb we live on from becoming the barren husk of a rock it surely will become should the males of our species carry on ruining everything.

Lately I have turned my attention to the contentious matter of how our farmers (all men don’t you know) through use of pesticides are killing off the bee populations and with that threatening to wipe out the human race.  I mean when I was but a small child there were bees all about the place yet now so few of them left…….so very few…….even just thinking about their plight brings tears to my eyes. So sad – Oh dear I’ve come over all girlie again, silly me.

Whatever, just the other day I read this oh so inspiring quote by Albert Einstein (yes I know girls Albert was a man yet clearly one in touch with his feminine side). Anyway Albert once said: “If the bee disappears from the surface of the earth, man would have no more than four years to live. No more bees, no more pollination … no more men!” Note he said ‘men.’

It was after a few glasses of ethically and organically produced pear cider prompting a jolly good think that I came up with my master plan to save the bees and punish the men who have been killing them – those wretched farmers!

Whilst I have about my person at all times an ample stock of pepper spray as a protection against the roving eyes and hands of men I determined that in order to enact my cunning plan I really needed a Taser gun. You see these little beasts are an electroshock weapon using electrical current to disrupt voluntary control of muscles causing “neuromuscular incapacitation”. Any poor sod struck by one experiences stimulation of his sensory nerves and motor nerves, resulting in strong involuntary muscle contractions. In short such men are rendered quivering useless wrecks – oh I go all of a tingle just thinking about it. To this end I got one off eBay.

My plan you ask?  It is this, namely that armed with my handy Taser gun I shall incapacitate as many farmers as possible, bind them in twine whilst defenceless, strip them of all clothing, tie them to a tree or lamppost or such like and attach a sign about their personage saying, ‘BEE MURDERER,’ phone the media and have them duly shamed, ridiculed and embarrassed far and wide.   That’ll teach them a lesson they deserve don’t you think? When you men mess with bees, you mess with Naomi Wholemeal!  Oh I am so very clever at times I surprise myself.

Obviously all great schemes need a careful trial run prior to implementation to make sure everything goes smoothly.

Now I have a plot at our local allotment where I grow my cucumbers, marrows, courgettes and an array of soft fruits. The plot next to mine is that of a sweet old man called Sydney and Sydney, as much as I have taken to him – what with him always giving me cups of tea, sticky buns and kind words – uses pesticides on his crops. I decided that an allotment holder is almost a farmer and that meant good old Sydney frankly deserved to be my guinea pig!

“Hello Naomi luv would you care to share with me some tea, scones, clotted cream and homemade strawberry jam my wife has prepared – there’s easily enough for two here?”

“Not today Sydney………well you could leave some on the side……..yes do that……….anyway Sydney I’m sorry to have to do this but I’ve decided that as you are a bee killer you need to be punished……….so you can cop a few thousand volts from my Taser gun for starters.”

ZAP………SCREAM……..THUD AS SYDNEY FALLS TO THE GROUND QUIVERING SOMEWHAT

“Golly that cream tea looks tasty must remember to take some home after I’ve dealt with Sydney.”

So there you have it. I tied the old boy to the bus stop outside the allotments and left him there stark bollock naked with the BEE KILLER sign around his neck and telephoned the local paper who sent a news team out quicker than you could say ‘Jack Robinson’ – the whole thing went viral on the net and everything. A major coup for a clever girl like me!  There won’t be a farmer safe on the planet now I reckon.

It was with this thought in mind that I penned my latest poem.

SYDNEY THE BEE KILLER

 

Old Sydney is a kind old man

He even communes with trees

Yet by using all those pesticides

He is killing all the bees

 

So that is why I tasered him

And trussed him up somewhat

Luckily it was a hot summer’s day

For clothes he did have not

 

Tied up to a bus stop

He wore just a ‘bee killer’ sign

Crafted by yours truly

The kudos is all mine

 

Next time I did see Sydney

He said, ‘fuck off you caused me pain’

So I got out my Taser gun

And tasered him again

 

That’ll learn him!

After that I had the overwhelming desire to talk to the bees and tell them what I’d done and as they seemed so very chuffed to see me I let them crawl all over my torso so they could get right up close and hear what I had to tell them – I must say the little bastards stung me something rotten though – never mind for with justice comes a little pain and anyway the nice man who looked after the hive was not backward in coming forward when it came to massaging the Aloe Vera ointment over my breasts – uncommonly keen for one usually so reticent. Odd that!

Anyhow must be off – I’ve a lentil bake to make.

TO THE TUNE OF THE GUARDS WHISTLE

kissing

She is blithe in Fantasia now

Not a care in the world

I suspect

 

Be it of legend or of history

The word of the vanquished

Is legitimate evidence

A reflection of what once was

 

She knew the way out

Turned the door handle

Found it locked

I knew where

The key was stored

Thankfully

 

Not that I cared back then

I had the resolve to

Kick the door in regardless

Before the Jackboot had

Hankered for the self-same thing

Albeit with pernicious bent

 

As for her

She held a benevolent gun to

My temple

Offered me the choice

I declined

 

The weapon was more

Nuisance than a relevance

A mere nothing

My intellect blown to Kingdom come?

In hindsight maybe that

Would have been for the best

 

Time was running out

In a fit of panic

I had paid for her ticket

Carried her bags

A last ever kiss

To the tune of the guards whistle

Waved my goodbyes

 

Waited until the steam train

Pulled away from the platform

Out of the station

Until she and it were safe

And out of sight

 

That was the day

Hitler would have had her shoes

To gift a blue eyed servant

Her lingerie for an aristocrat’s wife

Her wrist for a tattoo

Gold fillings for a Swiss bank vault

Her watch for Eva

Her eradication for a

Bespectacled statistician to

Studiously record

 

I could never allow that

 

Still she got away

New York was

Where the liner

Was due to dock

A place of

Raucous immaculate liberty still

 

Me?

I am but ash

 

95% Of Americans Will Have Accidentally Killed Each Other By 2050 Concludes Survey

mikesteeden:

Satire from Lord Daniel Soz 7th. Earl of Whitechapel!

Originally posted on SOZ SATIRE:

massacre

Pupils and teachers from Alabama State High School pictured taking an enforced break during a class nature walk yesterday.

A shock investigation by a popular American magazine has revealed that by the year 2050 an incredible 95% of American citizens will have accidentally killed each other by the negligent discharge of firearms.

The in-depth analysis comes just weeks after a young black male was shot dead in the street by cops who mistook his hands up gesture to be a threat to the lives of themselves and fellow officers, and the accidental fatal shooting of a firearms instructor by a 9 year old girl last week.

Fightin’ And A Feudin’ magazine also claim that by the turn of the next century the American armed forces will have entirely wiped themselves out, along with 97% of Nato forces, in friendly fire incidents.

A spokesman for the National Rifle Association Of America…

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JC GETS THE HUMP AS NAZARETH WANDERERS LOSE 7-1 AT HOME!

mikesteeden:

Another of me old JC skits from the early days of blogging!

Originally posted on mikesteeden:

Image

 

Judea AD28: Nazareth Wanderers have just lost 7-1 at home to arch rivals Jerusalem Stanley in the early kick-off match.  JC has the hump as the result means his beloved team will now not get to face Alexandria Alexandra FC in the Near East Champions League. Having gone to the pub to drown his sorrows he now stumbles home, somewhat the worse for drink, singing his own version of the club song, “I’m forever blowing shekels; pretty shekels on a bloody season ticket…..”  Pissed as a rat he thrusts open the front door only to find Mary sat down in her favourite chair playing with her IPad thing exactly as he left her earlier!

Mary: “So you lost then? You always come home all aggressive when you’ve lost.”

JC: “Certainly bloody did!  7-1 can you believe it.  Bloody referee was a Muslim.  The portents were not looking good…

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ON HOW MY WIFE TRIED TO MAIM ME – A true story!

mikesteeden:

Given my post earlier today was all about a female character who took the view all men should suffer a loss of rather important bits of their bodies I thought I’d give this ‘true’ story of my mad wife an outing. First posted this when I started blogging and didn’t know hardly a living soul on WordPress at the time.

Originally posted on mikesteeden:

Image

 

Sometimes my wife – Shirley – looks, as that hackneyed old saying goes, ‘Like butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.’  That is all well and good yet the thing is she is as unpredictable as she is lovely and often there is neither rhyme nor reason behind the things she does insofar as I can tell.    Sometimes she has the mouth of a navvy, sometimes the eloquence of a bard. 

Unusually in a female she has an almost phobic loathing of shops – all shops be they fashion or food it matters not a jot. Such places bore her and when bored Shirley becomes a dangerous liability!  Once, for example, in the queue at a supermarket check-out, finding the tedium of it all unacceptable she decided that she would treat me as if I were a random ‘weirdo’ of sorts.    There I was innocently stood behind her in said…

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NAOMI WHOLEMEAL – USELESS RADICALIZED ECO WARRIOR & POET

eco warrior

Ever since my childhood I’ve had this overwhelming desire to protect our dying planet. Mother Nature cries out in pain each and every place I look yet does anyone really care? Do they fuck. Except me that is – I know I’m just a weak and feeble woman yet as I see it without the likes of me we are all so very doomed.  It is for that reason that I am an eco-warrior taking the fight to the enemy at each and every opportunity that presents itself. Who are the ‘enemy’ I hear you say?

Well I’ll tell you. If you are reading this it is likely you are a literate member of the human race and it is you lot that are fucking things up. You breed like rabbits which means you and yours demand more and more energy and it is the rape of the very planet we live on to feed your energy demands that is destroying everything. Put simply we have gone beyond the optimum point and there are simply too many of us. So I have come up with a radical plan I intend implement and I don’t care if I break any laws of any land in doing so.

My plan? Like all good plans I’ve kept mine simple. I have concluded that the male testicles that are the culprits – ‘BOLLOCKS OFF FOR MOTHER EARTH’ is my slogan – and that if I can castrate a sufficiency of adult males (obviously not those of my lovely gay friends) I can resolve all of our problems at a stroke……. or should I say a ‘slash’ as I shall undertake the task using the handy pen knife I purchased for a pound in Poundland……only kidding there when I said ‘slash’ it’s just my ‘sharp’ sense of humour coming to the fore again. Oh I can be so girlie at times can’t I!

Anyhow I shall commence my eco-warrior activities this very night. The first set of bollocks to go will be those of Tarquin my boyfriend. He has absolutely no idea he’s about to lose his set as he thinks he’s coming round to my eco-friendly recycled corrugated dwelling place in the woods for a lentil bake followed by a shag for afters – he’s even said he is bringing a bottle of organic and ethically produced pear cider with him as he knows when I get a little bit tiddly I can be rather raunchy on the copulation front…..there’s me giving my little secrets away naughty girl that I am.

Whatever Tarquin will be good practice for a first go at castration for I know for sure he has sired any number of bratlets at the commune where he lives – he even has the bloody nerve to call himself an eco-warrior yet those common weekend hippy tarts he impregnates are spitting out babies as if shelling peas. So basically he deserves it!

Obviously I’ll try not to kill him….I mean I’ll have a red hot poker handy to quarterize the wound and stem the flow of any blood….that should do the trick I think. And once Tarquin is a eunuch (I may keep him tethered as a house keeping sort of slave like Cleopatra would have done as the idea has such a wonderful girl power appeal to it and I don’t think he’ll be wanting to go out much what with him being a pair short of a full house) the world will be my oyster and there won’t be a set of gnadgers on the planet safe from my blade – what fun I shall have! Indeed the only thing I need to consider is whether to lop them off pre or post shag….decisions, decisions!

So it is with this latest eco-warrior project in mind I gift you the special poem I have written for the occasion;

TARQUIN’S BOLLOCKS

The planet dies before our eyes

Yet no one really cares

At least not until I came along

For I’m a girl who dares

 

To sever bollocks far and wide

My project starts tonight

When Tarquin loses his set

It will give him such a fright

 

Yet after when I explain to him

To have no bollocks is a great thing

In terms of saving Mother Earth

Even if it means at a high pitch he’ll sing

 

When sat around the camp fire

Belting out protest songs of old

And should the flame die down a tad

He’ll have no balls that would otherwise get cold

Right must be about my business – got a lentil bake to make!

Footnote: Incredible as it may seem this skit is loosely based upon the ‘world view’ of a young lady I met many years ago (true)!

 

 

 

CAGING REALITY IN PICKLING JARS

moth

The bewildered philosopher and

The master of discretion

At odds with one another

Had been since infinity was

Born an ellipse

The sublime contradiction

 

Thoughts imprisoned in time

Disguised as mere hints of

Something greater

Held sway

The master was on top of his game

Always had been

 

That was until the day

The dancing Princess of All Things

Tripped, stumbled and then fell

Into the flaming torch

The master had lit thus

Illuminating the grotto

 

Her beauty lost to

Dreadful hideous burns

Later scars adorned her

Once pretty face

Her nectarious body also

All before she had had the

Opportunity to experience

Love as a true thing

Love at all

 

As a moth to a flame

Servitude to the shadows

Such was the feeling of loss

The master and the philosopher

Became unlikely allies

 

For the philosopher this meant

The casting off of the

Shackles that bind

They were no more

 

It was then

Bewilderment gave way

To the blinding revelation of the light

Later to be shared with one and all

 

That day the master of discretion

Under the terms of the

Strange bedfellow’s alliance

The Treaty of All Things

Fell upon his own sword

An honourable act for

One inclined toward the

Injustice of caging slices of

Reality in pickling jars

Stored in impossible

Caves of chalk

Labelled randomly

As he saw fit

 

He had no choice as

He was the only one back then

Who could testify that

The girl; the dancing princess that is

Was of flesh and blood

 

As to his Last Will and Testament

He bequeathed his labelled jars

To the philosopher

And act of belated kinship?

 

Unbeknownst to the master

The dancer was with child

His child

 

The philosopher

So long in the dark

Raised her child as his own

The mother had died in childbirth

 

For the first time there was

Living proof of reality

The Dark Age had faded away and

With it the Magic

 

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF DOCTOR GLOOM – THE TALE OF HIS SCOTCH EGG LOBBING POLTERGEIST!

WITCH

“Good grief Dr Gloom you look gloomier than ever….gloom personified I’d say……and it’s such a gorgeous day out there, the sun shining and not a cloud in the sky.”

“Well you can take that hail fellow well met fucking smile of your face Landlord and serve me up a pint of that glorified dish water you laughingly refer to as ale. After the night I’ve just had I couldn’t give a tuppenny toss about the weather.”

“What’s up then Gloomo? I thought you’d be full of the joys of spring what with you moving into your new home – that rather tasty Victorian cottage with all its Gothic charm – just yesterday. Bet it cost a pretty penny too.”

“It cost an arm and a fucking leg if you must know but that’s not the point. The thing is I haven’t had a wink of sleep leaving me feeling somewhat wretched.”

“That’s nothing new – you’re always feeling wretched.”

“Fuck off.”

“No need to talk like that Gloomo – anyhow how comes you didn’t get your 30 winks?”

“Because it seems within my new abode boasting what you refer to as Gothic charm resides a poltergeist that’s what.”

“What poltergeist as in ghost?”

“For pities sake landlord what other poltergeists are there.”

“True…….what happened then?”

“Well there I was all settled in, the removal men had sorted out my furniture and set up the TV and everything so I thought I’d cheer meself up with a bit of scoff and watch the telly before taking to me pit – an ever so engrossing documentary about post natal depression was on as it happens – when bugger me and quite out the blue a Scotch egg hit me smack in the temple knocking me out of the armchair and rendering me unconscious for God knows how long.”

“Wo….hold on there…..how can a Scotch egg to the temple knock a grown man out? I mean they are only a simple fusion of sausage meat and boiled egg. I thought you were going to say something like ‘a house brick hit me smack in the temple’……you know something hard like. I do believe you’re pulling me plonker Gloomo.”

“Show’s how fucking little you know Landlord for the Scotch egg was frozen. Given that they are my favourite thing to nibble upon of an evening I make sure the old freezer is always stocked up with Scotch eggs aplenty. I can therefore confirm that a frozen Scotch egg delivered at pace to the side of the cranium does indeed have the impact of a house brick.  Whatever, when I came round and had gathered me senses I saw standing above and astride me and cackling away chillingly an invisible entity of pure energy that plainly eluded the perceptions of reality in the form of a young woman – scantily clad in what looked to me like a net curtain fashioned in the style of a nightgown from a bygone era at that. She looked down and uttered the words, ‘You’ll never take me Matthew…not now, not ever….call yourself a Witchfinder……well I’m the one who got away.’  So I says to her, ‘Hold up luv my names Derek…..Derek Gloom…..who’s this Matthew you’re on about?’ So she says to me, ‘Don’t give me that old flannel Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder General of all England…..you’ll never put me in that ducking chair now.’ With that she pelts me with another half dozen frozen Scotch eggs. Fortunately aside for the one that got me in the bollocks most did only a bit of collateral damage…..you know a bruise here and abrasion there. Luckily that little flurry was at too close a range to maim or mutilate.”

“Christ Gloomo it’s as if you’ve been vaccinated with a gramophone needle – never heard you speak so much…..carry on though this is fascinating.”

“Well after those shenanigans on the Scotch egg front she disappeared for a while and it was only as I was having a quick jimmy before getting into bed when fuck me if she didn’t lob yet another Scotch egg the offending item hitting me on the back of the old bonce causing me to piss down my pyjama leg.  Plainly I’d had enough so I turns about face and says to what I had now fathomed was a poltergeist, ‘Oi you……yes you luv……I am not……indeed never have been Matthew pox ridden Hopkins once the Witchfinder General of all England. Being a well-read man I can tell you that his witch hunting activities began in the year of our Lord 1644AD and ended in 1647AD when he died. We are now in 2014AD.’”

“Bet that told her – did she piss off after that?”

“Did she fuck…..no her riposte was, ‘Well you’re a dead ringer for him…..so much so I cannot take any comfort from what you say which quite frankly I don’t believe a word of. You Matthew Hopkins will try any trick in the book to get hold of me and have me confess to being a witch…..and you’re a sick pervert as well.  That is why I have been hid away in the basement here for quite a long time I think – I mean this is the third house to be built on these foundations since I escaped your clutches that day at the May Fair when you accused me of casting the spell causing the Squires knob to fall off whilst he was out riding.’”

“Tell you what Gloomo I reckon she must have starved to death and come back as a poltergeist without realising it. Well I’ll be blowed.”

“That Landlord is exactly what I thought. The thing is I’m stuck with her now and furthermore she’s taken quite a shine to that bastard homing donkey of mine. The bitch still hates my guts though – still remains convinced that I am this bloody Matthew Hopkins bloke. Just for good measure at about three in the morning when I finally thought I’d get some kip she pelted me with another volley of frozen Scotch eggs – as luck would have it I had the foresight to take cover under my duvet which served to act as a bullet proof vest of sorts.”

“Rather you than me Gloomo – I mean what will you do when you go back home from the pub?”

“I haven’t got a blind clue…..as I was leaving home earlier she dropped a pack of frozen lasagne (I’m out of Scotch eggs by now) upon my head from the landing and bellowed ‘Good riddance sicko’ then oddly spotted the picture of me and my estranged wife Ethel on the wall – wedding day snap as it happens – and added with just the glimmer of what looked to be a smile, ‘Christ what an ugly bitch she is………..now I know for sure why you’re always getting the overwhelming urge to find the witches ‘familiar’ about their naked bodies Matthew Hopkins……..well don’t think you’re getting a peek at mine sunshine.’”

“A ‘familiar’ you say – that’s the devil’s mark that will be somewhere upon her person you know. That means she is not only a poltergeist but a real witch also.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that. How I suffer in life – it is little wonder I’m so gloomy. Still I best get down the butcher’s as I need to replenish my stock of Scotch eggs.”

“Bad news Gloomo.”

“What’s that then Landlord?”

“Surprised you haven’t heard – the butcher’s shop burned down last night.”

“Bollocks.”

 

 

 

THE CHEMISTRY OF EXISTENCE – BIO OF A LUNATIC

hammersmith bridge

I entered this world a

Fully formed adult male

Delivered up by

A lightning bolt that

Struck a cast iron waste bin

Outside

Turnham Green Underground Station

Leaving me encased therein

 

After a long struggle

I wormed my way out and

Found myself

Quite naked on the pavement

Outside the station entrance

During the

Monday morning rush hour

 

Passers-by looked at me disdainfully

Some dumbstruck

Others in horror

Many a ‘tut tut’ aimed in my direction

 

Good fortune smiled though

A 1957 Austin A40 pulled up

In the street before me

The vehicle was sign written

‘Eric’s Unlicensed Cab of Unresolved Things’

 

I was ever so grateful to Eric

He jumped out of the cab

Rushed over and

Handed me a floor length

Black plastic Macintosh

 

Giving me the once over

A nod and a wink he said

‘This do you alright mate – you’re one of us now’

Before returning to his car and

Clattering off about his business

 

As morning turned to afternoon

The day got hotter and hotter

The Macintosh now an incubator

My earlier gratitude toward Eric waned

A certain animosity consumed me

 

It was at around this time

A summertime shower

Turned into an opening of the heavens

In the wake of which a

Rainbow formed

 

I tracked its path

The end of the rainbow there

In the middle of Hammersmith Bridge

 

I got there just in time

For it had not yet dissipated

 

Resting at the end of the rainbow

A pretty girl dressed in Victorian crinoline

With an antique silvered mirror in her hand

 

Her eyes knew who I was

I could tell

 

She told me to check my reflection

I did so and saw I was but a nothing

The chemistry of existence had

Failed me once more